Sometimes Trafford stole in and gazed at the flushed face and too brilliant eyes, and listened to the wild, delirious1 stream that issued from the parched2 lips. His name was ever on those lips—sometimes breathed with a passionate3 tenderness, sometimes uttered imploringly4, at others thrilling with womanly indignation; and every time she spoke5 his name her voice went to Trafford’s heart like a distinct stab.
He was bound up in her, heart and soul; he forgot everything but this girl, whom he loved with a love which would turn his life to a hell or a heaven. He forgot that he was the Duke of Belfayre, and no more thought of writing home than he thought of leaving her. Everything in the world might go, if she would only live and give him back her love.
A deep anxiety sat upon Three Star. Men went about with grave faces and preoccupied6 manner, and the gayety of the Eldorado saloon was crushed out by the weight of suspense7. Men spoke in hushed voices, the tinkling8 piano was silent. No one had even the heart to fight. Varley and Norman and several of the miners rode frequently to the hut to make inquiries9, and hung around on tiptoe, and with suppressed voices. Presents innumerable were sent from the camp; everything that Esmeralda could be supposed to fancy—the most grotesque10 articles—arrived as tokens of Three Star’s love.
At the approach of visitors from the camp, Trafford invariably disappeared; he could not endure to meet any one—least of all, Varley and Norman. He had a reckoning to make with both, but he postponed11 it. His anger against Norman had become dwarfed12 and dulled by the vastness of his anxiety for Esmeralda. There was no room in his heart for rage or jealousy13, or any feeling but a consuming love.
One evening, about a week later, he was leaning against a tree beside his tent, when he saw the doctor coming from the hut. Something in his gait, in the poise14 of his head, sent the blood to Trafford’s face. He came forward eagerly, with the unspoken question in his eyes.
The doctor nodded, with a little triumphant15 smile about his big, strong mouth.
“Yes,” he said; “she’s better—”
[332]
Trafford staggered slightly and drew himself up and set his teeth hard; good tidings are sometimes as difficult to bear as bad tidings.
—“She is conscious, and the crisis is past. It’s been a terrible struggle, and if she hadn’t had her youth and a devil of a strong constitution, I should have lost this game.”
Trafford held out his hand; it trembled like a leaf; he tried to force a smile.
“I won’t try to thank you, doctor,” he said.
“That’s all right,” said the doctor. “Besides, we aren’t out of the wood yet. She’s fearfully weak, and there might be trouble still.”
“May I see her?” asked Trafford in a low voice.
“No,” said the doctor, bluntly. “You certainly may not; that would about finish it. I came out to tell you so, and to advise you to go away for a night. Take a ride, and try to get rid of that scared face of yours. You still look too much like a ghost to present yourself at a sick-bed. Why not go down to the camp and see the boys? You might go to the Eldorado and get a drink or two; in fact, I should advise you to get several drinks and make a night of it; you’ll be all the better for it. Your mind’s been dwelling16 on one thing; you’ve been harping17 on one string too long. Go down and have a spree, join in a fight, if you like; anyway, get rid of that undertaker expression; a black eye would be better than that.”
Trafford smiled.
“I will go down to the camp,” he said, almost humbly18.
He followed the doctor to the door of the hut and stood and listened in the hope that he might hear the beloved voice, but all was still, and he went back and mounted his horse and rode toward Three Star. The relief from the terrible suspense made him feel almost light-headed, and he rode along in a kind of dream, looking about him as if earth and sky were something new to him. Every now and then he breathed her name. As he approached the camp, he saw Varley just preparing to mount his horse; he was going to ride to the hut. At sight of Trafford, he stopped and stood, with one arm resting on the saddle, awaiting him. Trafford rode up, dismounted, and raised his hat; Varley raised his, his dark eyes fixed19 sternly on Trafford’s face.
“I have brought good news,” said Trafford. “The crisis is past; she is better.”
A flush rose to Varley’s face and he turned his head aside to hide his emotion; then he faced Trafford again.
[333]
“What do you mean to do, my lord?” he asked, sternly.
Trafford was silent, and Varley went on, speaking slowly, and as if he had already prepared his words:
“I have a right to ask. I am her guardian20. You have lost the right which belonged to her husband; you have brought her nothing but misery21. Do you mean to continue to make her unhappy? The sight of you must be almost as intolerable to her as it is to me. She fled from you to me, to her old home. Do you mean to leave her quietly, or not?”
“She shall decide,” said Trafford, gravely, almost solemnly. “I acknowledge your right to ask me such a question. Not only because you have been a father to her, but because I have brought so much trouble upon you.”
“Yes,” said Varley in a broken voice, “not satisfied with breaking her heart, you were the cause of my very nearly killing22 the being I love better than my life.”
Trafford bowed his head.
“I know it,” he said. “Do you think I shall ever forget it? That is why I have come to you now to tell you that I place myself in her hands. I shall claim no right to her; I shall advance no plea; I shall just leave my fate to her.”
“She can only decide one way,” said Varley. “She can have no love for the man who meanly deceived and betrayed her.”
His stern words produced such an effect upon Trafford, that even Varley could have found it in his heart to pity him.
“Do you know the whole story?” asked Trafford, when he could speak. “Has Norman told you?”
“No,” said Varley; “he has told me nothing. I wish to hear nothing.”
“You must hear it,” said Trafford.
Varley pointed23 to the hut near which they were standing24, and Trafford followed him in. The two men stood facing each other, Trafford with his back to the door.
“It is right that you should hear the truth. You may think worse of me than you do already. It is of little consequence, though. Mr. Howard, I value your good opinion more than you can imagine and can believe. You accuse me of marrying Esmeralda for her money.” His face flushed as if with shame. “I plead guilty. I and mine were in terrible straits; I was tempted26, and I fell. As you have said, I married Esmeralda for the wealth which she possessed27, the money which could save my house from ruin.”
Varley rolled a cigarette, his pale face set with a kind of impatient contempt.
[334]
“And you are what is called a nobleman!” he said.
“I deserve that,” said Trafford, quietly. “But there is nothing that you can say which can be more bitter than that which I have already said to myself.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Varley, after a moment.
“On our wedding-day,” continued Trafford, speaking very slowly, and as if he were communing with himself, rather than addressing Varley, “I made a discovery. I discovered that I loved her—loved her as passionately28 and truly as any man ever loved since the world began.”
Varley raised his eyes for a moment and carefully lighted his cigarette.
“I would have married her if she had been penniless. I looked forward to laying a life of devotion at her feet. There had been one woman”—he hesitated a scarcely perceptible second—“whom I would have put in Esmeralda’s place—I tell you this because I have resolved to conceal29 nothing from you—but my love for Esmeralda had erased30, destroyed, any feeling I may have had for any other woman. I loved her with all my heart. But it was too late!” He sunk on to the table and continued, with his head averted31 from Varley’s piercing eyes: “She had discovered, by a conversation which she had overheard, that I had married her for her money. Her pure soul rose in revolt. She refused to believe that I had grown to love her. My punishment began; we virtually parted on our wedding-day.”
Varley looked at him, but said nothing.
“It was a punishment more terrible than you can imagine. We were husband and wife in name only, living under the same roof as strangers—worse than strangers. We went to Belfayre, and there Norman Druce was awaiting us. He and Esmeralda had met here. I knew nothing of it, did not know that he loved her, and that he had ever asked her to be his wife; though I might have suspected something from the confusion which they displayed when I took him to her on my wedding-morning.”
Varley flung his cigarette away and turned with flashing eyes.
“You accuse Esmeralda—” he began.
“Hear me out!” said Trafford. “Norman and Esmeralda were with us at Belfayre. She and I were separated; he loved her still; it was only natural that he, they, should be tempted. I see, now, how much excuse there was for her—yes, and for him.”
As he spoke, a shadow darkened the door-way, and a man[335] stood in the entrance. It was Norman. He stopped at sight of the two men, and would have turned away, but Varley, with a gesture which Trafford, sitting with bowed head, did not see, signed to Norman to remain. Trafford sighed heavily.
“They were together, spent hours together. It was only natural that she should turn to him, the man who had loved her and still loved her, from the husband who she believed cared nothing for her. One night I saw them together in the conservatory32. They were agitated33—I could hear nothing—but I saw him kiss her.” He wiped the sweat from his face and seemed unable to proceed for a moment. “I went to her that night and told her all I had seen, charged her. She denied nothing. Next morning she had left me. He, too, had gone without leaving a word behind him. They had flown together. My father died that night; I could not follow her—I was like a man distraught; I think I was indeed mad for a time. I followed them here later on, and here, as you know, I found them.”
Varley looked straight before him. For the first time he saw the terrible business from Trafford’s point of view. It looked as if indeed Esmeralda had been guilty; and yet he could not believe it. He glanced at Norman with a stern, fierce inquiry34, and saw on his face a strange expression. It did not look in Varley’s eyes like guilt25.
“I have told you all,” said Trafford. “And now I answer your question as to what I intend to do. As I have said, Esmeralda shall decide.”
“Esmeralda?” said Varley.
“Yes,” said Trafford, looking straight before him. “It shall rest entirely35 with her. The moment she is strong enough to see me, to hear me, I shall go to her and say, ‘Esmeralda, I love you. You shall choose between me and Norman. If you return to me, I swear that never by word or look will I remind you of what has passed. For that I am as answerable as you. It shall be buried, never to rise between us again. Choose between me and him. If your choice falls upon him, I will submit. You shall marry him; I will do all I can to help you to regain36 the happiness of which I robbed you; I will leave you in peace with the man you love.’”
Varley looked at him fixedly37.
“You will do this?” he said, a strong man’s reluctant admiration38 showing in his eyes.
“I will,” said Trafford, solemnly.
[336]
Norman stepped into the hut, his face lined with emotion, too agitated to speak for a moment.
Trafford started to his feet, his face growing red, his lips compressed tightly. Norman looked him straight in the eyes.
“Trafford!” he exclaimed.
“You have overheard?” said Trafford in a constrained39 voice. “Good! I have but one word to add to you. You, too, will abide40 by her decision. If she should choose me, then you will go your way, and leave us in peace. You will refuse at your peril41.”
Norman still looked at him steadily42, and, to Varley’s surprise, did not wince43 or flinch44.
“My God! how blind you have been!” he said. “How blind you are! Esmeralda choose between me and you? Why—why— Oh, I can’t get it out fast enough! I don’t know where to begin. Why, man, she has loved you all the time! She loves you still. There was never a woman in the world loved a man as Esmeralda loves you”—both men stared at him; he was hot with eagerness and indignation—“and always has loved you. Why, any one could see it—and they had only to look in her eyes when you came near her. The whole thing is a hideous45 mistake. Wait! You wait, and hear me, as I’ve heard you—and I’ve had hard work not to burst in or howl aloud. What you said is true enough as far as a certain point. I did love Esmeralda. I own it; I’m proud of it! I did ask her to be my wife, but she refused; and quite right, for there was a better man—you—waiting for her. I don’t know how you heard that I proposed to her.”
“Your letter to her was given to me,” said Trafford, almost inaudibly.
“Oh! When I came to England I was in love with her still. I own it; I’m proud of it! Every man ought to fall in love with Esmeralda. But when I found that she was to be your wife, I crushed it out. Do you think I’m a cur, Trafford? What have I ever done that you should think I would play the scoundrel—and to you, of all men in the world?” Trafford looked at him, and began to breathe hard. “I crushed it out. And then I went down to Belfayre; and—and there was Lilias; and—yes, Lilias crept into the vacant place in my heart, and taught me not to think of Esmeralda, excepting as a sister and the wife of my best friend. And she is the best sister, the sweetest and truest, that a man ever had! She soon found out that I loved Lilias, and set about helping46 me.” He paused for want of breath. Trafford’s hand gripped the edge of the table. “That night, in the conservatory, we were[337] talking of Lilias, and Esmeralda was promising47 to plead for me. I was full of gratitude—carried away, if you like—and I kissed her, as you saw. She took the kiss merely for Lilias’s sake.”
Trafford rose, then sunk down again.
“The next morning your man brought a telegram. My mother was ill; I had to start at once. You say I left no word behind me—”
Trafford’s lips moved.
“It’s not true,” said Norman, almost savagely48. “Your man knew, and I told”—he hesitated a moment, as if confused and bewildered by a sudden thought that had struck him—“told some one else. I had no idea that there was anything wrong, that Esmeralda had gone, until I saw Lady Wyndover. Then I went straight to town in search of you. I didn’t want to seek Esmeralda; I knew where she’d gone; I knew she’d come here. I played hide-and-seek with you for nearly a day. I booked a berth49 for you, got everything ready, and when you didn’t turn up, I went on board the vessel50 myself, and came after Esmeralda to explain—to one of you, at any rate, what a hideous mistake and bungle51 the whole miserable52 business was. Choose between you and me!” He panted for breath, and laughed outright53. “Why, man, she chose long ago! There’s no other man in the world but you, and the whole of the masculine gender54 might go hang for her, so long as she had you!”
He dropped into a chair, and mopped his red and streaming face; it was hot work.
Trafford rose trembling, looking from one to the other like a man waking from a ghastly nightmare, and Varley watched him with pitying and sympathizing eyes; for as he realized all that Trafford had suffered, he could find it possible to forgive him.
“Norman!” said Trafford, hoarsely55. “What am I to say? I can only ask you to forgive me. It is I who have wronged you! I have been a fool, a mad fool—worse than a fool! I am not fit to stand in the presence of the friend I have wronged!”
He extended his hand with profound humility56.
Norman sprung to his feet, with tears in his eyes, grasped the hand and wrung57 it, and kept on wringing58 it in a manner that would have been ludicrous but for the tragedy of the situation.
“Dear old Trafford!” he murmured, brokenly. “But[338] she’s better! I know that from what you’ve said! And it will all come right!”
Trafford’s lips quivered.
“God grant it!” he said. “She—she may not forgive me. Her love may have died.”
Norman laughed broken and incredulously.
“You wait and see!” he said.
“I must go to her at once,” said Trafford, feverishly59.
“One moment,” said Varley, gravely, and with something like his old languid tone. “I, too, should like to shake hands with you, if you will permit me. It strikes me you’ve not been the only fool in this business. And that there’s a villain60, too.”
They looked at him inquiringly.
Varley sat on the edge of the table, with his hands thrust in his pockets, looking like the old Varley, as he said:
“Will you allow me to ask you a question or two, my lord?”
Trafford assented61 mutely.
“I’m rather curious to fit in a little piece of this puzzle which seems to me to be missing just at present, and which the thing wants to make it a complete map of the whole business. You’ve seen those children’s puzzles, I dare say, my lord?”
The two men waited with intense gravity.
“I should like to ask you, duke, who gave you that letter of Norman’s?”
Trafford was silent for a moment.
“I can not refuse to answer you,” he said. “It was a lady—Lady Ada Lancing.”
Varley’s face was quite impassive, and he swung one leg in a languid, meditative62 way.
“Thanks. May I ask you, Lord Druce, who the ‘some one’ was who you told about that telegram which caused you to leave Belfayre so suddenly?”
Norman colored and bit his lip, and glanced at Trafford uneasily. A cloud was gathering63 on Trafford’s face.
“Answer,” he said, curtly64.
“It was—Lady Ada,” said Norman in a low voice.
“Thanks,” drawled Varley. “And she did not tell you, duke, or any one, apparently65, of the cause of Lord Druce’s sudden departure?”
Trafford’s silence was a sufficient answer.
“One more question,” said Varley. “A rather delicate one, I’m afraid. You said that there was another lady whom[339] you might have made your wife; will you think me unduly66 inquisitive67 if I ask you to tell me her name?”
Trafford turned his face away. It was lined by a deep emotion.
“Lady Ada Lancing,” he said, almost inaudibly.
“Ah!” remarked Varley in the slowest of drawls. “We have a great deal to thank Lady Ada Lancing for. We owe her a great debt. It’s a pity she isn’t a man or—we could pay her!”
“My God! Ada! Is it possible?” exclaimed Norman, under his breath.
“My dear young friend, anything is possible to a woman who loves another woman’s husband, and thinks she sees a chance of robbing her of him.” Then, after a moment, as the two men stood with downcast eyes, each filled with shame for this woman’s sake, he laid his hand upon Trafford’s shoulder. “This seems a suitable time for a drink,” he said.
Trafford started.
“I must go back at once!” he said, taking a step toward the door, but Varley’s hand had gripped him firmly.
“After a drink,” he said.
Trafford allowed himself to be led to the Eldorado, and Varley administered the doctor’s prescription—and liberally.
But within the hour Trafford was riding to the hut on the hills as if he were racing68 for life. Whereas he was only racing for love!
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收听单词发音
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1
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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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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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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dwelling
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harping
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| n.反复述说 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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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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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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erased
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| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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43
wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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flinch
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| v.畏缩，退缩 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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49
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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51
bungle
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| v.搞糟；n.拙劣的工作 | |
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52
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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54
gender
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| n.（生理上的）性，（名词、代词等的）性 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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57
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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58
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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59
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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60
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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63
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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