Mrs. Arlington never for a moment suspected the way in which Dr. Heathfield would induce Isabel to accede1 to his plans. In justice to her it must be said, that had she known it, she would if possible have prevented it. But in the end perhaps it was better for Isabel that she did not, though the reflections to which his remarks gave rise, were extremely painful. It needed not these cruel hints to remind her of that which had scarcely ever been absent from her thoughts since her father's death, and she shed very bitter tears, even after she retired2 to rest she could but weep over her unhappy lot far into the night, until at length the bright moonlight streaming in at the window, reminded her of one above, who doeth all things well, and she resolved to try and do her duty according to His appointment, however trying she might find it, trusting that as her need was, so would strength be given.
She saw now why she had not been allowed to die according to her wish, even because her work was not yet accomplished3. How willingly and with what pleasure had the children received what she had taught them regarding religion; how eagerly had they listened when she had explained the scriptures4; with what different feelings did they now regard the sabbath as a day of holy rest, and prayer, and praise, instead of a day of weariness, dreaded5 and hated. Did she not remember how shocked she had been, when Amy said, that she liked all the days except sundays, and the others had expressed the same. And oh, how glad and thankful she felt when Amy not long since, one sunday afternoon had clasped her arms round her neck, and exclaimed that she liked Miss Leicester's sundays very much. All this she had been able to do through divine blessing6 upon her endeavors to benefit the children, and would she leave them when her work had only just begun? No, no, how wrong and selfish had she been, if all joy and happiness had fled, she still had her work before her--her duty to perform. With such thoughts as these, her tears became less bitter. Soft tear of quiet resignation followed the bitter rebellious7 ones she had shed so abundantly, and she resolved by steady abnegation of self, to forget the past (as much as might be) in the business and duties of the present. Then with a prayer for strength to keep this resolution, and patience to wait, and work until such time as rest should be vouchsafed8 her, she fell asleep.
With a severe headache, and extremely weak from the trying night she had past, Isabel waited for the doctor next day, though she had determined9 to give him a favorable answer, she wondered much how she could go, when she felt almost unable to raise her hand to her head. She was feverish10 and restless, very anxious for his arrival, yet dreading11 it, for it seemed as though she were about by her own act, to put an end to these quiet days of rest, and dreamy reverie, which she fain would prolong.
However, when Dr. Heathfield came, she managed to return his greeting with some degree of cheerfulness.
"I trust you feel better to-day," he said.
"No, rather worse, the dose you administered was anti-narcotic I assure you, but I have decided12 to accede to Mrs. Arlington's wishes. I will do my utmost for the children, but I fear that will be very little," and she smiled faintly from her pillow.
"Pooh, nonsense, you are not to teach at present, we all know you can't do that," returned the doctor cheerfully, "what good would the poor children get if they were cooped up in a school-room all day, time enough for that when they come home again." Dr. Heathfield began to fear that the dose had been too strong, when he felt the feverish pulse. "You must be very quiet to-day, promise me that you will not worry yourself," he said, "I shall tell Mrs. Arlington not to let the girls tease you."
"They never tease me." replied Isabel hastily.
"Oh they don't, well that is fortunate," he answered, preparing some mysterious compound that he had taken from his pocket, "now if you take this" he continued, presenting the mixture, "and then take a nice little sleep, you will feel much better by the afternoon, and then if Miss Emily would read to you, it would be better than talking."
"I'm afraid your patient is not so well to-day doctor," said Mrs. Arlington coming in, "she seems feverish this morning."
"Oh, she has been tormenting13 herself, thinking that she had to teach while at D----, but I think if you keep her quiet, this feverishness14 will soon subside15, and she is going with the children to D---- like a good sensible girl," replied the doctor.
"I am very glad that you have come to that decision Isabel, as I should not think of sending the children without you," (no more she would) said Mrs. Arlington, keeping up the farce16 that she was the obliged party. "Emily and Norris go with you, so that you have no cause for anxiety, dear," she added, laying her cool hand upon Isabel's hot forehead.
"Is your head very bad," inquired the doctor, pulling down the blind. Then as Isabel assented17, he went on, "if you were to send the quiet one, (Alice I think you call her) to bathe her temples with a little lotion18 it would be as well."
"I think it should be Norris, I don't like to trust the children," Mrs. Arlington began.
"You may trust Alice," interrupted Isabel.
"Very well," returned Mrs. Arlington smiling, "then Alice it shall be."
Within a week, everything was arranged for their departure, Everard was to escort them to D---- and see them comfortably settled, and then proceed to H---- College. The morning they were to start, Isabel joined them at the early school-room breakfast. This was the first time that Everard had seen her since her illness, and he was inexpressibly shocked at her appearance, and remonstrated19 with his mother, saying, that Miss Leicester was not in a fit state to travel.
"Nevertheless it is cruel," he replied gravely.
"My dear son what can I do, Dr. Heathfield says that it is absolutely necessary."
"It will kill her, that is my opinion of the matter." he answered "why she can scarcely stand, I had no idea she was so awfully22 weak."
"But what can I do," persisted Mrs. Arlington.
"Wait until she gets a little stronger," urged Everard.
"But the doctor assures me, that she will inevitable23 sink, if allowed to remain in the same low spirited state."
"Why did you not have her among the rest, and then probably she might not have got so low. It is dreadful to see any one so fearfully weak," he added in a tone of grave commiseration24.
"I don't wonder at your being shocked at her altered appearance, but you should not blame those who have had the care of her, without due consideration. I assure you that she has had every attention," said Mrs. Arlington reproachfully.
"I don't wish to blame any one," returned Everard coloring, "surely not you dear mother."
"I am glad to hear it," she answered, in a somewhat injured tone. "I was sure that it only required a moment's thought to convince you, that however painful a state Miss Leicester may be in, it has been brought about by circumstances over which we have no control."
Everard looked perseveringly25 out of the window. And his mother continued "it was at her own request that she remained so secluded26. But it must not be, we have listened to her entreaties27 too long already, now others must act for her in the way they think best."
"Then it is not her wish to go," observed Everard.
"Certainly not, but the doctor almost insists upon it."
"Kill or cure as I take it," he returned.
"I fear that is too near the truth, unfortunately," replied his mother."
"Everard remained silent, and Mrs. Arlington saying that the carriage would be round shortly, quitted the room. Then he returned to the school-room, to find Isabel fainting upon the sofa and Emily bending over her in helpless despair, Amy crying, and Alice emptying the contents of a scent28 bottle over Isabel, and Rose spilling the smelling salts almost into her mouth, in her anxiety to cram29 it to her nose. This quaint30 mode of treatment had the desired effect, for Isabel with a great sigh opened her eyes, and asked what was the matter. Dr. Heathfield arrived soon after this, and ordered Miss Leicester back to her room for a few hours rest, so that they were forced to wait for the next train.
"She ought not to have come down to breakfast," he said, "let her have lunch in her own room, and remain there until everything is quite ready, then let her go straight to the carriage after the rest are seated, it must be managed quietly or it cannot be done." Then he called Everard aside, and cautioned him, "it is a hazardous31 thing to move her at all, and requires very nice management," he said.
"It should not be attempted," returned Everard coldly, "she is only fit to be in bed."
"The doctor smiled incredulously, keep her there and you would soon finish her, and she would be only too content to do it."
"You are severe Dr. Heathfield," said Everard stiffly.
"Come, Come, Everard don't get angry, you think me a brute32 no doubt. But if she remains33 here she will die, if she goes away she may recover. Now you have my honest opinion."
"It seems to me little short of murder, to start her off in this state," returned Everard."
"Upon my word, who is severe now Mr. Everard," retorted the doctor. I don't attempt to deny that moving her may be fatal, if not judiciously34 managed But if carefully and properly done, I am very sanguine35 as to the result.
"That is a nice way of getting out of a scrape, I must say," "Oh a very nice way indeed," said Dr. Heathfield laughing. "I will come in again about one," he added addressing Mrs. Arlington, "and if I have time, I will go down to the station and see them off."
"Oh, if you could doctor, it would be such a satisfaction to know that you were with them," Mrs. Arlington answered.
Everard could not bring himself to see it in the same light as the doctor, but as her going seemed inevitable, he was glad that he was to have the charge of her. A little before one the doctor returned, but only to see that all was right. "He was so very busy," he said, "but had no doubt that Mr. Everard would manage very well. He could not possibly go down to the station, he had to set a man's leg two miles off in quite another direction. Everard's face was a picture, as the doctor so kindly36 expressed the belief that he would manage very well. Emily was so convulsed with laughter at the sight, that she was forced to stuff her handkerchief into her mouth to conceal37 her mirth. Everard managed everything so nicely during the journey, that Isabel never knew that he made special alteration38 on her account, and he assisted her on all occasions in a nice kindly matter of course manner, quite like an elder brother, that prevented any embarrassment39 on her part. He was also very successful in concealing40 the anxiety he felt on her behalf. Isabel appeared quite worn out the night they arrived at D----, Norris insisted upon perfect rest and quiet next day, saying that she should join them at tea if she seemed sufficiently41 rested, but Everard rebelled, and made Emily amuse her during the morning. Norris submitted without much fuss, as he was a great favorite.
"I know as well as you Master Everard, that she needs to be kept more cheerful than she has been, but after all the worry and fatigue42 of the journey, a little quietness is good for her," said Norris, endeavoring to justify43 herself.
"I don't deny that Norris, I only object to her being quite alone."
"And you know sir, that you always get your own way," replied Norris laughing.
"Usually," returned Everard, "but Norris, understand that I wish her kept quiet."
"As if anyone could be quiet where Miss Emily is," said Norris reproachfully.
"I'll trust Emmy," he answered laughing.
"That is more nor I would Mr. Everard," she returned with the familiarity that old domestics who have been a long time in a family often acquire. For Norris had been with Mrs. Arlington ever since she was married, now some twenty-six years.
After dinner, Everard, Emily and the children, went out for a ramble44. On their return, Everard left them near the town, as he had to make some inquiries45 as to the time the train left, as he was to leave next morning, for they had been so much longer on the way than had been anticipated, consequently his stay at D---- had to be curtailed46.
When he returned to the cottage, he found Isabel in the old arm chair in the sitting-room47, the others had not yet arrived. Isabel was looking wretchedly ill, but pronounced herself much rested. Everard gave her an animated48 account of their ramble, and an excellent description of the place, but she appeared to take little interest in either.
"Perhaps you would rather I didn't talk, he said, as she leaned her head wearily upon her hand.
"O, I don't mind," she replied in a tone of such utter indifference49 that Everard took a book. He did not read however, but sat shading his face with his hand, so as to enable him to contemplate50 the poor worn face and fragile form of her whom he loved better than life. He pictured her, as she appeared when waiting the arrival of the guests on Grace's birthday, and the contrast was painful in the extreme, neither could he account for the utter hopelessness depicted51 on her countenance52.
"Are you aware that I leave in the morning," he said, after some time had elapsed.
"So soon," she inquired in surprise.
"Yes, by the early train," he replied.
Then I must not miss this opportunity of thanking you, for all the trouble you have taken, and for all the kindness you have shown me. Indeed I am very much obliged to you."
"I am only too glad to have been of any service to you," he returned with something of the old manner. "Will you not write when you are able, if only a line, just a line, I shall be so anxious to hear."
"Emily will write," she answered quietly.
Everard bit his lip, he was silenced but not satisfied,--an awkward pause ensued, then the others came in full of glee to find Isabel down.
The tea was a very cheerful one, and Isabel strove to appear interested, and to join in the general conversation, but the effort was too much for her, for when she rose to retire for the night, she all but fainted and alarmed them very much.
When Everard came into the sitting-room next morning, he found a cheerful fire burning (for the morning was raw and misty) and breakfast on the table, although it was only half-past five o'clock, and shortly after Emily came in.
"Why Emmy, this is better luck than I expected," exclaimed Everard in surprise.
"You didn't think that I would let you breakfast alone did you," returned Emily proceeding53 to pour out the tea, "but oh, Everard, I'm so sorry that you are going away so soon, I really am quite afraid to be left alone with Isabel so weak, whatever shall I do if she gets worse."
"As to being alone, why Norris is a host in herself. Besides, you must take it for granted that she will soon get all right. If there really should be cause you must not hesitate to call in the doctor, but remember Dr. Heathfield said you were not to do so, if it could be avoided, and Emmy, if there should be anything serious, mind you telegraph mamma, and if you get very much alarmed, you know that I could get here in a few hours, and I shall not mind the trouble, so make yourself easy. But at all events, I intend to run down in two or three weeks, just to see how you all get on--mind you write often Emmy." This Emmy promised to do, and bid him good bye with a bright face.
D---- was a pretty little town on the sea-coast, which was much frequented in summer, but during the winter it was almost deserted54. It was very quiet just now as it was so very early in the season. The house in which our party had taken up their abode55, was beautifully situated56 upon some rising ground, about half a mile from the beach. On the right, as far as eye could reach, stretched the broad expanse of deep blue sea, with its ever varying succession of white sails and gay steamers. To the left lay verdant57 meadows, picturesque58 villas59, and sloping hills, stretching far into the distance until bounded by a belt of forest, beyond which the ground rose again, capped by a rugged60 crag. Belonging to the house, were pretty grounds tastefully laid out, and a nice shrubbery, also a maze61 in which the children delighted to lose themselves.
After the first few days, Isabel mended rapidly, and before long was able to join the children and Emily in their rambles62, and even got down to the beach after the second week, so that Emily sent charming accounts of Isabel's progress to her mother and Everard.
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1
accede
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| v.应允，同意 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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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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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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feverishness
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subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lotion
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| n.洗剂 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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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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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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perseveringly
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| 坚定地 | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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cram
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| v.填塞，塞满，临时抱佛脚，为考试而学习 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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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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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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curtailed
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| v.截断，缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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48
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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50
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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51
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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53
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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54
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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55
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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59
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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