The winding-up of the father’s affairs kept Gerald in the neighborhood of some weeks, and when it became known that Mr. Herbert had insisted upon his taking up his quarters at the hall the simple Coombe-Acton folks were stricken with a great wonder. Knowing nothing of what is called the “aristocracy of art,” their minds were much exercised by such an unheard of proceeding7. What had “Jerry” Leigh being doing in the last seven years to merit such a distinction?
Nothing his agricultural friends could have understood. After picking up the rudiments8 of his art in a well-known sculptor9’s studio, young Leigh had been sent to study in the schools at Paris. Mr. Herbert told him that, so far as his art was concerned, Paris was the workshop of the world,—Rome its bazaar10 and showroom. So to Paris the boy went. He studied hard and lived frugally11. He won certain prizes and medals, and was now looking forward to the time when he must strike boldly for fame. Even now he was not quite unknown. A couple of modest but very beautiful studies in low relief had appeared in last year’s exhibition, and, if overlooked by the majority, had attracted the notice of a few whose praise was well worth winning. He was quite satisfied with the results of his first attempt. In all things that concerned his art he was wise and patient. No sooner had he placed his foot on the lowest step of the ladder than he realized the amount of work to be done—the technical skill to be acquired before he could call himself a sculptor. Even now, after seven years’ study and labor12, he had selfdenial enough to resolve upon being a pupil for three years longer before he made his great effort to place himself by the side of contemporary sculptors13. Passionate14 and impulsive15 as was his true nature, he could follow and woo art with that calm persistency16 and method which seem to be the surest way of winning her smiles.
He is now a man—a singularly handsome man. If not so tall as his youth promised, he is well built and graceful17. Artist is stamped all over him. Brow, eyes, even the slender, well-shaped hands, proclaim it. The general expression of his face is one of calm and[160] repose18; yet an acute observer might assert that, when the moment came, that face might depict19 passions stronger than those which sway most men.
His dark hair and eyes, and something in the style of his dress, gave him a look not quite that of an Englishman—a look that terribly vexed20 poor Abraham Leigh on those rare occasions when his erratic21 boy paid him a visit; but, nevertheless, it is a look not out of place on a young artist.
This is the kind of man Gerald Leigh has grown into; and, whilst his transformation22 has been in progress, Miss Eugenia Herbert has become a woman.
Although remembering every feature of the child, who seemed in some way associated with the day of his liberation, Gerald had not again seen her until his father’s death called him back to England. Each time he had visited Coombe-Acton he had, of course, reported progress to Mr. Herbert; but, shortly after the change in his life, Mr. Herbert by a great effort of self-denial, had sent his darling away to school, and at school she had always been when Gerald called at the Hall; but now, when he accepted Mr. Herbert’s hospitality, he found the fairy-like child grown, it seemed to him, into his ideal woman, and found, moreover, that there was a passion so intense that even the love of art must pale before it.
He made no attempt to resist it. He let it master him; overwhelm him; sweep him along. Ere a week had gone by, not only by looks, but also in burning words, he had told Eugenia he loved her. And how did he fare?
His very audacity23 and disregard of everything, save that he loved the girl, succeeded to a marvel24. Eugenia[161] had already met with many admirers, but not one like this. Such passionate pleading, such fiery25 love, such vivid eloquence26 were strange and new to her. There was an originality27, a freshness, a thoroughness in the love he offered her. His very unreasonableness28 affected29 her reason. All the wealth of his imagination, all the crystallizations of his poetical30 dreams, he threw into his passion. His ecstasy31 whirled the girl from her mental feet; his warmth created an answering warmth; his reckless pleading conquered. She forgot obstacles as his eloquence overleaped them; she forgot social distinction as his great dark eyes looked into hers, and at last she confessed she loved him.
Then Gerald Leigh came down from the clouds and realized what he had done, and as soon as he touched the earth and became reasonable Eugenia fancied she did not care for him quite so much.
His conscience smote32 him. Not only must Mr. Herbert be reckoned with, but a terrible interval33 must elapse before he had fame and fortune to lay before Eugenia. He could scarcely expect her to leave her luxurious34 home in order to live au quatrieme or au cinquieme in Paris whilst he completed his studies. He grew sad and downcast as he thought of these things, and Eugenia, who liked pleasant, bright, well-to-do people, felt less kindly35 disposed toward him and showed she did so.
This made him reckless again. He threw the future to the winds, recommenced his passionate wooing, recovered his lost ground and gained, perhaps, a little more.
But Abraham Leigh’s affairs were settled up, and Gerald knew he must tear himself from Acton Hall and go back to work. He had lingered a few days to finish a bust36 of Mr. Herbert. This done he had no excuse for staying longer.
The summer twilight37 deepened into night. The sculptor and Miss Herbert stood upon the broad and gravelled terrace-walk that runs along the stately front of Acton Hall. They leaned upon the gray stone balustrade; the girl with musing38 eye was looking down on shadowy lawn and flower-bed underneath39; the young man looked at her, and her alone. Silence reigned40 long between them, but at last she spoke41.
“You really go to-morrow?”
“Tell me to stay, and I will stay,” he said, passionately42, “but next week—next month—next year, the moment, when it does come, will be just as bitter.”
She did not urge him. She was silent. He drew very near to her.
“Eugenia,” he whispered, “you love me?”
“I think so.” Her eyes were still looking over the darkening garden. She spoke dreamily, and as one who is not quite certain.
“You think so! Listen! Before we part let me tell you what your love means to me. If, when first I asked for it you had scorned me, I could have left you unhappy, but still a man. Now it means life or death to me. There is no middle course—no question of joy or misery43—simply life or death! Eugenia, look at me and say you love me!”
His dark eyes charmed and compelled her. “I love you! I love you?” she murmured. Her words satisfied him; moreover, she let the hand he grasped remain in his, perhaps even returning the pressure of his own. So they stood for more than an hour, whilst Gerald[163] talked of the future and the fame he meant to win—talked as one who has the fullest confidence in his own powers and directing genius.
Presently they saw Mr. Herbert walking through the twilight towards them. Gerald’s hand tightened44 on the girl’s so as to cause her positive pain.
“Remember,” he whispered; “life or death! Think of it while we are apart. Your love means a man’s life or death!”
Many a lover has said an equally extravagant45 thing, but Eugenia Herbert knew that his words were not those of poetical imagery, and as she re-entered the house she trembled at the passion she had aroused. What if time and opposition46 should work a change in her feelings? She tried to reassure47 herself by thinking that if she did not love him in the same blind, reckless way, at any rate she would never meet another man whom she could love as she loved Gerald Leigh.
The sculptor went back to Paris—to his art and his dreams of love and fame. Two years slipped by without any event of serious import happening to the persons about whom we are concerned. Then came a great change.
Mr. Herbert died so suddenly that neither doctor nor lawyer could be summoned in time, either to aid him to live or to carry out his last wishes. His will gave Eugenia two thousand pounds and an estate he owned in Gloucestershire—everything else to his son. Unfortunately, some six months before, he had sold the Gloucestershire property, and, with culpable48 negligence49, had not made a fresh will. Therefore, the small money bequest50 was all that his daughter could claim. However, this seemed of little moment, as her[164] brother at once announced his intention of settling upon her the amount to which she was equitably51 entitled. He had given his solicitors52 instructions to prepare the deed.
James Herbert, Eugenia’s brother, was unmarried, and at present had no intention of settling down to the life of a country gentleman. Six weeks after Mr. Herbert’s death the greater number of the servants were paid off, and Acton Hall was practically shut up. Eugenia, after spending some weeks with friends in the north of England, came to London to live for an indefinite time with her mother’s sister, a Mrs. Cathcart.
Since her father’s death Gerald Leigh had written to her several times—letters full of passionate love and penned as if the writer felt sure of her constancy and wish to keep her promise. He, too, was coming to London. Had she wished it, he would at once have come to her side; but as it was he would take up his quarters in town about the same time Eugenia arrived there.
The hour was at hand—the hour to which Miss Herbert had for two years looked forward with strangely mingled53 feelings—when her friends must be told that she intended to marry the young, and as yet unknown sculptor, Gerald Leigh, the son of her father’s late tenant farmer, Abraham.
She loved him still. She felt sure of that much. If time and absence had somewhat weakened the spell he had thrown over her proud nature, she knew that unless the man was greatly changed the magic of his words and looks would sway her as irresistibly54 as before. She loved him, yet rebelled against her fate.
Her father had died ignorant of what had passed between his daughter and the young artist. Many a time Eugenia had tried to bring herself to confess the truth to him. She now regretted she had not done so. Mr. Herbert’s approval or disapproval55 would have been at least a staff by which to guide her steps. He had suspected nothing. The few letters which passed between the lovers had been unnoticed. Their love was as yet a secret known only to themselves.
She loved him, but why had he dared to make her love him? Or, why was he not well-born and wealthy? Could she find strength to face, for his sake, the scorn of her friends?
She must decide at once. She is sitting and thinking all these things in her own room at Mrs. Cathcart’s, and in front of her lies a letter in which Gerald announces his intention of calling upon her to-morrow. She knows that if she receives him she will be bound to proclaim herself his affianced wife.
He called. She saw him. Mrs. Cathcart was out, So Eugenia was alone when the servant announced Mr. Leigh. She started and turned pale. She trembled in every limb as he crossed the room to where she stood. He took her hand and looked into her face. He spoke, and his rich musical voice thrilled her.
“Eugenia, is it life or death?”
She could not answer. She could not turn her eyes from his. She saw the intensity56 of their expression deepen; saw a fierce yearning57 look come into them, a look which startled her.
“Is it life or death?” he repeated.
His love conquered. “Gerald, it is life,” she said.
Drunk with joy, he threw his arms around her and[166] kissed her until the blushes dyed her cheeks. He stayed with her as long as she would allow, but his delight was too delicious to permit him to say much about his plans for the future. When at last she made him leave her, he gave her the number of a studio at Chelsea, which he had taken, and she promised to write and let him know when he might call again.
They parted. Eugenia walked to the window, and for a long time looked out on the gay thoroughfare, now full of carriages going to and returning from the park. Of course, she loved Gerald dearly; that was now beyond a doubt. But what would she have to go through when the engagement was announced? what had she to look forward to as his wife? Must love and worldly misery be synonymous?
The current of her thoughts was interrupted by the arrival of another visitor—her brother. James Herbert was a tall young man, faultlessly dressed, and bearing a general look of what is termed high breeding. He bore a likeness58 to his father, but the likeness was but an outward one. By this time he was a cold cynical59 man of the world. He had not lived the best of lives, but, being no fool, had gained experience and caution. He was clever enough to study human nature with a view of turning his knowledge to account. Eugenia had some pride of birth; her brother had, or affected, a great deal more. He was by no means unpopular; few men could make themselves more agreeable and fascinating than James Herbert when it was worth his while to be so. In his way he was fond of his sister; certainly proud of her beauty; and she, who knew nothing of his true nature, thought him as perfect as a brother can be.
He kissed her, complimented her on her good looks, then sat down and made himself pleasant. She answered his remarks somewhat mechanically, wondering all the time what effect her news would have upon him. She hated things hanging over her head, and had made up her mind to tell him of her intentions, if not to-day the next time she met him.
“The lawyers have almost settled your little matter,” he said. “It’s lucky for you I made up my mind at once; things haven’t turned out so well as we expected.”
She thanked him—not effusively60, as if he was doing no more than she had a right to expect. Yet the thought flashed across her that before she took his bounty61 she was by honor compelled to make him acquainted with what she proposed doing.
“By-the-bye, Eugenia,” said Herbert, “you know Ralph Norgate?”
“Yes. He called a day or two ago. I did not see him.”
“Well, I expect he’ll soon call again. He has been forcing his friendship on me lately. In fact—I’d better tell you—his mind is made up—you are to be the future Lady Norgate. Now you know what to look forward to.”
Her face flushed. Her troubles were beginning.
He raised his eyebrows63. To express great surprise was against his creed64, and the idea that Eugenia was capable of disgracing herself did not enter his head.
“So much the worse for Norgate,” he said. “Who is the happy man?”
“You will be angry, very angry, I fear.” She spoke timidly. His manner told her she had good grounds for fear. His mouth hardened, but he still spoke politely and pleasantly.
“My dear girl, don’t discount my displeasure; tell me who it is?”
“His name is Gerald Leigh.”
“A pretty name, and one which sounds familiar to me. Now, who is Gerald Leigh?”
“He is a sculptor.”
“Ah! now I know. Son of that excellent old tenant of my father’s. The genius he discovered on a dungheap. Eugenia, are you quite mad?”
“He will be a famous man some day.”
“Let him be as famous as he likes. What does it matter?”
“The proudest family may be proud of allying themselves to a great artist.”
Herbert looked at his sister with a pitying but amused smile. “My poor girl, don’t be led astray by the temporary glorification66 of things artistic67. When these fellows grow talked about we ask them to our houses and make much of them. It’s the fashion. But we don’t marry them. Indeed, as they all begin in the lower ranks of life, like your friend, they are generally provided with wives of their own station, who stay at home and trouble no one.”
She winced68 under the sting of his scorn. He saw it, and knew he was pursuing the right treatment for her disease.
“Now, this young Leigh,” he continued. “What[169] will he be for years and years? A sort of superior stone-cutter. He will make what living he can by going about and doing busts69 of mayors and mayoresses, and other people of that class, who want their common features perpetuated70. Perhaps he might get a job on a tombstone for a change. Bah! Of course you have been jesting with me, Eugenia. I shall tell Norgate to call as soon as possible.”
“I shall marry Gerald Leigh,” said Eugenia, sullenly71. All the same the busts and tombstones weighed heavily upon her.
“That,” said her brother, rising, and still speaking with a smile, “I am not the least afraid of, although you are of age and mistress of two thousand pounds. You are not cut out to ornament72 an attic73. I need not say I must countermand74 that settlement. It must wait until you marry Norgate or some other suitable man.”
He kissed her and walked carelessly away. To all appearance the matter did not cause him a moment’s anxiety. He was a clever man, and flattered himself he knew how to treat Eugenia; human nature should be assailed75 at its weakest points.
His carelessness was, of course, assumed; for, meeting Mrs. Cathcart as she drove home, Eugenia’s news was sufficiently76 disturbing to make him stop the carriage, seat himself beside his aunt, and beg her to take another turn in the park, during which he told her what had transpired77.
They were fitting coadjutors. Mrs. Cathcart was delighted to hear of Sir Ralph’s overtures78, and was shocked to find that Eugenia was entangled79 in some low attachment80. She quite agreed that the girl must[170] be led, not driven; must be laughed, not talked, out of her folly81. “Girls nearly always make fools of themselves once in their lives,” said Mr. Cathcart, cynically82.
“They do,” said James Herbert, who knew something about the sex. “All the same, Eugenia shall not. Find out all about the fellow, where he lives, and all the rest of it. She doesn’t know I’ve told you about this. Keep a sharp lookout83 for any letters.”
So the next day, when Eugenia and her aunt were together, the latter, a skilled domestic diplomatist, commenced operations by regretting that Mr. Herbert, although so fond of statuary, had never employed a sculptor to make his own bust. Mrs. Cathcart spoke so naturally that Eugenia fell into the trap, and informed her that Mr. Herbert’s likeness had been taken in clay two years ago by a young sculptor then staying at Acton Hall. It had been done for pleasure, not profit, but her father had always intended to order a copy in marble. Mrs. Cathcart was delighted. Did Eugenia know where the young man could be found?
Eugenia did know. She told her with a tinge84 of color on her cheeks, and took advantage of the opportunity, and perhaps soothed85 her spirit somewhat by expatiating86 on what a great man her lover was to become. Mrs. Cathcart, in return, spoke of geniuses as struggling, poverty stricken persons, to befriend whom was the one great wish of her life. It was indeed pleasant for Miss Herbert to hear her aunt speak of her lover as she might of a hard-working seamstress or deserving laundress. She had not yet written to Gerald. She must find strength to throw[171] off her brother’s scorn and the busts and tombstones before she again met her lover.
Sir Ralph Norgate called that morning. He was a man of about forty. Not ill-looking, but with the unmistakable appearance of one who had led a hard life. He was rich, and of fine old family. It was clear to Mrs. Cathcart that he meant business. Eugenia had met him several times last year, and it was no news to her that he was her ardent87 admirer. She was very cold towards him to-day, but Mrs. Cathcart did not chide88 her. She, clever woman, knew that men like Norgate value a prize at what it costs them to win it. So the baronet came, stayed his appointed time, then went away, presumably in fair train to a declaration by and by.
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1
hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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frugally
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| adv. 节约地, 节省地 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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sculptors
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| 雕刻家，雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 )； [天]玉夫座 | |
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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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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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persistency
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| n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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depict
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| vt.描画，描绘；描写，描述 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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fiery
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eloquence
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originality
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unreasonableness
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| 无理性； 横逆 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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smote
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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luxurious
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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musing
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underneath
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reigned
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spoke
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| 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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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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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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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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culpable
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| adj.有罪的，该受谴责的 | |
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negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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bequest
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| n.遗赠；遗产，遗物 | |
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equitably
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| 公平地 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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58
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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59
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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60
effusively
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| adv.变溢地，热情洋溢地 | |
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61
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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62
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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64
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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65
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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glorification
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| n.赞颂 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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70
perpetuated
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| vt.使永存（perpetuate的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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73
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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74
countermand
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| v.撤回(命令)，取消(订货) | |
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75
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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76
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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77
transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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78
overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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79
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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81
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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82
cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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83
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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84
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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85
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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86
expatiating
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| v.详述，细说( expatiate的现在分词 ) | |
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87
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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chide
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| v.叱责；谴责 | |
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