"No, sir! Oh, mercy me, what's the matter? What has happened?" she cried, for his face showed undisguised terror and agitation4. He sat down in the dining-room and asked for a glass of wine. Having drunk it at a gulp5, he said, "I cannot understand it. I have been nearly to Whitford along the meadow-path; I didn't try the other way, but then she would not have wandered towards Duckwell, surely! Then I crossed the fields and came back by the road, looking everywhere, and asking every one I met. Nothing to be seen of her. Your mistress's manner has been so strange of late. You must have noticed it. I—I—am afraid—I cannot help being afraid that some terrible thing has happened to her. I have had a dreadful weight and presentiment7 on my mind all the morning. Where can she be?"
"Oh no, no, sir. Never fear! She'll be all safe somewheres or other. She'll just have gone wandering on into the town. She have been strange in her ways, poor thing! and we couldn't but see it, sir. But she can't have come to no harm. There's nothing to hurt her here-about."
Thus honest Polly, consolingly. But she was infected, too, by the terror in her master's white face.
"You don't know," said he tremulously, "what reason I have for uneasiness." He drew out from his pocket-book a torn scrap8 of paper with some writing on it. "I found this on the floor by her desk this morning. This is what alarmed me so before I went out, but I wouldn't say anything about it then."
Polly stared at the paper with eager curiosity, but the sharp, slanting9 writing puzzled her eyes, never quite at their ease with the alphabet in any shape. "Is it missus's writing?" she asked.
"Yes; see, she talks of being so wretched. Why, God knows! Her mind has been quite unhinged. That is the only explanation. And, you see, she says, 'It will not be long before this misery10 is at an end. I cannot live on as I am living. I will not.'"
"Lord, ha' mercy upon us!" ejaculated the woman, on whom the full force of her master's anxiety and alarm suddenly broke. Her round ruddy cheeks grew almost as white as his, and Lydia, who had been peeping and listening at the door, burst out crying, and began uttering a series of incoherent phrases.
"Hold your noise!" said Polly roughly. "There's troubles enough without you. Now look ye here, sir. I'll put on my bonnet11 and go right down into Whitford. You take a look along Whit6 Meadow up Duckwell way. I bet ten pounds she's there somewhere's about. She has taken to going about through the fields, hasn't she, Lydia? Oh, hold your noise, and try and do something to help, you whimpering fool!"
Polly's violent excitement and trepidation12 took a practical form, whilst the other woman was utterly13 helpless. She was bidden to stay at home and "receive missus," and tell her that master was come back, and beg her "to bide14 still in the house, until he should return."
"But I'm afraid she'll never come back!" sobbed15 Lydia. "I'm so frightened to stop here by myself."
"Ugh, you great silly! Haven't you got no feeling for the poor husband? He looks scared well-nigh to death, poor lad. And as for you, it ain't much you care what's become of missus. You never had a good word for her. You're only crying because you're a coward."
Meanwhile Algernon sat in the little dining-room, with a strange sensation, as if every muscle in his body had been turned into lead. He must get up, and go out as the woman had said. He must! But there he sat with that sensation of marvellous weight holding him down in his chair. The house was absolutely still. Lydia, unable to remain alone in the kitchen, had gone to stand at the front door and stare up and down the road. Thus she heard nothing of footsteps approaching the house at the back, coming hurriedly through the garden, and pausing at the threshold of the door, which was open.
Presently, after some muttered conversation, in which two or three voices took part, a man entered the house and came along the passage, looking, as he went, into the kitchen and finding no one. Just as he reached the door of the dining-room, Algernon came out and confronted him.
"There's been an accident, sir, I'm sorry to say," said the man. "The alarm was given up our way about an hour and a half ago. Somebody's fallen into the Whit. I'm very sorry, sir, but I'm afraid you must prepare for bad news."
Whilst he was still speaking, the house had filled with an ever-gathering crowd. People stood in the passage, peeping over each other's shoulders, and pushing to get a glimpse of Algernon. There were even faces pressed to the windows outside, and the garden was blocked up. Polly had come hurrying back from the town, and now elbowed her way through the crowd to her master. She soon cleared the passage of the throng16 of idlers who blocked it up, and shut them outside the door by main force. They still swarmed17 about the house and garden, both on the side of the road and that of Whit Meadow. And their numbers increased every minute. Polly pulled the man who had been spokesman into the dining-room, and bade him say what he had to say without further preamble18. "It's no use 'preparing' him," she said, pointing to Algernon, who had sunk into a chair, and was holding his forehead with his hands; "you'll only make it worse. I'm afraid you can't tell him anything dreadfuller than he's got into his head already. Speak out!"
Thus requested, the man, a carpenter of Pudcombe village, told his tale. Some men, working in the fields about a mile above Whitford—half a mile, perhaps, from Ivy Lodge, had heard cries for help from the meadows near the river. He, the carpenter, happened to be passing along a field path from a farmhouse19 where he had been at work, and ran with the labourers down to the water's edge. There they saw David Powell, the Methodist preacher, wildly shouting for help, and with clothes dripping wet. He had waded20 waist-deep into the Whit to try to save some one who was drowning there, but in vain. He could not swim, and the current had carried the drowning person out of his reach. "You know," said the carpenter, "there are some ugly swirls21 and currents in the Whit, for all it looks so sluggish22." A boat had been got out and manned, and had made all speed in the direction Powell pointed23 out. He insisted on accompanying them in his wet clothes. They searched the river for some time in vain. They had got as far as Duckwell Reach when they caught sight of a dark object close in shore. It was the form of a woman. Her clothes had caught in the broken stump24 of an old willow25 that grew half in the water; and she was thus held there, swinging to and fro with the current. She was taken out and carried to Duckwell Farm, where every effort had been made to restore her to consciousness. Powell understood the best methods to employ. The Seth Maxfields had done everything in their power, but it was no use. She had never moved, nor breathed, nor quivered an eyelash.
That was the substance of the carpenter's story.
"Is she dead?" asked Algernon with his face hidden. They were the first words he had spoken. And when the man answered with a mournful but positive "Yes; quite, quite dead," he said not a syllable26 further, but turned away from them, and buried his head in the cushions of the chair.
"He hasn't even asked who the woman was!" whispered the carpenter to Polly. The tears were streaming down the woman's cheeks. Castalia had not made herself beloved in her own house, but Polly had felt the sort of regard for her which grows by acts of kindness, and forbearance and compassion27, performed. She shook her head, and answered in an equally low tone, "No need for him to ask, poor young fellow. We've all been fearing something dreadful about missus all morning. And he had his reasons for being afraid as she had gone and done something desperate."
"What—you don't mean that she made away with herself?" said the carpenter, raising his hands.
"Oh, that's more than you and I know. Best say nothing. How can we judge? Poor soul! Well, I always did feel sorry for her, and that I'll say. Though, mind you, I'm sorry for him too. But there's some folks as can't stroke the dog without kicking the cat."
The news spread rapidly through Whitford, and caused the utmost excitement there. Mrs. Algernon Errington had been found drowned in the Whit. How—whether by accident or design—no one knew. But that did not prevent people from hazarding a thousand conjectures28. She had wandered out alone, had ventured too near the edge of the slippery bank, and had lost her footing. She had been robbed and thrown into the river. She had committed suicide from ungovernable jealousy29. She had committed suicide in a fit of insanity30. She had become a hypochondriac. She had gone raving31 mad. She had committed various frauds at the post-office, and had killed herself in terror at the prospect32 of their coming to light. This latter hypothesis found much credence33. So many circumstances—trifling, perhaps, in themselves, but important when massed together—seemed to corroborate34 it. And then, if that did not seem an adequate motive35 for the desperate deed, Castalia's notorious and passionate36 jealousy was thrown in as a make-weight. There would be a coroner's inquest, of course. And the chief witness at it would probably be David Powell. It appeared he was the last person who had seen the unfortunate woman alive.
Mrs. Thimbleby was in terrible affliction. Mr. Powell was very ill. He had plunged37 into the ice-cold river, and had then remained for hours in his wet clothes. He had not been able to walk back from Duckwell Farm, and Farmer Maxfield had brought him home himself in his spring-cart, and had bidden widow Thimbleby look after him a little, for he (Maxfield) thought the preacher in a very bad way. He was seized with violent fits of shivering, and the doctor whom Mrs. Thimbleby sent for to see him, on her own responsibility, told them to get him into bed at once, to keep him warm, and to administer certain remedies which he ordered. But no word would Powell speak about his ailments38 to the doctor, or to anyone else. He waved off all questions with a determined39 though gentle resolution. He allowed himself to be helped into bed, being absolutely unable to stand or walk without assistance. And he did not refuse the warm clothing which the widow heaped upon him. He lay still and passive, but he would say no word of his symptoms and sensations to the doctor. "The man can in no wise help me," he said to Mrs. Thimbleby. "All the wisdom of this world is foolishness to one whom the Lord has laid his hands on. I am bowed as a reed; yea, I am broken."
His voice was hoarse40 and feeble, and his eyes blazed with a feverish41 light. The widow found it vain to importune42 him to swallow the medicines that had been sent. In her heart she had some misgivings43 that it might be wrong to interfere44 in the dealings of Providence45 with so holy a man, by administering drugs to him. But the misgivings never reached a point of conviction that might have comforted her.
"I'll leave you quiet awhile, Mr. Powell," she said. "Maybe you'll sleep, and that would do you more good than anything. Sleep is God's own cure for a many troubles, isn't it?"
He looked at her with a wild unrecognising stare. "When I say my bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint, then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions," he murmured.
The good woman softly went away, wiping the tears from her eyes. "One thing is a mercy," said the poor soul to herself, "and that is, that Mr. Diamond is so kind and thoughtful. He gives no trouble, and is a help on the contrary. And I'm sure I don't know how we should have managed without his arm to help Mr. Powell upstairs. And another thing is a mercy—I hope it isn't wrong to feel it so!—that Mrs. Errington is out of the house. I do not know how I should have been strengthened to keep up and attend upon her, and she in such a way, poor thing! The Lord has had pity on us for Mr. Powell's sake."
Minnie Bodkin had driven to Mrs. Thimbleby's house early in the afternoon, and taken Mrs. Errington away with her. Mrs. Errington had rushed to Ivy Lodge under the first shock of the terrible news which Mr. Smith, the surgeon, communicated to her. She had seen her son for a few minutes. Her intention had been to remain with him, but this he would not allow. He had insisted on his mother's returning to her own lodgings46 after a very brief interview with him.
"No wonder he can't bear to have her about, though she is his mother. Tiresome47 old thing!" exclaimed Lydia, peevishly48.
But if Algernon got rid of his mother as quickly as possible, he refused to admit any one else at all, and remained shut up in the dining-room, whither he had had a sofa carried, meaning to sleep there. He had been obliged to receive Seth Maxfield, who came to ask when and how he would wish his wife's body conveyed from Duckwell Farm to Whitford. "Can't she stay there?" he had asked in a dazed sort of manner. Then added quickly, turning away his head, "I'll leave it all to you. You've been very good. You've done everything for the best, I am sure." And he put out his hand to the farmer with his face still turned away. And later on he had had to see some officials about the inquest. But after that was over, he locked his door, and refused to open it except to Polly, when she brought him food. He ate almost ravenously49, drank a great deal of wine, and then lay down and dozed50 away the hours until dawn next day.
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1
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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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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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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preamble
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| n.前言；序文 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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swirls
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| n.旋转( swirl的名词复数 )；卷状物；漩涡；尘旋v.旋转，打旋( swirl的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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31
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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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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corroborate
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| v.支持，证实，确定 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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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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37
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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40
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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41
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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42
importune
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| v.强求；不断请求 | |
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43
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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44
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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45
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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46
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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47
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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48
peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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49
ravenously
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| adv.大嚼地，饥饿地 | |
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50
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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