“That there Rosebud1 is a-getting mighty2 fractious. Yesterday he jawed3 me something fearful because I wouldn’t let him get up and go out to the camp. I reckon he’s getting better. Men’s always like that when they’re on the mend. The Rosebud shied a tumbler at Taffy yesterday when he said he’d better lie there another day. He’s always asking after you, Ralda. Seems mighty curious about you altogether.”
Esmeralda made no response, but left the hut.
Lord Norman got about again presently, and was received by the men with a kind of rough welcome. There was something about him that took their fancy, and he speedily became a favorite. He wandered about among the claims, and along[31] the river, with the aid of a stick, and the men kept a sort of protecting eye upon him, inviting4 him to share their meals, and offering him unlimited5 whisky and tobacco. Taffy took quite a paternal6 interest in him, and as Norman sat upon the edge of the claim, watching the bearded giant at work, Taffy poured out the vast stores of his experience for Norman’s benefit and amusement, and inducted him into the mysteries of mining. While he was wandering about, Norman was continually on the look-out for Esmeralda, but he saw nothing of her. He asked where she was, and was told that she was in the camp, or somewhere about; and he wondered whether she was avoiding him. The idea made him unhappy and uncomfortable, and he asked himself, all day long, what he had done to offend her.
One evening he went into the Eldorado. The saloon was full; but the men were listless and bored, for the night was hot. Billiards7 had lost their charm, and there was no card-playing, for Varley Howard was away. There was an old piano in a corner of the room, and Norman, after wandering about, and declining innumerable offers of whisky, limped up to the ancient instrument, and began to strum on its yellow and worn keys.
The men stopped talking, and turned to look at him.
“Blest if the Rosebud ain’t a musician!” said Taffy. “Keep it up, my gentle flower! Can you sing?”
Lord Norman blushed, as was his wont8, and began to pipe a drawing-room ballad9. He had a particularly clear and sweet tenor10, and the men listened in profound silence and with unlimited delight. When he had finished they shouted “Bravo!” and Taffy smote11 him on the back, so as almost to send him through the piano.
“Bravo, little ’un!” he said. “We ought to ’a called you the Nightingale! Pipe us something else.”
Lord Norman sung them a roystering sea song with a spirited chorus, which the men caught up, and shouted with keen enjoyment12. He was kept at the piano singing and playing until he was nearly hoarse13; and when he gave in, Taffy seized him and perched him upon the top of the instrument, and called for three cheers, which were given with such heartiness14 that Dan MacGrath glanced at the tin roof apprehensively15.
Laughing and blushing, Norman got off the piano, and made his way out into the open air. As he passed through the door-way he brushed against something, and saw that it was Esmeralda. She wore a short skirt, and had thrown a red shawl over her head.
[32]
“Ralda—I mean, Miss Howard!” he stammered16, with a note of glad surprise in his voice.
She shrunk back a little, and looked round as if about to fly; then, as though she were ashamed of the impulse, she faced him, and regarded him steadily17. The moon shone down full upon her face, and its beauty kept him silent for a moment. In her rough dress and gypsy-like shawl she looked a totally different person to the young lady he remembered in the Redfern habit and Heath hat.
“I’m so glad to see you,” he said at last. “Have you been quite well?”
“I’m always well,” she said.
“I asked because I haven’t seen you about,” he said.
She looked down and made no response.
“Have you been outside, listening, long?” he asked.
“A little while,” she replied—she had been there for over an hour. “Was that you singing?” she inquired, casually18.
He laughed.
“Yes, I was howling to the boys.”
“You sing very well,” she said.
He muttered the conventional acceptation of her approval, then looked at her wistfully.
“What a lovely night,” he said. “One never gets such a night as this anywhere else than in Australia. The river would look jolly in the moonlight. We could see it if we went down a little way. You wouldn’t care to come, I suppose?”
She glanced from side to side, and then up at the moon, as if undecided. He watched her maidenly19 calm face with unconcealed eagerness.
“It’s not far,” he pleaded.
She said nothing, but moved forward, and with a leap of the heart he walked by her side. They went down to the edge of the river in silence. Esmeralda seated herself upon a bowlder bleached20 white by the sun, and he dropped unobtrusively at her feet.
“Are you better?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Oh! I’m all right, barring a little stiffness,” he replied; “and that will go off in a day or two. Everybody has been awfully21 good to me; and as for Mother Melinda—I hope she doesn’t mind being called Mother Melinda?”
“She hasn’t got any other name that I ever heard of,” said Esmeralda.
“Well, she’s been like a mother to me, at any rate. I couldn’t have been better nursed if I’d been at home at the[33] Manor22; and I must have given her a fearful amount of trouble. I was off my head for some time. And—and, Miss Howard, speaking of that, I—I wanted to ask you something.”
“What is it?” said Esmeralda.
He looked up at her slyly, as she sat in an exquisitely23 graceful24 attitude, her brown hands folded loosely in her lap, her head slightly thrown back as she looked up at the moonlit sky.
“Mother Melinda told me that the night I was raving25 like a lunatic you came into the tent, and stayed for a little while. I—I hope I didn’t say anything to offend you!”
“What makes you think that?” she said.
“Because—because—I’ve had an idea that you—you tried to avoid me. I thought I might have said something about—about yourself that made you angry. You know, people talk most awful rot when they’re off their heads, as I was.”
“It wasn’t awful rot—all of it,” said Esmeralda, looking down at the pattern she was tracing in the sand with her foot. “You didn’t offend me.”
“I’m glad of that,” he said, drawing a long breath. “You can’t tell what a load you’ve taken off my mind. I’ve been wishing that they’d gagged me when I began to ramp26.”
“You talked a lot about your people—I suppose, especially about some one called Trafford. Who is he?”
He sat up, with sudden interest.
“Oh! did I talk about Trafford?” he said. “Dear old Trafford! He is my cousin.”
“What’s his other name?” she asked.
He laughed.
“Oh! he has half a dozen; but we always call him Trafford, because he’s the Marquis of Trafford.”
She turned her large, luminous27 eye upon him thoughtfully.
“The marquis? I don’t understand.”
Lord Norman dropped backward, with his arms behind his head, so that he could look up at her face with perfect ease.
“He’s the Marquis of Trafford,” he explained, “because he is the eldest28 son of the Duke of Belfayre.”
“The Duke of Belfayre?” she repeated; “that’s an awful swell29, isn’t it—something near a prince or a king?”
“Well, not exactly,” said Norman; “but he is a swell. There are not many dukes, you see, and the dukedom is a particularly old one—I mean, that the title goes a long way back—and the duke himself is an old man.”
[34]
“And your cousin will be the duke when his cousin dies?” she said, as if she were trying to understand.
“Yes,” said Norman; “but we all hope that will be a long while; for the duke is the dearest old chap, and Trafford is as fond of him as he can be.”
“And you are fond of Trafford?” she asked.
“I should think so—rather! Why, there’s nobody in the world like Trafford!”
“Why?” she asked, not unreasonably30.
“Well, he’s a splendid fellow! I wish you could see him, and then you’d understand, without my saying another word.”
“Why is he so splendid?” she asked. “What does he do?”
Norman sat up in his eagerness to explain.
“Oh, he does everything, and does it better than any one else can. He’s a first-rate shot—you should see him stalking a deer! There’s no tiring him. And then, he rides—it’s a treat to see him going across country as straight as a line, and taking everything as it comes, just like a bird. And then, he’s the best-looking fellow in London.”
“What is he like?” she asked, with a woman’s curiosity on this most important point.
“Oh,” said Norman, vaguely31, “he’s tall—not too tall—and what you women call graceful; all muscle, and not an ounce of fat. He can knock a man down with a straight one from the shoulder.”
“There’s heaps of men who can do that,” she said, half jealously.
“And he’s got one of those dark, good-looking faces—something like an Italian or a Spaniard; and yet it’s quite English, too—and dark eyes, and—oh, I can’t describe him! You want to see him. All the women rave32 about him.”
“And so he’s pretty conceited,” she said, with a little curl of her lip. “We had a man here like that once. They called him the ‘Barber’s Block.’ They said he curled his hair. He went off with Dan MacGrath’s niece, and Dan shot him in the arm and brought her back.”
Lord Norman laughed.
“Trafford’s not at all like that,” he said; “and there is not a bit of conceit33 or vanity about him. I don’t think he knows he’s good-looking, or that most of the women are madly in love with him. He’s not that sort of fellow. He’s grave and quiet. Poor old Trafford!”
“Why do you say ‘poor old Trafford’?” she asked.
“Well, you see,” said Lord Norman, “he’s got a good[35] deal to think of and worry him. Although the duke is such a swell, he’s poor.”
“I thought a duke could never be poor,” she said.
“That’s what you thought about lords until you made my acquaintance,” he laughed, ruefully. “It’s this way. The duke’s father and grandfather were wild, and went the pace. They had to borrow money, and they went to the Jews. Now, going to the Jews is as bad as going to the dogs. They lend you money at sixty per cent., and they take everything you’ve got as security.”
“I know,” said Esmeralda, with a nod. “There was a man here who lent money like that. The boys tarred and feathered him.”
Lord Norman laughed approvingly.
“I wish they’d do that in England,” he said, with a sigh. “Though, I suppose, it wouldn’t be quite fair; for, if you borrow money, you must pay for it. Well, the duke is up to his neck in debt. Everything is mortgaged that can be; and though there are thousands of acres of land, and half a dozen big houses as well as Belfayre, they’re all mortgaged, and really belonging to some one else if they liked to swoop34 down upon them.”
“What does he want with half a dozen houses?” asked Esmeralda. “He can’t live in them, though he is a duke.”
“Not all at once,” said Lord Norman, smiling. “In fact, he never leaves Belfayre; and Trafford, when he isn’t there, has rooms in the Albany and dines at his club—off the joint35.”
Esmeralda looked at him with a puzzled frown. She was trying hard to understand.
“Why don’t they shut up the houses,” she asked, “and go and live somewhere where it wouldn’t cost much money.”
“That sounds easy enough,” said Lord Norman, “and any ordinary person could do it; but a duke can’t. He’s got to live up to his position. It’s a kind of duty. And so all the houses go on full swing, and a kind of royal state is kept up. The duke is treated like a prince. There’s an army of servants at Belfayre, and the stables are full of horses and carriages, and the whole place is like a palace. It’s a show-place.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, people go and see it because there’s a lot of pictures there, and old plate and china, and curiosities that one duke after another has collected. There are some pictures that are worth thousands, and people come from the other end of the world to stare at them.”
[36]
“Why don’t they sell them?” asked Esmeralda.
“They can’t,” said Lord Norman. “They’ve borrowed money on them, and if they hadn’t they couldn’t sell them. It would be a kind of sacrilege.”
“I don’t understand it all,” said Esmeralda. “I shouldn’t like to live in a place that I might be turned out of any moment.”
“That’s why I said ‘poor Trafford,’” said Lord Norman. “He feels just as you do. He said one day, when I was at Belfayre, that he wished he was a farm laborer36; and that he was a perfect slave.”
She was silent for a minute or two, and Lord Norman, gazing at her with all his heart in his eyes, had forgotten the house of Belfayre and its difficulties, and everything but the fact of her presence, and her delicate profile standing37 out like a cameo, when she said, suddenly:
“Who is ‘Ada’?”
He started slightly.
“Did I speak about her when I was raving?” he said. “That must be Ada Lancing—Lady Ada Lancing.”
“All the people you know are lords and ladies,” she said.
He laughed apologetically.
“Oh, not all.”
“And who is she? Is she a great friend of yours?” she asked. “You spoke38 of her almost as much as you did of this Lord Trafford.”
“Oh, yes, she’s a friend of mine,” said Lord Norman. “She has a great many friends. She is one of the London belles39.”
Esmeralda understood this, at any rate.
“Is she so very pretty?” she asked, with keen interest.
“Oh, yes, very,” he said. “Her portraits are in all the shop windows.”
“Why do they put them there?” she asked, with wide-open eyes. “What is she like?”
Lord Norman tilted41 his hat over his eyes and considered.
“What is she like? Oh, she’s fair, with a lot of yellow hair like spun42 silk; and she’s tall. It’s difficult to describe her. Trafford once said that she was a daughter of the gods. I don’t know what he meant, excepting that she was very graceful, and stately, and all that.”
“A daughter of the gods,” she repeated. It is needless to say that she had never heard of Tennyson; but the well-known and oft-quoted line conveyed something of its meaning[37] to her. “And can she ride and shoot and swim? Could she climb that tree there?”
She did not ask because she herself could do these things, but because she wanted to know more about this grand young lady who was “a daughter of the gods,” whose hair was like spun silk, and whose portrait was in the shop windows.
“Yes; she can ride after a fashion, on a very tame gee-gee, and she goes round the park like they do in a circus. As to shooting,” he smiled. “I should like to see Lady Ada fire a gun; ‘let it off,’ she’d call it; and she couldn’t climb anything, except the stairs, to save her life.”
Esmeralda looked surprised and thoughtful.
“I don’t think much of her,” she remarked, not contemptuously, but as if she were stating an unprejudiced opinion. “And it’s only because she’s pretty that she’s a belle40? Do you think her so very beautiful?”
“I did,” he said; “I thought her the loveliest girl in the world; but I don’t now.”
“Why?” she asked, looking at him with surprise.
“Because—because—Esmeralda”—his voice was almost a whisper, and even her innocence43, enlightened by her remembrance of his delirious44 calling upon her name, could not but discern the meaning in his eyes and his voice—“Esmeralda,” he whispered again, “don’t be angry with me. I love you!”
She did not start to her feet, the ivory whiteness of her face remained unchanged; she turned her eyes upon him with an expression in them of half-troubled wonder.
“I love you, Esmeralda!” he said. He was on one knee by her side and had got possession of her hand. “Won’t you speak to me? Are you angry? Speak to me, Esmeralda. Tell me that I may go on loving you.”
She drew her hand from his and rose, and stood looking straight before her at the river, almost as if she were in a dream, as if the strangeness of his words had cast a spell over her.
He tried to take her hand again, but she drew back beyond his reach.
“No,” she said in so low a voice that he could just hear it; then she turned away from him. He rose from his knees to follow her, to urge his suit; but, looking over her shoulder, she shook her head as if to bid him stay where he was, and then, not swiftly, but slowly, as if she were a spirit of the moonlight, she glided45 away from him.
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收听单词发音
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1
rosebud
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| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
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2
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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3
jawed
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| adj.有颌的有颚的 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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6
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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7
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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8
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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9
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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10
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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11
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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12
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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13
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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14
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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16
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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18
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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19
maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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20
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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21
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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22
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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24
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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25
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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26
ramp
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| n.暴怒，斜坡，坡道；vi.作恐吓姿势，暴怒，加速；vt.加速 | |
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27
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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29
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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30
unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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32
rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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33
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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34
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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38
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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39
belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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40
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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41
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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42
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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43
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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44
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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45
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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