CYNTHIA turned a flushed and tear-stained face toward Eleanor, as the latter entered the boudoir and approached her couch.
“Yes.” Eleanor lifted her black crêpe veil, and, pulling out the hatpins, removed her hat and handed it to Annette, who had followed her into the room. “Take my coat, too, Annette,” she directed, “then you need not wait.” As the servant left the room she pulled a low rocking-chair up to the couch on which Cynthia was lying, and placed her hand gently on the weeping girl’s shoulder. “Are you feeling better, dear?”
“A little better.” Cynthia wiped her eyes with a dry handkerchief which Annette had placed on her couch some moments before. “Oh, Eleanor, I am so bitterly ashamed of the scene I made downstairs.”
“You need not be.” Eleanor stroked the curly, fair hair back from Cynthia’s hot forehead with loving fingers. “It was a very painful scene, and Dr. Wallace’s tribute to Senator Carew, while beautiful, was harrowing. I am not surprised you fainted, dear.”
“Mrs. Winthrop had not been through your terrible experiences of Monday night. Consequently, she had the strength to bear to-day’s ordeal3 with outward composure.”
“No, dear. The services at the grave were very simple, and, as the funeral was private, it attracted no morbid5 spectators.”
“Did anyone accompany you?”
“Just the handful of people who were here for the house services.”
“Where is Aunt Charlotte?”
“She went to her room to lie down.”
Cynthia raised herself on her elbow and glanced searchingly about the pretty sitting-room6 filled with its bird’s-eye maple7 furniture. The yellow wallpaper, with its wide border of pink roses, chintz curtains and hangings, cast a soft yellow glow, which was exceedingly becoming, as well as restful to the eye. The afternoon sunshine came through the long French windows which overlooked a broad alley8.
“Eleanor, would you mind closing the door of my bedroom,” she asked, “and please first see that—that Blanche isn’t sitting there sewing.”
Eleanor glanced curiously9 at Cynthia as she rose, crossed to the adjoining bedroom, and softly closed the door. “There is no one in your room,” she reported, on her return to her rocking-chair.
Cynthia settled back among her pillows with an air of satisfaction. “At last I have you to myself. First the trained nurse, whom I didn’t need, and then Aunt Charlotte, have always been hanging around, and I haven’t had a chance to ask you any questions.”
“What is it you wish to know?”
“Was there—was there—an autopsy10?” Noting Eleanor’s expression, she exclaimed hastily: “Now, Eleanor dear, don’t say I must not talk of Uncle James’ death. The nurse wouldn’t answer me when I spoke11 on the subject; said I must not think of the tragedy, that it was bad for me. Such nonsense! I would have asked Aunt Charlotte, but she’s been so queer lately, not in the least like her own dear self.”
“Mrs. Winthrop is living under such great strain these days, Cynthia, it’s not surprising. Her brother dead—Philip very ill——”
“They told me he was better,” hastily jerked out Cynthia, with a startled look in her big, brown eyes.
“He is, now,” Eleanor hesitated. “The doctor at first thought he might develop brain fever, but I am told all danger of that is past.”
“What is the matter with him?” persisted Cynthia. “I asked the nurse what the trouble was, but she never told me. Was his attack also caused by the shock of Uncle James’ death?”
“Yes, from shock,” answered Eleanor, mechanically. “You must not blame your aunt if her manner is distrait12; she is a very reserved woman and dreads13, above all things, letting herself go and breaking down.”
“Oh, I hope she will keep well, she has been so unhappy. I can’t bear to think of her suffering more, but,” she laid her hand pleadingly on Eleanor’s arm, “you haven’t answered my question about the autopsy.”
“Yes, they held one.”
“And what was discovered?” eagerly.
“That Senator Carew was perfectly14 well physically15, and that his death was caused by a stab from the sharp-pointed letter file.”
Cynthia suddenly covered her eyes with her hand, and lay for some minutes without speaking. “Is Hamilton still in jail?” she questioned finally.
“Yes, he is being held for the inquest.”
“Inquest?” Cynthia glanced up, startled. “I thought the inquest was over.”
“No, it hasn’t been held yet.”
“But Uncle James was buried to-day.”
“The funeral could not be postponed16, Cynthia. The doctors who performed the autopsy will testify at the inquest.”
“But I thought it was always necessary to hold the inquest after a violent death.”
“It is usually, but in this case the inquest was postponed because you and Philip, two of the most important witnesses, were too ill to attend it.”
Cynthia closed and unclosed her tapering17 fingers over her handkerchief spasmodically. “Are the detectives still hanging around the house?” she inquired.
“Yes.”
“It’s shameful18!” announced Cynthia, sitting upright, “to allow those men to intrude19 on our grief and privacy. They have arrested Hamilton for the crime, and should leave us alone.”
“They do not think Hamilton guilty.”
“Whom—whom—do they suspect?” The question seemed forced from her.
“Mr. Brett?”
“He’s the detective in charge of the case.”
“Oh, is he the tall, fine-looking man I saw talking to Joshua in the hall yesterday morning?”
“No, that was probably Douglas Hunter.”
“Douglas Hunter? Not the Douglas Hunter of the Diplomatic Corps21, whom Uncle James was forever talking about?”
“The same. Do you know him?”
“No, he has always been absent from Washington when I’ve been in the city. What is he doing here now?”
“Trying to help Mr. Brett solve the mystery of Senator Carew’s death.”
“Good Heavens! What earthly business is it of his?”
“Don’t ask me,” Eleanor’s usually tranquil22 voice was a trifle sharp. “I suppose he is hoping to win the reward offered by Mrs. Winthrop.”
“Reward?” Cynthia’s voice rose, and drowned the sound of a faint knock at the hall door.
“Yes. Your aunt announced that she would give five thousand dollars to anyone who could solve the mystery.” Cynthia was listening with absorbed attention to Eleanor, and neither noticed that the hall door was pushed open a few inches, then softly closed. “Uncle Dana told her that was too much to offer, and she reduced the sum to one thousand dollars, with the proviso that it should be increased if the first offer brought no result.”
Cynthia sighed deeply. “Why, why did she do it?” she cried passionately23. “She must be mad!”
Eleanor glanced at her companion in astonishment24. “Cynthia, you must not excite yourself,” she remonstrated25 firmly. “Otherwise, I shall leave you.”
Cynthia reached out and clutched her arm. “Don’t go,” she entreated26. “I must——” her words were interrupted by a sharp rap on the hall door. “Come in.”
In response Annette opened the door. “Pardon, Mademoiselle, but it is five o’clock, and I thought you might like your tea up here instead of downstairs.”
“Capital, Annette,” exclaimed Eleanor, as the maid entered carrying a tray. “Wait a moment, and I will get that small table.” Deftly27 she removed the books and magazines, and then carried the table over to the couch. Annette put a tray laden28 with tempting29 sandwiches, small cakes, the teapot and its accessories, on the table, then bent30 over and arranged Cynthia’s pillows at her back with practiced hand.
“Mademoiselle is more comfortable, n’est-ce pas?” she asked briskly.
“Yes, indeed, Annette,” Cynthia nodded gratefully at the Frenchwoman.
“Have you everything you wish, Mademoiselle Eleanor?”
“Yes, Annette, thank you. If I want anything more I will ring.”
“Be sure and close the door, Annette,” directed Cynthia, “I am afraid of a draft”; and she looked around until she saw her order obeyed.
“Have a sandwich?” asked Eleanor, handing the dish and a plate to Cynthia.
“I’d rather eat good sandwiches than solid food,” announced Cynthia, after a pause, helping31 herself to another portion.
“Solid?” echoed Eleanor. “I call pâté de foie gras and deviled ham pretty solid eating, Cynthia; especially when taken in bulk,” glancing quizzically at the rapidly diminishing pile.
“Don’t begrudge32 me these crumbs33.” Cynthia’s smile was followed by a sigh. “I’ve lived on slops for three days. Why are you giving me such weak tea, Eleanor? I loathe34 it made that way.”
“I am afraid to make it stronger, Cynthia, it will keep you awake.”
“I don’t want to sleep; I’d give anything not to sleep!”
“Why, Cynthia!”
“If I could really sleep—drop into oblivion—I would like it, but instead I dream, and, oh, God! I fear my dream.”
Eleanor laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Lie down,” she commanded, “and compose yourself.”
Cynthia lay back on her pillows, panting a little from her exertion35, the color coming and going in her winsome36 face.
“I would give anything, Eleanor, if I had your tranquil disposition,” she said, more quietly. “I cannot help my temperament37. My mother was Scotch38 to the fingertips, and, I have been told, had the gift of second-sight—although I sometimes doubt if such a thing is a gift.”
“Perhaps I can understand better than you think,” said Eleanor gently. “My mother was Irish, and the Irish, you know, are just as great believers in the supernatural as the Scotch.”
“You always understand,” Cynthia bent forward and kissed her friend warmly. “That’s why you are such a comfort. Let me tell you why I am so nervous and unstrung. Since a little child I have been obsessed39 by one dream, it is always the same, and always precedes disaster.” She sighed, drearily40. “I had it just before my grandmother’s death; then before my uncle, Mr. Winthrop, killed himself; and on Sunday night I had it again.” She shuddered41 as she spoke.
“What is your dream?”
“It is this way: I may be sleeping soundly, when suddenly I see a door—a door which stands out vividly42 in a shadowy space, which might be a room, or hallway—the door is white and the panels are in the shape of a cross, so”—illustrating her meaning with her arms—“I hear a cry—the cry of a soul in torment—I rush to the rescue, always to find the door locked, and wake myself beating on the empty air”—she shuddered as she spoke, and drew her kimono closer about her. “I awake cold and trembling from head to foot.”
“You poor darling,” Eleanor took the limp form in her arms with a gesture of infinite understanding and compassion44.
“I had the dream Sunday night,” sobbed45 Cynthia, “then Monday, when I thought we could announce our engagement——”
“Whose engagement?” asked a quiet voice behind the pair. Startled, Eleanor wheeled around to find Mrs. Winthrop standing43 behind her, as Cynthia slipped from her arms and buried her head in the friendly cushions, her slender form shaking with convulsive sobs46.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
ordeal
|
|
| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
cemetery
|
|
| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
morbid
|
|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
maple
|
|
| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
alley
|
|
| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
autopsy
|
|
| n.尸体解剖；尸检 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
distrait
|
|
| adj.心不在焉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
dreads
|
|
| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
physically
|
|
| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
postponed
|
|
| 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） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
tapering
|
|
| adj.尖端细的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
shameful
|
|
| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
intrude
|
|
| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
confided
|
|
| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
corps
|
|
| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
tranquil
|
|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
passionately
|
|
| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
remonstrated
|
|
| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
entreated
|
|
| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
deftly
|
|
| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
laden
|
|
| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
tempting
|
|
| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
begrudge
|
|
| vt.吝啬，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
crumbs
|
|
| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
loathe
|
|
| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
exertion
|
|
| n.尽力，努力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
winsome
|
|
| n.迷人的，漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
scotch
|
|
| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
obsessed
|
|
| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
drearily
|
|
| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
vividly
|
|
| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
sobbed
|
|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
sobs
|
|
| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |