Breakfast over, he went to his counting-house. Henry, Joe Scott's boy, brought in the letters and the daily papers; Moore seated himself at his desk, broke the seals of the documents, and glanced them over. They were all short, but not, it seemed, sweet—probably rather sour, on the contrary, for as Moore laid down the last, his nostrils6 emitted a derisive7 and defiant8 snuff, and though he burst into no soliloquy, there was a glance in his eye which seemed to invoke9 the devil, and lay charges on him to sweep the whole concern to Gehenna. However, having chosen a pen and stripped away the feathered top in a brief spasm10 of finger-fury (only finger-fury—his face was placid), he dashed off a batch11 of answers, sealed them, and then went out and walked through the mill. On coming back he sat down to read his newspaper.
The contents seemed not absorbingly interesting; he more than once laid it across his knee, folded his arms, and gazed into the fire; he occasionally turned his head towards the window; he looked at intervals12 at his watch; in short, his mind appeared preoccupied13. Perhaps he was thinking of the beauty of the weather—for it was a fine and mild morning for the season—and wishing to be out111 in the fields enjoying it. The door of his counting-house stood wide open. The breeze and sunshine entered freely; but the first visitant brought no spring perfume on its wings, only an occasional sulphur-puff from the soot-thick column of smoke rushing sable14 from the gaunt mill-chimney.
A dark-blue apparition15 (that of Joe Scott, fresh from a dyeing vat) appeared momentarily at the open door, uttered the words "He's comed, sir," and vanished.
Mr. Moore raised not his eyes from the paper. A large man, broad-shouldered and massive-limbed, clad in fustian16 garments and gray worsted stockings, entered, who was received with a nod, and desired to take a seat, which he did, making the remark, as he removed his hat (a very bad one), stowed it away under his chair, and wiped his forehead with a spotted18 cotton handkerchief extracted from the hat-crown, that it was "raight dahn warm for Febewerry." Mr. Moore assented19—at least he uttered some slight sound, which, though inarticulate, might pass for an assent20. The visitor now carefully deposited in the corner beside him an official-looking staff which he bore in his hand; this done, he whistled, probably by way of appearing at his ease.
"You have what is necessary, I suppose?" said Mr. Moore.
"Ay, ay! all's right."
He renewed his whistling, Mr. Moore his reading. The paper apparently23 had become more interesting. Presently, however, he turned to his cupboard, which was within reach of his long arm, opened it without rising, took out a black bottle—the same he had produced for Malone's benefit—a tumbler, and a jug24, placed them on the table, and said to his guest,—
"Help yourself; there's water in that jar in the corner."
"I dunnut knaw that there's mich need, for all a body is dry (thirsty) in a morning," said the fustian gentleman, rising and doing as requested.
"Will you tak naught25 yourseln, Mr. Moore?" he inquired, as with skilled hand he mixed a portion, and having tested it by a deep draught26, sank back satisfied and bland27 in his seat. Moore, chary28 of words, replied by a negative movement and murmur29.
"Yah'd as good," continued his visitor; "it 'uld set ye up wald a sup o' this stuff. Uncommon30 good hollands. Ye get it fro' furrin parts, I'se think?"
"Ay!"
"Tak my advice and try a glass on't. Them lads 'at's coming 'll keep ye talking, nob'dy knows how long. Ye'll need propping32."
"Have you seen Mr. Sykes this morning?" inquired Moore.
"I seed him a hauf an hour—nay33, happen a quarter of an hour sin', just afore I set off. He said he aimed to come here, and I sudn't wonder but ye'll have old Helstone too. I seed 'em saddling his little nag34 as I passed at back o' t' rectory."
The speaker was a true prophet, for the trot35 of a little nag's hoofs36 was, five minutes after, heard in the yard. It stopped, and a well-known nasal voice cried aloud, "Boy" (probably addressing Harry37 Scott, who usually hung about the premises38 from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.), "take my horse and lead him into the stable."
"Beautiful morning, Moore. How do, my boy? Ha! whom have we here?" (turning to the personage with the staff). "Sugden! What! you're going to work directly? On my word, you lose no time. But I come to ask explanations. Your message was delivered to me. Are you sure you are on the right scent40? How do you mean to set about the business? Have you got a warrant?"
"Sugden has."
"Then you are going to seek him now? I'll accompany you."
"You will be spared that trouble, sir; he is coming to seek me. I'm just now sitting in state waiting his arrival."
"And who is it? One of my parishioners?"
Joe Scott had entered unobserved. He now stood, a most sinister41 phantom42, half his person being dyed of the deepest tint43 of indigo44, leaning on the desk. His master's answer to the rector's question was a smile. Joe took the word. Putting on a quiet but pawky look, he said,—
"It's a friend of yours, Mr. Helstone, a gentleman you often speak of."
"Indeed! His name, Joe? You look well this morning."
"Ah!" said the rector, taking out his snuff-box, and administering to himself a very long pinch—"ah! couldn't have supposed it. Why, the pious47 man never was a workman of yours, Moore. He's a tailor by trade."
"And so much the worse grudge48 I owe him, for interfering49 and setting my discarded men against me."
"And Moses was actually present at the battle of Stilbro' Moor1? He went there, wooden leg and all?"
"Ay, sir," said Joe; "he went there on horseback, that his leg mightn't be noticed. He was the captain, and wore a mask. The rest only had their faces blackened."
"And how was he found out?"
"I'll tell you, sir," said Joe. "T' maister's not so fond of talking. I've no objections. He courted Sarah, Mr. Moore's sarvant lass, and so it seems she would have nothing to say to him; she either didn't like his wooden leg or she'd some notion about his being a hypocrite. Happen (for women is queer hands; we may say that amang werseln when there's none of 'em nigh) she'd have encouraged him, in spite of his leg and his deceit, just to pass time like. I've known some on 'em do as mich, and some o' t' bonniest and mimmest-looking, too—ay, I've seen clean, trim young things, that looked as denty and pure as daisies, and wi' time a body fun' 'em out to be nowt but stinging, venomed51 nettles52."
"Joe's a sensible fellow," interjected Helstone.
"Howsiver, Sarah had another string to her bow. Fred Murgatroyd, one of our lads, is for her; and as women judge men by their faces—and Fred has a middling face, while Moses is none so handsome, as we all knaw—the lass took on wi' Fred. A two-three months sin', Murgatroyd and Moses chanced to meet one Sunday night; they'd both come lurking53 about these premises wi' the notion of counselling Sarah to tak a bit of a walk wi' them. They fell out, had a tussle54, and Fred was worsted, for he's young and small, and Barraclough, for all he has only one leg, is almost as strong as Sugden there—indeed, anybody that hears him roaring at a revival55 or a love-feast may be sure he's no weakling."
"Joe, you're insupportable," here broke in Mr. Moore. "You spin out your explanation as Moses spins out his sermons. The long and short of it is, Murgatroyd was jealous of Barraclough; and last night, as he and a friend took shelter in a barn from a shower, they heard and saw Moses conferring with some associates within. From their discourse56 it was plain he had been the leader, not only at Stilbro' Moor, but in the attack on Sykes's property. Moreover they planned a deputation to wait on me this morning, which the tailor is to head, and which, in the most religious and peaceful spirit, is to entreat57 me to put the accursed thing out of my tent. I rode over to Whinbury this morning, got a constable58 and a warrant, and I am now waiting to give my friend the reception he deserves. Here, meantime, comes Sykes. Mr. Helstone, you must spirit him up. He feels timid at the thoughts of prosecuting59."
A gig was heard to roll into the yard. Mr. Sykes entered—a tall stout60 man of about fifty, comely61 of feature, but feeble of physiognomy. He looked anxious.
"Have they been? Are they gone? Have you got him? Is it over?" he asked.
"Not yet," returned Moore with phlegm. "We are waiting for them."
"They'll not come; it's near noon. Better give it up. It will excite bad feeling—make a stir—cause perhaps fatal consequences."
"You need not appear," said Moore. "I shall meet them in the yard when they come; you can stay here."
"But my name must be seen in the law proceedings62. A wife and family, Mr. Moore—a wife and family make a man cautious."
Moore looked disgusted. "Give way, if you please," said he; "leave me to myself. I have no objection to act alone; only be assured you will not find safety in submission63. Your partner Pearson gave way, and conceded, and forbore. Well, that did not prevent them from attempting to shoot him in his own house."
"My dear sir, take a little wine and water," recommended Mr. Helstone. The wine and water was hollands and water, as Mr. Sykes discovered when he had compounded and swallowed a brimming tumbler thereof. It transfigured him in two minutes, brought the colour back to his face, and made him at least word-valiant. He now announced that he hoped he was above being trampled64 on by the common people; he was determined65 to endure the insolence66 of the working-classes no longer; he had considered of it, and made up his mind to go all lengths; if money and spirit could put down these rioters, they should be put down; Mr. Moore might do as he liked,115 but he—Christie Sykes—would spend his last penny in law before he would be beaten; he'd settle them, or he'd see.
"Take another glass," urged Moore.
Mr. Sykes didn't mind if he did. This was a cold morning (Sugden had found it a warm one); it was necessary to be careful at this season of the year—it was proper to take something to keep the damp out; he had a little cough already (here he coughed in attestation67 of the fact); something of this sort (lifting the black bottle) was excellent, taken medicinally (he poured the physic into his tumbler); he didn't make a practice of drinking spirits in a morning, but occasionally it really was prudent68 to take precautions.
"Quite prudent, and take them by all means," urged the host.
Mr. Sykes now addressed Mr. Helstone, who stood on the hearth69, his shovel-hat on his head, watching him significantly with his little, keen eyes.
"You, sir, as a clergyman," said he, "may feel it disagreeable to be present amidst scenes of hurry and flurry, and, I may say, peril70. I dare say your nerves won't stand it. You're a man of peace, sir; but we manufacturers, living in the world, and always in turmoil71, get quite belligerent72. Really, there's an ardour excited by the thoughts of danger that makes my heart pant. When Mrs. Sykes is afraid of the house being attacked and broke open—as she is every night—I get quite excited. I couldn't describe to you, sir, my feelings. Really, if anybody was to come—thieves or anything—I believe I should enjoy it, such is my spirit."
The hardest of laughs, though brief and low, and by no means insulting, was the response of the rector. Moore would have pressed upon the heroic mill-owner a third tumbler, but the clergyman, who never transgressed73, nor would suffer others in his presence to transgress74, the bounds of decorum, checked him.
"Enough is as good as a feast, is it not, Mr. Sykes?" he said; and Mr. Sykes assented, and then sat and watched Joe Scott remove the bottle at a sign from Helstone, with a self-satisfied simper on his lips and a regretful glisten75 in his eye. Moore looked as if he should have liked to fool him to the top of his bent76. What would a certain young kinswoman of his have said could she have seen her dear, good, great Robert—her Coriolanus—just now? Would116 she have acknowledged in that mischievous77, sardonic78 visage the same face to which she had looked up with such love, which had bent over her with such gentleness last night? Was that the man who had spent so quiet an evening with his sister and his cousin—so suave79 to one, so tender to the other—reading Shakespeare and listening to Chénier?
Yes, it was the same man, only seen on a different side—a side Caroline had not yet fairly beheld80, though perhaps she had enough sagacity faintly to suspect its existence. Well, Caroline had, doubtless, her defective81 side too. She was human. She must, then, have been very imperfect; and had she seen Moore on his very worst side, she would probably have said this to herself and excused him. Love can excuse anything except meanness; but meanness kills love, cripples even natural affection; without esteem82 true love cannot exist. Moore, with all his faults, might be esteemed83; for he had no moral scrofula in his mind, no hopeless polluting taint—such, for instance, as that of falsehood; neither was he the slave of his appetites. The active life to which he had been born and bred had given him something else to do than to join the futile84 chase of the pleasure-hunter. He was a man undegraded, the disciple85 of reason, not the votary86 of sense. The same might be said of old Helstone. Neither of these two would look, think, or speak a lie; for neither of them had the wretched black bottle, which had just been put away, any charms. Both might boast a valid87 claim to the proud title of "lord of the creation," for no animal vice31 was lord of them; they looked and were superior beings to poor Sykes.
A sort of gathering88 and trampling89 sound was heard in the yard, and then a pause. Moore walked to the window; Helstone followed. Both stood on one side, the tall junior behind the under-sized senior, looking forth90 carefully, so that they might not be visible from without. Their sole comment on what they saw was a cynical91 smile flashed into each other's stern eyes.
A flourishing oratorical92 cough was now heard, followed by the interjection "Whisht!" designed, as it seemed, to still the hum of several voices. Moore opened his casement93 an inch or two to admit sound more freely.
"Joseph Scott," began a snuffling voice—Scott was standing94 sentinel at the counting-house door—"might we inquire if your master be within, and is to be spoken to?"
"He's within, ay," said Joe nonchalantly.
"Would you then, if you please" (emphasis on "you"), "have the goodness to tell him that twelve gentlemen wants to see him."
"He'd happen ax what for," suggested Joe. "I mught as weel tell him that at t' same time."
"For a purpose," was the answer. Joe entered.
"Please, sir, there's twelve gentlemen wants to see ye, 'for a purpose.'"
"Good, Joe; I'm their man.—Sugden, come when I whistle."
Moore went out, chuckling97 dryly. He advanced into the yard, one hand in his pocket, the other in his waistcoat, his cap brim over his eyes, shading in some measure their deep dancing ray of scorn. Twelve men waited in the yard, some in their shirt-sleeves, some in blue aprons98. Two figured conspicuously99 in the van of the party. One, a little dapper strutting100 man with a turned-up nose; the other a broad-shouldered fellow, distinguished101 no less by his demure102 face and cat like, trustless eyes than by a wooden leg and stout crutch103. There was a kind of leer about his lips; he seemed laughing in his sleeve at some person or thing; his whole air was anything but that of a true man.
"Good-morning, Mr. Barraclough," said Moore debonairly104, for him.
"Peace be unto you!" was the answer, Mr. Barraclough entirely105 closing his naturally half-shut eyes as he delivered it.
"I'm obliged to you. Peace is an excellent thing; there's nothing I more wish for myself. But that is not all you have to say to me, I suppose? I imagine peace is not your purpose?"
"As to our purpose," began Barraclough, "it's one that may sound strange and perhaps foolish to ears like yours, for the childer of this world is wiser in their generation than the childer of light."
"To the point, if you please, and let me hear what it is."
"Ye'se hear, sir. If I cannot get it off, there's eleven behint can help me. It is a grand purpose, and" (changing his voice from a half-sneer to a whine) "it's the Looard's own purpose, and that's better."
"Do you want a subscription106 to a new Ranter's chapel107, Mr. Barraclough? Unless your errand be something of that sort, I cannot see what you have to do with it."
"I hadn't that duty on my mind, sir; but as Providence108 has led ye to mention the subject, I'll make it i' my way to tak ony trifle ye may have to spare; the smallest contribution will be acceptable."
With that he doffed109 his hat, and held it out as a begging-box, a brazen110 grin at the same time crossing his countenance111.
"If I gave you sixpence you would drink it."
Barraclough uplifted the palms of his hands and the whites of his eyes, evincing in the gesture a mere112 burlesque113 of hypocrisy114.
"You seem a fine fellow," said Moore, quite coolly and dryly; "you don't care for showing me that you are a double-dyed hypocrite, that your trade is fraud. You expect indeed to make me laugh at the cleverness with which you play your coarsely farcical part, while at the same time you think you are deceiving the men behind you."
Moses' countenance lowered. He saw he had gone too far. He was going to answer, when the second leader, impatient of being hitherto kept in the background, stepped forward. This man did not look like a traitor115, though he had an exceedingly self-confident and conceited116 air.
"Mr. Moore," commenced he, speaking also in his throat and nose, and enunciating each word very slowly, as if with a view to giving his audience time to appreciate fully21 the uncommon elegance117 of the phraseology, "it might, perhaps, justly be said that reason rather than peace is our purpose. We come, in the first place, to request you to hear reason; and should you refuse, it is my duty to warn you, in very decided118 terms, that measures will be had resort to" (he meant recourse) "which will probably terminate in—in bringing you to a sense of the unwisdom, of the—the foolishness which seems to guide and guard your proceedings as a tradesman in this manufacturing part of the country. Hem4! Sir, I would beg to allude119 that as a furriner, coming from a distant coast, another quarter and hemisphere of this globe, thrown, as I may say, a perfect outcast on these shores—the cliffs of Albion—you have not that understanding of huz and wer ways which might conduce to the benefit of the working-classes. If, to come at once to partic'lars, you'd consider to give up this here miln, and go without further protractions straight home to where you belong, it 'ud happen be as well. I can see naught ageean such a plan.—What hev ye to say tull't, lads?" turning round to the other members of the deputation, who responded unanimously, "Hear, hear!"
"Brayvo, Noah o' Tim's!" murmured Joe Scott, who stood behind Mr. Moore. "Moses'll niver beat that. Cliffs o' Albion, and t' other hemisphere! My certy! Did ye come fro' th' Antarctic Zone, maister? Moses is dished."
Moses, however, refused to be dished. He thought he would try again. Casting a somewhat ireful glance at "Noah o' Tim's," he launched out in his turn; and now he spoke95 in a serious tone, relinquishing120 the sarcasm121 which he found had not answered.
"Or iver you set up the pole o' your tent amang us, Mr. Moore, we lived i' peace and quietness—yea, I may say, in all loving-kindness. I am not myself an aged50 person as yet, but I can remember as far back as maybe some twenty year, when hand-labour were encouraged and respected, and no mischief-maker had ventured to introduce these here machines which is so pernicious. Now, I'm not a cloth-dresser myself, but by trade a tailor. Howsiver, my heart is of a softish nature. I'm a very feeling man, and when I see my brethren oppressed, like my great namesake of old, I stand up for 'em; for which intent I this day speak with you face to face, and advises you to part wi' your infernal machinery122, and tak on more hands."
"What if I don't follow your advice, Mr. Barraclough?"
"Are you in connection with the Wesleyans now, Mr. Barraclough?"
"Praise God! Bless His name! I'm a joined Methody!"
"Which in no respect prevents you from being at the same time a drunkard and a swindler. I saw you one night a week ago laid dead-drunk by the roadside, as I returned from Stilbro' market; and while you preach peace, you make it the business of your life to stir up dissension. You no more sympathize with the poor who are in distress124 than you sympathize with me. You incite125 them to outrage126 for bad purposes of your own; so does the individual called Noah of Tim's. You two are restless, meddling127, impudent128 scoundrels, whose chief motive-principle is a selfish ambition, as dangerous as it is puerile129. The persons behind you are some of them honest though misguided men; but you two I count altogether bad."
Barraclough was going to speak.
"Silence! You have had your say, and now I will have mine. As to being dictated130 to by you, or any Jack131, Jem, or Jonathan on earth, I shall not suffer it for a moment. You desire me to quit the country; you request me to part with my machinery. In case I refuse, you threaten me. I do refuse—point-blank! Here I stay, and by this mill I stand, and into it will I convey the best machinery inventors can furnish. What will you do? The utmost you can do—and this you will never dare to do—is to burn down my mill, destroy its contents, and shoot me. What then? Suppose that building was a ruin and I was a corpse—what then, you lads behind these two scamps? Would that stop invention or exhaust science? Not for the fraction of a second of time! Another and better gig-mill would rise on the ruins of this, and perhaps a more enterprising owner come in my place. Hear me! I'll make my cloth as I please, and according to the best lights I have. In its manufacture I will employ what means I choose. Whoever, after hearing this, shall dare to interfere132 with me may just take the consequences. An example shall prove I'm in earnest."
Moore turned sharply to Barraclough. "You were at Stilbro'," said he; "I have proof of that. You were on the moor, you wore a mask, you knocked down one of my men with your own hand—you! a preacher of the gospel!—Sugden, arrest him!"
Moses was captured. There was a cry and a rush to rescue, but the right hand which all this while had lain hidden in Moore's breast, reappearing, held out a pistol.
"Both barrels are loaded," said he. "I'm quite determined! Keep off!"
Stepping backwards134, facing the foe135 as he went, he guarded his prey136 to the counting-house. He ordered Joe Scott to pass in with Sugden and the prisoner, and to bolt the door inside. For himself, he walked backwards and forwards along the front of the mill, looking meditatively137 on the ground, his hand hanging carelessly by his side, but still holding the pistol. The eleven remaining deputies watched him some time, talking under their breath to each other. At length one of them approached. This man looked very different from either of the two who had previously138 spoken; he was hard-favoured, but modest and manly-looking.
"I've not much faith i' Moses Barraclough," said he, "and I would speak a word to you myseln, Mr. Moore. It's out o' no ill-will that I'm here, for my part; it's just to mak a effort to get things straightened, for they're sorely a-crooked. Ye see we're ill off—varry ill off; wer families is poor and pined. We're thrown out o' work wi' these frames; we can get nought139 to do; we can earn nought. What is to be done? Mun we say, wisht! and lig us down and dee? Nay; I've no grand words at my tongue's end, Mr. Moore, but I feel that it wad be a low principle for a reasonable man to starve to death like a dumb cratur. I willn't do't. I'm not for shedding blood: I'd neither kill a man nor hurt a man; and I'm not for pulling down mills and breaking machines—for, as ye say, that way o' going on'll niver stop invention; but I'll talk—I'll mak as big a din22 as ever I can. Invention may be all right, but I know it isn't right for poor folks to starve. Them that governs mun find a way to help us; they mun make fresh orderations. Ye'll say that's hard to do. So mich louder mun we shout out then, for so much slacker will t' Parliament-men be to set on to a tough job."
"Worry the Parliament-men as much as you please," said Moore; "but to worry the mill-owners is absurd, and I for one won't stand it."
"Ye're a raight hard un!" returned the workman. "Willn't ye gie us a bit o' time? Willn't ye consent to mak your changes rather more slowly?"
"Am I the whole body of clothiers in Yorkshire? Answer me that."
"Ye're yourseln."
"And only myself. And if I stopped by the way an instant, while others are rushing on, I should be trodden down. If I did as you wish me to do, I should be bankrupt in a month; and would my bankruptcy140 put bread into your hungry children's mouths? William Farren, neither to your dictation nor to that of any other will I submit. Talk to me no more about machinery. I will have my own way. I shall get new frames in to-morrow. If you broke these, I would still get more. I'll never give in."
Here the mill-bell rang twelve o'clock. It was the dinner-hour. Moore abruptly141 turned from the deputation and re-entered his counting-house.
His last words had left a bad, harsh impression; he, at least, had "failed in the disposing of a chance he was lord of." By speaking kindly142 to William Farren—who was a very honest man, without envy or hatred143 of those more happily circumstanced than himself, thinking it no hardship and no injustice144 to be forced to live by labour, disposed to be honourably145 content if he could but get work to do—Moore might have made a friend. It seemed wonderful how he could turn from such a man without a conciliatory or a sympathizing expression. The poor fellow's face looked haggard with want; he had the aspect of a man who had not known what it was to live in comfort and plenty for weeks, perhaps months, past, and yet there was no ferocity, no malignity146 in his countenance; it was worn, dejected, austere147, but still patient. How could Moore leave him thus, with the words, "I'll never give in," and not a whisper of good-will, or hope, or aid?
Farren, as he went home to his cottage—once, in better times, a decent, clean, pleasant place, but now, though still clean, very dreary148, because so poor—asked himself this question. He concluded that the foreign mill-owner was a selfish, an unfeeling, and, he thought, too, a foolish man. It appeared to him that emigration, had he only the means to emigrate, would be preferable to service under such a master. He felt much cast down—almost hopeless.
On his entrance his wife served out, in orderly sort, such dinner as she had to give him and the bairns. It was only porridge, and too little of that. Some of the younger children asked for more when they had done their portion—an application which disturbed William much. While his wife quieted them as well as she could, he left his seat and went to the door. He whistled a cheery stave, which did not, however, prevent a broad drop or two (much more like the "first of a thunder-shower" than those which oozed149 from the wound of the gladiator) from gathering on the lids of his gray eyes, and plashing thence to the threshold. He cleared his vision with his sleeve, and the melting mood over, a very stern one followed.
He still stood brooding in silence, when a gentleman in black came up—a clergyman, it might be seen at once, but neither Helstone, nor Malone, nor Donne, nor Sweeting. He might be forty years old; he was plain-looking, dark-complexioned, and already rather gray-haired. He stooped a little in walking. His countenance, as he came on, wore123 an abstracted and somewhat doleful air; but in approaching Farren he looked up, and then a hearty150 expression illuminated151 the preoccupied, serious face.
"Is it you, William? How are you?" he asked.
"Middling, Mr. Hall. How are ye? Will ye step in and rest ye?"
Mr. Hall, whose name the reader has seen mentioned before (and who, indeed, was vicar of Nunnely, of which parish Farren was a native, and from whence he had removed but three years ago to reside in Briarfield, for the convenience of being near Hollow's Mill, where he had obtained work), entered the cottage, and having greeted the good-wife and the children, sat down. He proceeded to talk very cheerfully about the length of time that had elapsed since the family quitted his parish, the changes which had occurred since; he answered questions touching152 his sister Margaret, who was inquired after with much interest; he asked questions in his turn, and at last, glancing hastily and anxiously round through his spectacles (he wore spectacles, for he was short-sighted) at the bare room, and at the meagre and wan96 faces of the circle about him—for the children had come round his knee, and the father and mother stood before him—he said abruptly,—
"And how are you all? How do you get on?"
Mr. Hall, be it remarked, though an accomplished153 scholar, not only spoke with a strong northern accent, but, on occasion, used freely north-country expressions.
"We get on poorly," said William; "we're all out of work. I've selled most o' t' household stuff, as ye may see; and what we're to do next, God knows."
"Has Mr. Moore turned you off?"
"He has turned us off; and I've sich an opinion of him now that I think if he'd tak me on again to-morrow I wouldn't work for him."
"It is not like you to say so, William."
"I know it isn't; but I'm getting different to mysel'; I feel I am changing. I wadn't heed154 if t' bairns and t' wife had enough to live on; but they're pinched—they're pined——"
"Well, my lad, and so are you; I see you are. These are grievous times; I see suffering wherever I turn. William, sit down. Grace, sit down. Let us talk it over."
And in order the better to talk it over, Mr. Hall lifted the least of the children on to his knee, and placed his hand124 on the head of the next least; but when the small things began to chatter155 to him he bade them "Whisht!" and fixing his eyes on the grate, he regarded the handful of embers which burned there very gravely.
"Sad times," he said, "and they last long. It is the will of God. His will be done. But He tries us to the utmost."
Again he reflected.
"You've no money, William, and you've nothing you could sell to raise a small sum?"
"No. I've selled t' chest o' drawers, and t' clock, and t' bit of a mahogany stand, and t' wife's bonny tea-tray and set o' cheeney 'at she brought for a portion when we were wed17."
"And if somebody lent you a pound or two, could you make any good use of it? Could you get into a new way of doing something?"
Farren did not answer, but his wife said quickly, "Ay, I'm sure he could, sir. He's a very contriving156 chap is our William. If he'd two or three pounds he could begin selling stuff."
"Could you, William?"
"Please God," returned William deliberately157, "I could buy groceries, and bits o' tapes, and thread, and what I thought would sell, and I could begin hawking158 at first."
"And you know, sir," interposed Grace, "you're sure William would neither drink, nor idle, nor waste, in any way. He's my husband, and I shouldn't praise him; but I will say there's not a soberer, honester man i' England nor he is."
"Well, I'll speak to one or two friends, and I think I can promise to let him have £5 in a day or two—as a loan, ye mind, not a gift. He must pay it back."
"I understand, sir. I'm quite agreeable to that."
"Meantime, there's a few shillings for you, Grace, just to keep the pot boiling till custom comes.—Now, bairns, stand up in a row and say your catechism, while your mother goes and buys some dinner; for you've not had much to-day, I'll be bound.—You begin, Ben. What is your name?"
Mr. Hall stayed till Grace came back; then he hastily took his leave, shaking hands with both Farren and his wife. Just at the door he said to them a few brief but very earnest words of religious consolation159 and exhortation160. With a mutual161 "God bless you, sir!" "God bless you, my friends!" they separated.
该作者的其它作品
《Jane Eyre简爱》
该作者的其它作品
《Jane Eyre简爱》
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1
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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2
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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7
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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invoke
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| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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13
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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14
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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fustian
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| n.浮夸的；厚粗棉布 | |
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17
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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19
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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21
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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22
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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24
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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25
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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26
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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27
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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28
chary
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| adj.谨慎的，细心的 | |
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29
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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30
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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31
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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32
propping
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| 支撑 | |
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33
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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35
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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36
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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37
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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38
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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39
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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40
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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41
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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42
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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43
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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44
indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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45
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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46
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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47
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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48
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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49
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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50
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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51
venomed
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| adj.恶毒的，含有恶意的 | |
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52
nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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53
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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54
tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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55
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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56
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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57
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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58
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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59
prosecuting
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| 检举、告发某人( prosecute的现在分词 )； 对某人提起公诉； 继续从事（某事物）； 担任控方律师 | |
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61
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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62
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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63
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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64
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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65
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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66
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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67
attestation
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| n.证词 | |
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68
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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69
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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70
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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71
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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72
belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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73
transgressed
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| v.超越( transgress的过去式和过去分词 )；越过；违反；违背 | |
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74
transgress
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| vt.违反，逾越 | |
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75
glisten
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| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
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76
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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77
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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78
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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79
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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80
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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81
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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82
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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83
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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84
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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85
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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86
votary
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| n.崇拜者；爱好者；adj.誓约的，立誓任圣职的 | |
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87
valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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88
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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89
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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91
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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92
oratorical
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| adj.演说的，雄辩的 | |
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93
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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94
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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95
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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96
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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97
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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98
aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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99
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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100
strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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101
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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102
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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103
crutch
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| n.T字形拐杖；支持，依靠，精神支柱 | |
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104
debonairly
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| adj.（通常指男人）愉快而自信的 | |
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105
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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106
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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107
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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108
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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109
doffed
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| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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111
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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112
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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113
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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114
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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115
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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116
conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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117
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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118
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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119
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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120
relinquishing
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的现在分词 )； 放弃 | |
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121
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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122
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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123
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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124
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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incite
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| v.引起，激动，煽动 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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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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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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honourably
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| adv.可尊敬地，光荣地，体面地 | |
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malignity
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| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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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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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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hawking
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| 利用鹰行猎 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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exhortation
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| n.劝告，规劝 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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