On such a day there could be few more undesirable7 abodes8 than Normanthorpe House, with its marble floors, its high ceilings, and its general scheme of Italian coolness and discomfort. It was a Tuesday, when Mr. Steel usually amused himself by going on 'Change in Northborough and lunching there at the Delverton Club. Rachel was thus not only physically9 chilled and depressed10, but thrown upon her own society at its worst; and she missed that of her husband more than she was aware.
Once she had been a bright and energetic person with plenty of resources within herself; now she had singularly few. She was distraught and uneasy in her mind, could settle less and less to her singing or a book, and was the victim of an increasing restlessness of mind and limb. Others did not see it; she had self-control; but repression11 was no cure. And for all this there were reasons enough; but the fear of identification by the neighbors as the notorious Mrs. Minchin was no longer one of them.
No; it was her own life, root and branch, that had grown into the upas-tree which was poisoning existence for Rachel Steel. She was being punished for her second marriage as she had been punished for her first, only more deservedly, and with more subtle stripes. Each day brought a dozen tokens of the anomalous12 position which she had accepted in the madness of an hour of utter recklessness and desperation. Rachel was not mistress in her own house, nor did she feel for a moment that it was her own house at all. Everything was done for her; a skilled housekeeper13 settled the smallest details; and that these were perfect alike in arrangement and execution, that the said housekeeper was a woman of irreproachable14 tact15 and capability16, and that she herself had never an excuse for concrete complaint, formed a growing though intangible grievance17 in Rachel's mind. She had not felt it at first. She had changed in these summer months. She wanted to be more like other wives. There was Morna Woodgate, with the work cut out for every hour of her full and happy days; but Morna had not made an anomalous marriage, Morna had married for love.
And to-day there was not even Morna to come and see her, or for her to go and see, for Tuesday afternoon was not one of the few upon which the vicar's wife had no settled duty or occupation in the parish. Rachel so envied her the way in which she helped her husband in his work; she had tried to help also, in a desultory18 way; but it is one thing to do a thing because it is a duty, and another thing to do it for something to do, as Rachel soon found out. Besides, Hugh Woodgate was not her husband. Rachel had the right feeling to abandon those half-hearted attempts at personal recreation in the guise19 of good works, and the courage to give Morna her reasons; but she almost regretted it this afternoon.
She had explored for the twentieth time that strange treasury20 known as the Chinese Room, a state apartment filled with loot brought home from the Flowery Land by a naval21 scion22 of the house of Normanthorpe, and somewhat cynically23 included in the sale. The idols24 only leered in Rachel's face, and the cabinets of grotesque25 design were unprovided with any key to their history of former uses. In sheer desperation Rachel betook herself to her husband's study; it was the first time she had crossed that threshold in his absence, but within were the books, and a book she must have.
These also had been purchased with the house. With few exceptions, they were ancient books in battered26 calf27, which Steel had stigmatized28 as "musty trash" once when Rachel had asked him if she might take one. She had not made that request again; indeed, it was seldom enough that she had set foot inside the spacious29 room which the old books lined, and in which the master of the house disliked being disturbed. Yet it was anything but trash which she now discovered upon the dusty shelves.
There was Tom Jones in four volumes and the Spectator in eight, Gil Blas and the works of Swift, all with the long "s," and backs like polished oak; in the lower shelves were Hogarth and Gillray in rare folios; at every level and on either hand were books worth taking out. But this was almost all that Rachel did; she took them out and put them in again, for that was her unsettled mood. She spent some minutes over the Swifts, but not sufficiently30 attracted to march off with them. The quaint31, obsolete32 type of the various volumes attracted her more as a curiosity than as readable print; the coarse satires33 of the early masters of caricature and cartoon did not attract her at all. Rachel's upbringing had deprived her of the traditions, the superstitions34, and the shibboleths35 which are at once a strength and a weakness of the ordinary English education; if, however, she was too much inclined to take a world's masterpiece exactly as she found it, her taste, such as it was, at all events was her own.
She had naturally an open mind, but it was not open now; it was full and running over with the mysteries and the perplexities of her own environment. Books would not take her out of herself; in them she could not hope to find a key to any one of the problems within problems which beset36 and tortured her. So she ran her hand along the dusty books, little dreaming that the key was there all the time; so in the end, and quite by chance, but for the fact that she was dipping into so many, she took out the right book, and started backward with it in her hand.
The book was The Faerie Queene, and Rachel had extracted it in a Gothic spirit, because she had once heard that very few living persons had read it from end to end; since she could not become interested in anything, she might as well be thoroughly37 bored. But she never opened the volume, for in the dark slit38 which it left something shone like a little new moon. Rachel put in her hand, and felt a small brass39 handle; to turn and pull it was the work of her hand without a guiding thought; but when tiers of books swung towards her with the opening door which they hid, it was not in human nature to shut that door again without so much as peeping in.
Rachel first peeped, then stepped, into a secret chamber40 as disappointing at the first glance as such a place could possibly be. It was deep in dust, and filled with packing-cases not half unpacked41, a lumber-room and nothing more. The door swung to with a click behind her as Rachel stood in the midst of this uninteresting litter, and instinctively42 she turned round. That instant she stood rooted to the ground, her eyes staring, her chin fallen, a dreadful fear in every feature of her face.
It was not that her second husband had followed and discovered her; it was the face of her first husband that looked upon Rachel Steel, his bold eyes staring into hers, through the broken glass of a fly-blown picture-frame behind the door.
The portrait was not hanging from the wall, but resting against it on the floor. It was a photographic enlargement in colors, and the tinted43 eyes looked up at Rachel with all the bold assurance that she remembered so keenly in the perished flesh. She had not an instant's doubt about those eyes; they spoke44 in a way that made her shiver; and yet the photograph was that of a much younger man than she had married. It was Alexander Minchin with mutton-chop whiskers, his hair parted in the middle, and the kind of pin in the kind of tie which had been practically obsolete for years; it was none the less indubitably and indisputably Alexander Minchin.
And indeed that fact alone was enough to shake Rachel's nerves; her discovery had all the shock of an unwelcome encounter with the living. But it was the gradual appreciation45 of the true significance of her discovery that redoubled Rachel's qualms46 even as she was beginning to get the better of them. So they had been friends, her first husband and her second! Rachel stooped and looked hard at the enlargement, and there sure enough was the photographer's imprint47. Yes, they had been friends in Australia, that country which John Buchanan Steel elaborately and repeatedly pretended never to have visited in all his travels!
Rachel could have smiled as she drew herself up with this point settled in her mind for ever; why, the room reeked48 of Australia! These cases had never been properly unpacked, they were overflowing49 with memorials of the life which she herself knew so well. Here a sheaf of boomerangs were peeping out; there was an old gray wide-awake, with a blue-silk fly-veil coiled above the brim; that was an Australian saddle; and those glass cases contained samples of merino wool. So it was in Australia as a squatter50 that Steel had made his fortune! But why suppress a fact so free from all discredit51? These were just the relics52 of a bush life which a departing colonist53 might care to bring home with him to the old country. Then why cast them into a secret lumber-room whose very existence was unknown to the old Australian's Australian wife?
Rachel felt her brain reeling; and yet she was thankful for the light which had been vouchsafed54 to her at last. It was but a lantern flash through the darkness, which seemed the more opaque55 for that one thin beam of light; but it was something, a beginning, a clew. For the rest she was going straight to the man who had kept her so long in such unnecessary ignorance.
Why had he not told her about Australia, at all events? What conceivable harm could that have done? It would have been the strongest possible bond between them. But Rachel went further as she thought more. Why not have told her frankly56 that he had known Alexander Minchin years before she did herself? It could have made no difference after Alexander Minchin's death; then why had he kept the fact so jealously to himself? And the dead man's painted eyes answered "Why?" with the bold and mocking stare his wife could not forget, a stare which at that moment assumed a new and sinister57 significance in her sight.
Rachel looked upward through the window, which was barred, and almost totally eclipsed by shrubs58; but a clout59 of sky was just visible under the architrave. It was a very gray sky; gray also was Rachel's face in the sudden grip of horror and surmise60. Then a ragged61 edge of cloud caught golden fire, a glimmer62 found its way into the dust and dirt of the secret chamber, and Rachel relaxed with a slight smile but an exceedingly decided63 shake of the head. Thereafter she escaped incontinently, but successfully, as she had entered; closed the hidden door behind her, and restored The Faerie Queene very carefully to its place. Rachel no longer proposed to join the select band of those who have read that epic64 through.
点击收听单词发音
1 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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2 outrage | |
n.暴行,侮辱,愤怒;vt.凌辱,激怒 | |
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3 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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4 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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5 entice | |
v.诱骗,引诱,怂恿 | |
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6 bracing | |
adj.令人振奋的 | |
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7 undesirable | |
adj.不受欢迎的,不良的,不合意的,讨厌的;n.不受欢迎的人,不良分子 | |
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8 abodes | |
住所( abode的名词复数 ); 公寓; (在某地的)暂住; 逗留 | |
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9 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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10 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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11 repression | |
n.镇压,抑制,抑压 | |
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12 anomalous | |
adj.反常的;不规则的 | |
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13 housekeeper | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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14 irreproachable | |
adj.不可指责的,无过失的 | |
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15 tact | |
n.机敏,圆滑,得体 | |
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16 capability | |
n.能力;才能;(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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17 grievance | |
n.怨愤,气恼,委屈 | |
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18 desultory | |
adj.散漫的,无方法的 | |
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19 guise | |
n.外表,伪装的姿态 | |
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20 treasury | |
n.宝库;国库,金库;文库 | |
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21 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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22 scion | |
n.嫩芽,子孙 | |
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23 cynically | |
adv.爱嘲笑地,冷笑地 | |
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24 idols | |
偶像( idol的名词复数 ); 受崇拜的人或物; 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物; 神像 | |
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25 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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26 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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27 calf | |
n.小牛,犊,幼仔,小牛皮 | |
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28 stigmatized | |
v.使受耻辱,指责,污辱( stigmatize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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30 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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31 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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32 obsolete | |
adj.已废弃的,过时的 | |
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33 satires | |
讽刺,讥讽( satire的名词复数 ); 讽刺作品 | |
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34 superstitions | |
迷信,迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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35 shibboleths | |
n.(党派、集团等的)准则( shibboleth的名词复数 );教条;用语;行话 | |
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36 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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37 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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38 slit | |
n.狭长的切口;裂缝;vt.切开,撕裂 | |
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39 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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40 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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41 unpacked | |
v.从(包裹等)中取出(所装的东西),打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 );拆包;解除…的负担;吐露(心事等) | |
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42 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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43 tinted | |
adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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44 spoke | |
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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45 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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46 qualms | |
n.不安;内疚 | |
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47 imprint | |
n.印痕,痕迹;深刻的印象;vt.压印,牢记 | |
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48 reeked | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
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49 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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50 squatter | |
n.擅自占地者 | |
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51 discredit | |
vt.使不可置信;n.丧失信义;不信,怀疑 | |
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52 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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53 colonist | |
n.殖民者,移民 | |
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54 vouchsafed | |
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 );允诺 | |
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55 opaque | |
adj.不透光的;不反光的,不传导的;晦涩的 | |
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56 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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57 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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58 shrubs | |
灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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59 clout | |
n.用手猛击;权力,影响力 | |
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60 surmise | |
v./n.猜想,推测 | |
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61 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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62 glimmer | |
v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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63 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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64 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
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