My guardian1 called me into his room next morning, and then I toldhim what had been left untold2 on the previous night. There wasnothing to be done, he said, but to keep the secret and to avoidanother such encounter as that of yesterday. He understood myfeeling and entirely3 shared it. He charged himself even withrestraining Mr. Skimpole from improving his opportunity. Oneperson whom he need not name to me, it was not now possible for himto advise or help. He wished it were, but no such thing could be.
If her mistrust of the lawyer whom she had mentioned were well-founded, which he scarcely doubted, he dreaded4 discovery. He knewsomething of him, both by sight and by reputation, and it wascertain that he was a dangerous man. Whatever happened, herepeatedly impressed upon me with anxious affection and kindness, Iwas as innocent of as himself and as unable to influence.
"Nor do I understand," said he, "that any doubts tend towards you,my dear. Much suspicion may exist without that connexion.""With the lawyer," I returned. "But two other persons have comeinto my mind since I have been anxious. Then I told him all aboutMr. Guppy, who I feared might have had his vague surmises5 when Ilittle understood his meaning, but in whose silence after our lastinterview I expressed perfect confidence.
"Well," said my guardian. "Then we may dismiss him for thepresent. Who is the other?"I called to his recollection the French maid and the eager offer ofherself she had made to me.
"Ha!" he returned thoughtfully. "That is a more alarming personthan the clerk. But after all, my dear, it was but seeking for anew service. She had seen you and Ada a little while before, andit was natural that you should come into her head. She merelyproposed herself for your maid, you know. She did nothing more.""Her manner was strange," said I.
"Yes, and her manner was strange when she took her shoes off andshowed that cool relish7 for a walk that might have ended in herdeath-bed," said my guardian. "It would be useless self-distressand torment8 to reckon up such chances and possibilities. There arevery few harmless circumstances that would not seem full ofperilous meaning, so considered. Be hopeful, little woman. Youcan be nothing better than yourself; be that, through thisknowledge, as you were before you had it. It is the best you cando for everybody's sake. I, sharing the secret with you--""And lightening it, guardian, so much," said I.
"--will be attentive9 to what passes in that family, so far as I canobserve it from my distance. And if the time should come when Ican stretch out a hand to render the least service to one whom itis better not to name even here, I will not fail to do it for herdear daughter's sake."I thanked him with my whole heart. What could I ever do but thankhim! I was going out at the door when he asked me to stay amoment. Quickly turning round, I saw that same expression on hisface again; and all at once, I don't know how, it flashed upon meas a new and far-off possibility that I understood it.
"My dear Esther," said my guardian, "I have long had something inmy thoughts that I have wished to say to you.""Indeed?""I have had some difficulty in approaching it, and I still have. Ishould wish it to be so deliberately10 said, and so deliberatelyconsidered. Would you object to my writing it?""Dear guardian, how could I object to your writing anything for MEto read?""Then see, my love," said he with his cheery smile, "am I at thismoment quite as plain and easy--do I seem as open, as honest andold-fashioned--as I am at any time?"I answered in all earnestness, "Quite." With the strictest truth,for his momentary11 hesitation12 was gone (it had not lasted a minute),and his fine, sensible, cordial, sterling13 manner was restored.
"Do I look as if I suppressed anything, meant anything but what Isaid, had any reservation at all, no matter what?" said he with hisbright clear eyes on mine.
I answered, most assuredly he did not.
"Can you fully6 trust me, and thoroughly14 rely on what I profess,Esther?""Most thoroughly," said I with my whole heart.
"My dear girl," returned my guardian, "give me your hand."He took it in his, holding me lightly with his arm, and lookingdown into my face with the same genuine freshness and faithfulnessof manner--the old protecting manner which had made that house myhome in a moment--said, "You have wrought15 changes in me, littlewoman, since the winter day in the stage-coach. First and last youhave done me a world of good since that time.""Ah, guardian, what have you done for me since that time!""But," said he, "that is not to be remembered now.""It never can be forgotten.""Yes, Esther," said he with a gentle seriousness, "it is to beforgotten now, to be forgotten for a while. You are only toremember now that nothing can change me as you know me. Can youfeel quite assured of that, my dear?""I can, and I do," I said.
"That's much," he answered. "That's everything. But I must nottake that at a word. I will not write this something in mythoughts until you have quite resolved within yourself that nothingcan change me as you know me. If you doubt that in the leastdegree, I will never write it. If you are sure of that, on goodconsideration, send Charley to me this night week--'for theletter.' But if you are not quite certain, never send. Mind, Itrust to your truth, in this thing as in everything. If you arenot quite certain on that one point, never send!""Guardian," said I, "I am already certain, I can no more be changedin that conviction than you can be changed towards me. I shallsend Charley for the letter."He shook my hand and said no more. Nor was any more said inreference to this conversation, either by him or me, through thewhole week. When the appointed night came, I said to Charley assoon as I was alone, "Go and knock at Mr. Jarndyce's door, Charley,and say you have come from me--'for the letter.'" Charley went upthe stairs, and down the stairs, and along the passages--the zig-zag way about the old-fashioned house seemed very long in mylistening ears that night--and so came back, along the passages,and down the stairs, and up the stairs, and brought the letter.
"Lay it on the table, Charley," said I. So Charley laid it on thetable and went to bed, and I sat looking at it without taking itup, thinking of many things.
I began with my overshadowed childhood, and passed through thosetimid days to the heavy time when my aunt lay dead, with herresolute face so cold and set, and when I was more solitary16 withMrs. Rachael than if I had had no one in the world to speak to orto look at. I passed to the altered days when I was so blest as tofind friends in all around me, and to be beloved. I came to thetime when I first saw my dear girl and was received into thatsisterly affection which was the grace and beauty of my life. Irecalled the first bright gleam of welcome which had shone out ofthose very windows upon our expectant faces on that cold brightnight, and which had never paled. I lived my happy life there overagain, I went through my illness and recovery, I thought of myselfso altered and of those around me so unchanged; and all thishappiness shone like a light from one central figure, representedbefore me by the letter on the table.
I opened it and read it. It was so impressive in its love for me,and in the unselfish caution it gave me, and the consideration itshowed for me in every word, that my eyes were too often blinded toread much at a time. But I read it through three times before Ilaid it down. I had thought beforehand that I knew its purport,and I did. It asked me, would I be the mistress of Bleak17 House.
It was not a love letter, though it expressed so much love, but waswritten just as he would at any time have spoken to me. I saw hisface, and heard his voice, and felt the influence of his kindprotecting manner in every line. It addressed me as if our placeswere reversed, as if all the good deeds had been mine and all thefeelings they had awakened18 his. It dwelt on my being young, and hepast the prime of life; on his having attained19 a ripe age, while Iwas a child; on his writing to me with a silvered head, and knowingall this so well as to set it in full before me for maturedeliberation. It told me that I would gain nothing by such amarriage and lose nothing by rejecting it, for no new relationcould enhance the tenderness in which he held me, and whatever mydecision was, he was certain it would be right. But he hadconsidered this step anew since our late confidence and had decidedon taking it, if it only served to show me through one poorinstance that the whole world would readily unite to falsify thestern prediction of my childhood. I was the last to know whathappiness I could bestow20 upon him, but of that he said no more, forI was always to remember that I owed him nothing and that he was mydebtor, and for very much. He had often thought of our future, andforeseeing that the time must come, and fearing that it might comesoon, when Ada (now very nearly of age) would leave us, and whenour present mode of life must be broken up, had become accustomedto reflect on this proposal. Thus he made it. If I felt that Icould ever give him the best right he could have to be myprotector, and if I felt that I could happily and justly become thedear companion of his remaining life, superior to all lighterchances and changes than death, even then he could not have me bindmyself irrevocably while this letter was yet so new to me, but eventhen I must have ample time for reconsideration. In that case, orin the opposite case, let him be unchanged in his old relation, inhis old manner, in the old name by which I called him. And as tohis bright Dame21 Durden and little housekeeper22, she would ever bethe same, he knew.
This was the substance of the letter, written throughout with ajustice and a dignity as if he were indeed my responsible guardianimpartially representing the proposal of a friend against whom inhis integrity he stated the full case.
But he did not hint to me that when I had been better looking hehad had this same proceeding23 in his thoughts and had refrained fromit. That when my old face was gone from me, and I had noattractions, he could love me just as well as in my fairer days.
That the discovery of my birth gave him no shock. That hisgenerosity rose above my disfigurement and my inheritance of shame.
That the more I stood in need of such fidelity24, the more firmly Imight trust in him to the last.
But I knew it, I knew it well now. It came upon me as the close ofthe benignant history I had been pursuing, and I felt that I hadbut one thing to do. To devote my life to his happiness was tothank him poorly, and what had I wished for the other night butsome new means of thanking him?
Still I cried very much, not only in the fullness of my heart afterreading the letter, not only in the strangeness of the prospect--for it was strange though I had expected the contents--but as ifsomething for which there was no name or distinct idea wereindefinitely lost to me. I was very happy, very thankful, veryhopeful; but I cried very much.
By and by I went to my old glass. My eyes were red and swollen,and I said, "Oh, Esther, Esther, can that be you!" I am afraid theface in the glass was going to cry again at this reproach, but Iheld up my finger at it, and it stopped.
"That is more like the composed look you comforted me with, mydear, when you showed me such a change!" said I, beginning to letdown my hair. "When you are mistress of Bleak House, you are to beas cheerful as a bird. In fact, you are always to be cheerful; solet us begin for once and for all."I went on with my hair now, quite comfortably. I sobbed25 a littlestill, but that was because I had been crying, not because I wascrying then.
"And so Esther, my dear, you are happy for life. Happy with yourbest friends, happy in your old home, happy in the power of doing agreat deal of good, and happy in the undeserved love of the best ofmen."I thought, all at once, if my guardian had married some one else,how should I have felt, and what should I have done! That wouldhave been a change indeed. It presented my life in such a new andblank form that I rang my housekeeping keys and gave them a kissbefore I laid them down in their basket again.
Then I went on to think, as I dressed my hair before the glass, howoften had I considered within myself that the deep traces of myillness and the circumstances of my birth were only new reasons whyI should be busy, busy, busy--useful, amiable26, serviceable, in allhonest, unpretending ways. This was a good time, to be sure, tosit down morbidly27 and cry! As to its seeming at all strange to meat first (if that were any excuse for crying, which it was not)that I was one day to be the mistress of Bleak House, why should itseem strange? Other people had thought of such things, if I hadnot. "Don't you remember, my plain dear," I asked myself, lookingat the glass, "what Mrs. Woodcourt said before those scars werethere about your marrying--"Perhaps the name brought them to my remembrance. The dried remainsof the flowers. It would be better not to keep them now. They hadonly been preserved in memory of something wholly past and gone,but it would be better not to keep them now.
They were in a book, and it happened to be in the next room--oursitting-room, dividing Ada's chamber28 from mine. I took a candleand went softly in to fetch it from its shelf. After I had it inmy hand, I saw my beautiful darling, through the open door, lyingasleep, and I stole in to kiss her.
It was weak in me, I know, and I could have no reason for crying;but I dropped a tear upon her dear face, and another, and another.
Weaker than that, I took the withered29 flowers out and put them fora moment to her lips. I thought about her love for Richard,though, indeed, the flowers had nothing to do with that. Then Itook them into my own room and burned them at the candle, and theywere dust in an instant.
On entering the breakfast-room next morning, I found my guardianjust as usual, quite as frank, as open, and free. There being notthe least constraint30 in his manner, there was none (or I thinkthere was none) in mine. I was with him several times in thecourse of the morning, in and out, when there was no one there, andI thought it not unlikely that he might speak to me about theletter, but he did not say a word.
So, on the next morning, and the next, and for at least a week,over which time Mr. Skimpole prolonged his stay. I expected, everyday, that my guardian might speak to me about the letter, but henever did.
I thought then, growing uneasy, that I ought to write an answer. Itried over and over again in my own room at night, but I could notwrite an answer that at all began like a good answer, so I thoughteach night I would wait one more day. And I waited seven moredays, and he never said a word.
At last, Mr. Skimpole having departed, we three were one afternoongoing out for a ride; and I, being dressed before Ada and goingdown, came upon my guardian, with his back towards me, standing31 atthe drawing-room window looking out.
He turned on my coming in and said, smiling, "Aye, it's you, littlewoman, is it?" and looked out again.
I had made up my mind to speak to him now. In short, I had comedown on purpose. "Guardian," I said, rather hesitating andtrembling, "when would you like to have the answer to the letterCharley came for?""When it's ready, my dear," he replied.
"I think it is ready," said I.
"Is Charley to bring it?" he asked pleasantly.
"No. I have brought it myself, guardian," I returned.
I put my two arms round his neck and kissed him, and he said wasthis the mistress of Bleak House, and I said yes; and it made nodifference presently, and we all went out together, and I saidnothing to my precious pet about it.
收听单词发音 |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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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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4
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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5
surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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7
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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13
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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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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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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morbidly
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| adv.病态地 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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30
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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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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