“He’s pretty well bunged up an’ has swallered an almighty2 lot o’ salt water; but that’ll do him good an’ cure the bruises3. Why, I shouldn’t wonder,” continued Uncle Jake, gradually talking himself into positiveness, “ef he was jumpin’ ’round by day after to-morrer, as spry as a two-year-old. He ain’t a sailor. I kind er guess he was a passenger aboard some ’long-shore craft. That wrecked4 stuff looked like it belonged to some Down East schooner5. I hope it warn’t Bill Dempster’s. Now, Mirandy, you take good keer o’ this here chap an’ p’r’aps he’ll be a-buckin’ up to yer, when he’s so’s to be ’round.”
[41]Miranda and Miss Sullivan smiled. Uncle Jake was evidently a little more concerned than he pretended, and chatted to keep up their spirits. Once or twice when the bearers paused to shift hands or rest a moment, their burden seemed to make a futile6 attempt toward life. There was a tremor8 of eyelid9 and lip—perhaps a slight unclosing of the eye. Still, if there was any change, deathliness soon came again.
Miss Sullivan and Miranda ran on to make preparations.
“I think,” said the latter, “that we’d better put him in your room, if you still mean to go, as you decided10 yesterday.”
“I must go,” replied the other, with a quick intaking of the breath, “unless I can be of some service to this gentleman.” Was it her fine instinct that had recognised the gentleman?
“I don’t see what you can do more than mother and I will—except that you have kinder, pleasanter ways,” Miranda assured her. “P’r’aps this man will turn out to be a sailor ’long shore, after all, and we’ll know how to nuss him better than you would.”
“Well,” said Miss Sullivan, “we shall see;” but it was evident that in her heart she was quite certain he was no sailor.
Mrs. Dempster flurried about and had everything ready in the invalid’s room by the time Uncle Jake arrived. The three men carried their burden into[42] his hospital, while the women waited anxiously for a report. Life or Death?
Old Dempster and Dan’l at this moment returned from catching11 and feeding White Socks and preparing the buggy for Miss Sullivan’s journey. While they were hearing the history of the rescue, Uncle Jake came out with a cheerful look.
“He ain’t no sailor,” he announced. “Here’s his pocket-book with three hundred an’ fifty dollars in gold. You just take that, old woman, and don’t let Dan’l use any on ’em for buttons to his new swaller-tail. Wal, Miss Sullivan, I guess your man’ll git well. He’s breathin’ reg’lar, but don’t seem to know nothin’ yit.”
Miranda went to take her place as nurse by the bedside. By-and-by, her mother needing her for a few moments, she called Miss Sullivan.
The wrecked man was beginning to stir about uneasily. He murmured and muttered names, evidently those uppermost in his waking thought. Life was struggling to regain12 voluntary control. He was feverish13. Miss Sullivan gave him from time to time spoonfuls of stimulant14; his weakness and exhaustion15 needed this. It was a new position for her, and she managed rather awkwardly,—more awkwardly than one would have expected who knew her usual deftness16. Once, when his eyes again half opened, she shrank away, and when he again became delirious17 and rejected his restorative and went on speaking[43] wildly and incoherently, mingling18 names, words of hate and words of love and words of dreary19 despair, she burst into a sudden passion of excited tears and called Miranda to come immediately and relieve her. She evidently was not fit to be a calm nurse to the stranger: a fact sufficiently20 curious, since her temperament21 was quite the nursely one. But perhaps she was too much concerned for her protégé.
The afternoon hastened away. The sufferer seemed momentarily improving. He had now fallen into a quiet sleep. Mr. Dempster appeared to ask the plans of his guest—to go or not to go?
Miss Sullivan said she felt that she could be of no real service; she was, of course, much interested in the final recovery of her waif, but she could have news of him from Miranda; she ought not to detain her friends at Loggerly.
What she did not say, in spite of a somewhat evident anxiety to find reasons for departure, was that she did not dare trust herself to encounter the stranger on his recovery, so shaken was she by certain inward tremors22, so prostrated23 in strength and spirits—the result, no doubt, of her efforts in his behalf. An instinct of self-protection urged to flight. She gave the word, “Go.”
White Socks and the buggy came to the door. Dan’l stepped forward with a bunch of hollyhocks, pink, yellow, and purple. He got a very unexpected kiss—unexpected by giver and receiver.
[44]“Thank you for your boots, Dan’l. I could not have gone a step without them.”
There was a very blushing Dan’l, a very pensive24 Dan’l, a very manly25 Dan’l, a very like-a-first-lover Dan’l, about the premises26 that evening. He doubled his fists and said “Durn it!” very often, but always ended with a pleased smile. Dan’l was having his first glimpses into fairyland; his world seemed enchanted27, as he wandered out through the ferns to sunset—strawberries his pretence29.
Everyone was sorry to part with Miss Sullivan. With Miranda especially, her adieux were most affectionate. These two had been engaged in the romantic duty of saving a life.
“Write me every day, Miranda,” were Miss Sullivan’s last words, and she quite blushed as she uttered them. “Write me every day and tell me how he does.”
Old Dempster drove her away in the delicious summer evening. White Socks made good play and brought them into Loggerly at late twilight30.
All the party greeted Miss Sullivan cordially and gaily31 asked her experiences of storm life. She did not dwell upon her share in the rescue—some occult influence seemed to hold her back from speaking of it—and soon retired32. Extreme fatigue33 saved her from the excitement of dreams, and she sank into the blessedness of a sleep undisturbed by storminess either from within or without. Sleep and[45] change of scene will draw a blank between her and the adventures of to-day: but she will hardly forget them. Mad storms by the maddened sea are not daily events in the lives of quiet ladies of fortune; nor does it happen to every promenader by a beach to be the point of safety whither a returning wanderer may drift away from his death.
After Miss Sullivan’s disappearance34, her companions all talked of her, as people always do of the dear departed.
“Odd idea, that of hers—to go out in the wet,” observed Gyas. “How would you and I look, old Clo, taking a picturesque35 ducking?”
“Did anyone ever see you doing anything picturesque, Mr. Cutus?” inquired Miss Julia innocently.
“Pictures are done of him—lots of ’em by Scalper,” said Cloanthus. “Scalper says his name describes him exactly—he’s the best guy he can find. There—I wouldn’t have told that, Gyas, if you hadn’t called me old Clo. You know I don’t like nicknames.”
“I wonder Miss Sullivan never married,” remarked someone, to end this controversy36.
“Miss Sullivan has not been rich very long,” said Mrs. Wilkes, in a tone to indicate that no further explanation was needed; “only since the death of her step-father. He had some property in Chicago which suddenly became of enormous value. He left[46] everything to her. You know her own family were great people once, but lost caste and wealth by a transaction of her father’s. After that, she was obliged to teach in a public school for a while. Then she became governess to Clara Waddie and Diana, Mr. Waddie’s ward7. When they went to Europe, she came to us.”
“Yes!” said Julia, with ardency37. “I was an immense little fool, till then. But, mamma, wasn’t there a story of a love affair of hers, while she was young?”
“Horace Belden hinted something of the kind,” replied her mother, “and that he was the object. But he is very willing to claim conquests. As soon as the news of her great inheritance came, while she was with us in Paris, Mr. Belden called upon her. He pretended great surprise that she was our governess and regret that he had not seen his old friend before.”
“He knew it, I’m sure he did!” cried Julia. “Miss Sullivan and I met him twice in the Louvre, and both times he dodged—palpably. I could not understand why.”
“Well,” continued Mrs. Wilkes, serenely38 picking up her story where she had been interrupted, “with the news of the fortune came Mr. Belden. Miss Sullivan was in the salon39 with me. He went up to her with that soft manner which he thinks so irresistible40. ‘My dear Miss Mary,’ he said, ‘I[47] had no idea that you were here with my friends. Permit me to be among the first to congratulate you. It seems that the Fates do not always err28 in distributing their good gifts. How long it is since we have met! Where have you been this age?’ Mary received him rather icily; and afterwards she would never speak of him, except to say that they were neighbours in childhood. I suspect that it was merely his slights during her poverty that displeased41 her—I don’t believe she was ever in love with him.”
“Yes, my dear,” babbled43 the good, gossipy Mrs. Wilkes, “and she liked him, as débutantes are very apt to like men of the world; but Clara Waddie and Diana and Miss Sullivan were always together, and whenever Mr. Belden went, he found his ‘old friend’ cool and distant as possible. I don’t think Mary ever spoke44 of him to Diana, but there came a sudden end of sentimental45 tête-à-têtes such as they had had in Switzerland, and when he proposed to Diana to go off and look at some picture, or point of view, she always made it a condition to invite Miss Sullivan.”
“Ah, these duennas!” said the brave Gyas, who had frequently found his bravery of heart and toilet to become naught46 in their presence. “But who is this Diana? Is her other name Moonshine? I know[48] everybody and don’t know her. Where did you pick her up?”
“Pick her up!” exclaimed Julia, in wrath47. “Diana! Why, she would hardly touch anyone with her parasol, except for friendship’s sake—and she’s the dearest girl! You’ll see her this summer, but she won’t let you talk to her, because you are not agreeable enough,” and Miss Julia blushed a little the next moment and was sorry for her wrath at the brave Gyas.
“Of course; she is very rich. She owns Texas,” replied Julia confidently.
“Texas!” echoed Cloanthus, bewildered by the spacious49 thought. “Isn’t that a state or a country, or a part of Mexico, or something?”
“Perhaps it is,” admitted Julia; “perhaps she only owns half of it. But I am sure I’ve heard her speak of riding for a day over her own land.”
Mrs. Wilkes was now asleep in her chair—hence, and hence only, her silence. She awoke suddenly and reminded her friends of their early morning start. They separated for the night.
Next day, when the conductor of the railroad train came to Miss Sullivan for her fare, she transferred her purse from her bag to the pocket of her travelling dress. As she did so, she felt an unfamiliar50 object. It proved to be the book she had taken from the drowning man’s hand, and, without[49] thinking, dropped into her pocket. It had been protected by a covering of oiled silk. The stitches in drying had given way and the book was slipping out. She thought there could be no harm in her opening it.
It was an old, well-worn Testament51. On the title-page was the inscription52 “M. Janeway to I. Waddy.” It was very touching53 to think of this drowning man clinging to the last to this emblem54 of his religion, and perhaps token of an early love. No doubt it was in sympathy with some such thought as this that Miss Sullivan’s hands began suddenly to tremble, and her eyes to fill with tears as she turned over the sacred pages.
The book opened naturally in her hand at a familiar passage; she read a few lines; then the hot tears blinded her and she put the book hastily away.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
progeny
|
|
| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
almighty
|
|
| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
bruises
|
|
| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
wrecked
|
|
| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
schooner
|
|
| n.纵帆船 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
futile
|
|
| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
ward
|
|
| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
tremor
|
|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
eyelid
|
|
| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
regain
|
|
| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
feverish
|
|
| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
stimulant
|
|
| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
exhaustion
|
|
| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
deftness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
delirious
|
|
| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
mingling
|
|
| adj.混合的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
tremors
|
|
| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
prostrated
|
|
| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
pensive
|
|
| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
premises
|
|
| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
err
|
|
| vi.犯错误，出差错 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
pretence
|
|
| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
disappearance
|
|
| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
controversy
|
|
| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
ardency
|
|
| n.热心，热烈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
serenely
|
|
| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
salon
|
|
| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
irresistible
|
|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
displeased
|
|
| a.不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
attentive
|
|
| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
babbled
|
|
| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
naught
|
|
| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
prudent
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
unfamiliar
|
|
| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
testament
|
|
| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
inscription
|
|
| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
emblem
|
|
| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |