Upon the morning after their return to Elm Grove1, Isabel requested a few moments conversation with Mrs. Arlington. Desiring Isabel to follow, Mrs. Arlington led the way into the morning-room, and after expressing her great satisfaction at the beneficial results of the sea air, she said "that she hoped Miss Leicester's health was sufficiently2 restored to enable the children to resume their studies upon the following Monday." Isabel replied "that she was quite well, and was as anxious as Mrs. Arlington could be, that they should lose no more time." Indeed for some weeks past she had been teaching during the morning, but it was not of them that I was about to speak," she continued, "it was of myself, and I trust that you will not blame me for not doing so before I went away, as indeed it was impossible. Dr. Heathelfid was right in thinking that my illness was caused by mental suffering, it was indeed a severe shock," she added, covering her face with her hands, for it was a trial to Isabel, and it cost her a great deal this self imposed task.
"Oh no, I would rather tell you," but it was not without some difficulty that Isabel continued, "sometime before my father's death, I was though, unknown to him, engaged to a medical student, I always regretted concealing6 our engagement from him in the first instance. I knew it was very wrong, but Louis made me promise not to tell my father, or breathe a word about our engagement to any living soul. I asked him why, but he would give no reason except that he wished it. I promised, but had I known that it was for more than a short period, I think that I should not have done so. About six months afterwards, when his uncle was about to send him to France to a relation who was a celebrated7 physician, he wanted me to be married privately8, this I positively9 refused, I said that whilst my father lived I would never marry without his consent, and urged him to let me acquaint my father of our engagement. This he refused, I told him that I was sure my father would not object, but he would not listen to me, it was absurd he said, to suppose that he would let us marry if he knew of it, for he was entirely10 dependent upon his uncle, and had positively nothing of his own as yet, but hoped soon to rise in his profession; if we were once married he argued, my father would storm a little at first, but would soon give in, and make some arrangement that would prevent his going away, in vain I entreated11 to be allowed to plead our cause with my father. Louis was inexorable upon that point, he dare not he said, and used every argument to induce me to accede12 to his wishes and agree to his propositions; but when I resisted all entreaties13 he was mortally offended, and got into a terrible passion, it seems he never forgave me for thwarting14 him, but I was not aware of it, for after his anger had cooled down our parting was most kind. During my father's illness, my secret became an intolerable burden, oh, how bitterly I suffered for deceiving so indulgent a parent, and yet my conscience would not allow me to break my promise. I wrote to Louis imploring15 him to give the desired permission, and received a very kind letter, assuring me that my altered circumstances would make no difference to him, that in fact the only barrier between us was now removed, but the longed for permission was withheld16, Louis did not notice that part of my letter in anyway. Shortly after this, my poor father died--died without ever having heard of our engagement, his greatest pain in parting from his darling child, being the grief he felt at leaving her so unprotected, Imagine if you can my grief and misery," said Isabel shedding bitter tears of agony and remorse17 at the remembrance of that dreadful time, and what it must have been to witness his anguish18, as over and over again he would say "oh my child, could I but have left you to the tender care of a beloved husband, or even could I know that you were the promised wife of one who truly loved you, I could die in peace, even though he were not rich in this world's goods, but to leave you thus my darling child, to make your own way in this wicked world is almost more than I can bear." "What good" continued Isabel "could I expect after such a return for all dear papa's fond indulgence and unvaried kindness. After my father's death, I received a letter from Louis full of love and sympathy, and approving of my plans, as it would be some time before he would be in a position to marry. We continued to correspond until the night of the ball, at which Dr. and Mrs. Taschereau were among the guests, then I learned for the first time that he was faithless and unworthy. You do not know what I suffered, nor his cruel triumph, or you would not wonder that it should end as it did. I have told you all this Mrs. Arlington because I thought it my duty, and also, that should Dr. Taschereau again be your guest, you might kindly spare me the pain of meeting him."
"Poor child you have suffered greatly," said Mrs. Arlington kindly. She had listened very patiently and very attentively19 to all Isabel had to say, but she had not said how that she already knew something of this from her own delirious20 talk during her illness, but she thought that it would make Isabel uncomfortable, therefore she remained silent upon that point. "You may depend that I shall not abuse your confidence" she continued, "I do not promise secrecy21, but you may trust to my discretion22 without fear. Whenever you need advice, do not scruple23 to come to me, as I shall always be glad to give it," no doubt, but Isabel was the last person to ask advice, though she had the highest opinion of Mrs. Arlington.
"I think you would do well Isabel, to re-consider the offer I made you to visit with my daughters."
"You are very kind; but, indeed, I would rather not."
"As you please, Miss Leicester; but I think you are wrong to refuse. You may be sure that the offer is disinterested24 on my part." (Disinterested it certainly was, as neither of the Arlington girls could compare favorably with Isabel as to beauty or accomplishments25.)
"I fully26 appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Arlington, but indeed it would be extremely unpleasant to do so," returned Isabel.
"I cannot let this opportunity pass without expressing my gratitude27 for your great kindness during my illness, for I can never, never repay you. But I will use my best endeavors to make your children all that you can wish."
"And that will quite repay me," replied Mrs. Arlington, kindly.
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收听单词发音
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1
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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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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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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8
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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10
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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accede
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| v.应允，同意 | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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14
thwarting
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| 阻挠( thwart的现在分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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