‘You see, dear mother,’ the son was saying, ‘it is the peculiarity4 of my position which makes her appear to me in such a desirable light. When you consider how I have been crippled at starting, how my life has been maimed; that I feel anything like publicity5 distasteful, that I have ye no political ambition, and that my chief aim and hope lie in the education of the little thing Annie has left me, you must see how desirable a wife like Miss Halborough would be, to prevent my becoming a mere6 vegetable.’
‘If you adore her, I suppose you must have her!’ replied his mother with dry indirectness. ‘But you’ll find that she will not be content to live on here as you do, giving her whole mind to a young child.’
‘That’s just where we differ. Her very disqualification, that of being a nobody, as you call it, is her recommendation in my eyes. Her lack of influential7 connections limits her ambition. From what I know of her, a life in this place is all that she would wish for. She would never care to go outside the park-gates if it were necessary to stay within.’
‘Being in love with her, Albert, and meaning to marry her, you invent your practical reasons to make the case respectable. Well, do as you will; I have no authority over you, so why should you consult me? You mean to propose on this very occasion, no doubt. Don’t you, now?’
‘By no means. I am merely revolving8 the idea in my mind. If on further acquaintance she turns out to be as good as she has hitherto seemed—well, I shall see. Admit, now, that you like her.’
‘I readily admit it. She is very captivating at first sight. But as a stepmother to your child! You seem mighty9 anxious, Albert, to get rid of me!’
‘Not at all. And I am not so reckless as you think. I don’t make up my mind in a hurry. But the thought having occurred to me, I mention it to you at once, mother. If you dislike it, say so.’
‘I don’t say anything. I will try to make the best of it if you are determined10. When does she come?’
‘To-morrow.’
All this time there were great preparations in train at the curate’s, who was now a householder. Rosa, whose two or three weeks’ stay on two occasions earlier in the year had so affected11 the squire12, was coming again, and at the same time her younger brother Cornelius, to make up a family party. Rosa, who journeyed from the Midlands, could not arrive till late in the evening, but Cornelius was to get there in the afternoon, Joshua going out to meet him in his walk across the fields from the railway.
Everything being ready in Joshua’s modest abode13 he started on his way, his heart buoyant and thankful, if ever it was in his life. He was of such good report himself that his brother’s path into holy orders promised to be unexpectedly easy; and he longed to compare experiences with him, even though there was on hand a more exciting matter still. From his youth he had held that, in old-fashioned country places, the Church conferred social prestige up to a certain point at a cheaper price than any other profession or pursuit; and events seemed to be proving him right.
He had walked about half an hour when he saw Cornelius coming along the path; and in a few minutes the two brothers met. The experiences of Cornelius had been less immediately interesting than those of Joshua, but his personal position was satisfactory, and there was nothing to account for the singularly subdued14 manner that he exhibited, which at first Joshua set down to the fatigue15 of over-study; and he proceeded to the subject of Rosa’s arrival in the evening, and the probable consequences of this her third visit. ‘Before next Easter she’ll be his wife, my boy,’ said Joshua with grave exultation16.
Cornelius shook his head. ‘She comes too late!’ he returned.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look here.’ He produced the Fountall paper, and placed his finger on a paragraph, which Joshua read. It appeared under the report of Petty Sessions, and was a commonplace case of disorderly conduct, in which a man was sent to prison for seven days for breaking windows in that town.
‘Well?’ said Joshua.
‘He is home, safe enough.’ Cornelius in the same gloomy tone gave the remainder of his information. He had witnessed the scene, unobserved of his father, and had heard him say that he was on his way to see his daughter, who was going to marry a rich gentleman. The only good fortune attending the untoward19 incident was that the millwright’s name had been printed as Joshua Alborough.
‘Beaten! We are to be beaten on the eve of our expected victory!’ said the elder brother. ‘How did he guess that Rosa was likely to marry? Good Heaven Cornelius, you seem doomed20 to bring bad news always, do you not!’
‘I do,’ said Cornelius. ‘Poor Rosa!’
It was almost in tears, so great was their heart-sickness and shame, that the brothers walked the remainder of the way to Joshua’s dwelling21. In the evening they set out to meet Rosa, bringing her to the village in a fly; and when she had come into the house, and was sitting down with them, they almost forgot their secret anxiety in contemplating22 her, who knew nothing about it.
Next day the Fellmers came, and the two or three days after that were a lively time. That the squire was yielding to his impulses—making up his mind—there could be no doubt. On Sunday Cornelius read the lessons, and Joshua preached. Mrs. Fellmer was quite maternal23 towards Rosa, and it appeared that she had decided24 to welcome the inevitable25 with a good grace. The pretty girl was to spend yet another afternoon with the elder lady, superintending some parish treat at the house in observance of Christmas, and afterwards to stay on to dinner, her brothers to fetch her in the evening. They were also invited to dine, but they could not accept owing to an engagement.
The engagement was of a sombre sort. They were going to meet their father, who would that day be released from Fountall Gaol26, and try to persuade him to keep away from Narrobourne. Every exertion27 was to be made to get him back to Canada, to his old home in the Midlands—anywhere, so that he would not impinge disastrously28 upon their courses, and blast their sister’s prospects29 of the auspicious30 marriage which was just then hanging in the balance.
As soon as Rosa had been fetched away by her friends at the manor-house her brothers started on their expedition, without waiting for dinner or tea. Cornelius, to whom the millwright always addressed his letters when he wrote any, drew from his pocket and re-read as he walked the curt31 note which had led to this journey being undertaken; it was despatched by their father the night before, immediately upon his liberation, and stated that he was setting out for Narrobourne at the moment of writing; that having no money he would be obliged to walk all the way; that he calculated on passing through the intervening town of Ivell about six on the following day, where he should sup at the Castle Inn, and where he hoped they would meet him with a carriage-and-pair, or some other such conveyance32, that he might not disgrace them by arriving like a tramp.
‘That sounds as if he gave a thought to our position,’ said Cornelius.
Joshua knew the satire33 that lurked34 in the paternal35 words, and said nothing. Silence prevailed during the greater part of their journey. The lamps were lighted in Ivell when they entered the streets, and Cornelius, who was quite unknown in this neighbourhood, and who, moreover, was not in clerical attire36, decided that he should be the one to call at the Castle Inn. Here, in answer to his inquiry37 under the darkness of the archway, they told him that such a man as he had described left the house about a quarter of an hour earlier, after making a meal in the kitchen-settle. He was rather the worse for liquor.
‘Then,’ said Joshua, when Cornelius joined him outside with this intelligence, ‘we must have met and passed him! And now that I think of it, we did meet some one who was unsteady in his gait, under the trees on the other side of Hendford Hill, where it was too dark to see him.’
They rapidly retraced38 their steps; but for a long stretch of the way home could discern nobody. When, however, they had gone about three-quarters of the distance, they became conscious of an irregular footfall in front of them, and could see a whitish figure in the gloom. They followed dubiously39. The figure met another wayfarer—the single one that had been encountered upon this lonely road—and they distinctly heard him ask the way to Narrobourne. The stranger replied—what was quite true—that the nearest way was by turning in at the stile by the next bridge, and following the footpath40 which branched thence across the meadows.
When the brothers reached the stile they also entered the path, but did not overtake the subject of their worry till they had crossed two or three meads, and the lights from Narrobourne manor-house were visible before them through the trees. Their father was no longer walking; he was seated against the wet bank of an adjoining hedge. Observing their forms he shouted, ‘I’m going to Narrobourne; who may you be?’
They went up to him, and revealed themselves, reminding him of the plan which he had himself proposed in his note, that they should meet him at Ivell.
‘By Jerry, I’d forgot it!’ he said. ‘Well, what do you want me to do?’ His tone was distinctly quarrelsome.
A long conversation followed, which became embittered42 at the first hint from them that he should not come to the village. The millwright drew a quart bottle from his pocket, and challenged them to drink if they meant friendly and called themselves men. Neither of the two had touched alcohol for years, but for once they thought it best to accept, so as not to needlessly provoke him.
‘What’s in it?’ said Joshua.
‘A drop of weak gin-and-water. It won’t hurt ye. Drin’ from the bottle.’ Joshua did so, and his father pushed up the bottom of the vessel43 so as to make him swallow a good deal in spite of himself. It went down into his stomach like molten lead.
‘Ha, ha, that’s right!’ said old Halborough. ‘But ’twas raw spirit—ha, ha!’
‘Why should you take me in so!’ said Joshua, losing his self-command, try as he would to keep calm.
‘Because you took me in, my lad, in banishing44 me to that cursed country under pretence45 that it was for my good. You were a pair of hypocrites to say so. It was done to get rid of me—no more nor less. But, by Jerry, I’m a match for ye now! I’ll spoil your souls for preaching. My daughter is going to be married to the squire here. I’ve heard the news—I saw it in a paper!’
‘It is premature—’
‘I know it is true; and I’m her father, and I shall give her away, or there’ll be a hell of a row, I can assure ye! Is that where the gennleman lives?’
Joshua Halborough writhed46 in impotent despair. Fellmer had not yet positively47 declared himself, his mother was hardly won round; a scene with their father in the parish would demolish48 as fair a palace of hopes as was ever builded. The millwright rose. ‘If that’s where the squire lives I’m going to call. Just arrived from Canady with her fortune—ha, ha! I wish no harm to the gennleman, and the gennleman will wish no harm to me. But I like to take my place in the family, and stand upon my rights, and lower people’s pride!’
‘You’ve succeeded already! Where’s that woman you took with you—’
‘Woman! She was my wife as lawful49 as the Constitution—a sight more lawful than your mother was till some time after you were born!’
Joshua had for many years before heard whispers that his father had cajoled his mother in their early acquaintance, and had made somewhat tardy50 amends51; but never from his father’s lips till now. It was the last stroke, and he could not bear it. He sank back against the hedge. ‘It is over!’ he said. ‘He ruins us all!’
The millwright moved on, waving his stick triumphantly52, and the two brothers stood still. They could see his drab figure stalking along the path, and over his head the lights from the conservatory53 of Narrobourne House, inside which Albert Fellmer might possibly be sitting with Rosa at that moment, holding her hand, and asking her to share his home with him.
The staggering whitey-brown form, advancing to put a blot54 on all this, had been diminishing in the shade; and now suddenly disappeared beside a weir55. There was the noise of a flounce in the water.
‘He has fallen in!’ said Cornelius, starting forward to run for the place at which his father had vanished.
Joshua, awaking from the stupefied reverie into which he had sunk, rushed to the other’s side before he had taken ten steps. ‘Stop, stop, what are you thinking of?’ he whispered hoarsely56, grasping Cornelius’s arm.
‘Pulling him out!’
‘Yes, yes—so am I. But—wait a moment—’
‘But, Joshua!’
‘Her life and happiness, you know—Cornelius—and your reputation and mine—and our chance of rising together, all three—’
He clutched his brother’s arm to the bone; and as they stood breathless the splashing and floundering in the weir continued; over it they saw the hopeful lights from the manor-house conservatory winking57 through the trees as their bare branches waved to and fro.
The floundering and splashing grew weaker, and they could hear gurgling words: ‘Help—I’m drownded! Rosie—Rosie!’
‘We’ll go—we must save him. O Joshua!’
‘Yes, yes! we must!’
Still they did not move, but waited, holding each other, each thinking the same thought. Weights of lead seemed to be affixed58 to their feet, which would no longer obey their wills. The mead41 became silent. Over it they fancied they could see figures moving in the conservatory. The air up there seemed to emit gentle kisses.
Cornelius started forward at last, and Joshua almost simultaneously59. Two or three minutes brought them to the brink60 of the stream. At first they could see nothing in the water, though it was not so deep nor the night so dark but that their father’s light kerseymere coat would have been visible if he had lain at the bottom. Joshua looked this way and that.
‘He has drifted into the culvert,’ he said.
Below the foot-bridge of the weir the stream suddenly narrowed to half its width, to pass under a barrel arch or culvert constructed for waggons61 to cross into the middle of the mead in haymaking time. It being at present the season of high water the arch was full to the crown, against which the ripples62 clucked every now and then. At this point he had just caught sight of a pale object slipping under. In a moment it was gone.
They went to the lower end, but nothing emerged. For a long time they tried at both ends to effect some communication with the interior, but to no purpose.
‘We ought to have come sooner!’ said the conscience-stricken Cornelius, when they were quite exhausted63, and dripping wet.
‘I suppose we ought,’ replied Joshua heavily. He perceived his father’s walking-stick on the bank; hastily picking it up he stuck it into the mud among the sedge. Then they went on.
‘Shall we—say anything about this accident?’ whispered Cornelius as they approached the door of Joshua’s house.
‘What’s the use? It can do no good. We must wait until he is found.’
They went indoors and changed their clothes; after which they started for the manor-house, reaching it about ten o’clock. Besides their sister there were only three guests; an adjoining landowner and his wife, and the infirm old rector.
Rosa, although she had parted from them so recently, grasped their hands in an ecstatic, brimming, joyful64 manner, as if she had not seen them for years. ‘You look pale,’ she said.
The brothers answered that they had had a long walk, and were somewhat tired. Everybody in the room seemed charged full with some sort of interesting knowledge: the squire’s neighbour and his wife looked wisely around; and Fellmer himself played the part of host with a preoccupied65 bearing which approached fervour. They left at eleven, not accepting the carriage offered, the distance being so short and the roads dry. The squire came rather farther into the dark with them than he need have done, and wished Rosa good-night in a mysterious manner, slightly apart from the rest.
When they were walking along Joshua said, with desperate attempt at joviality66, ‘Rosa, what’s going on?’
‘Never mind—if it disturbs you.’
She was so excited that she could not speak connectedly at first, the practised air which she had brought home with her having disappeared. Calming herself she added, ‘I am not disturbed, and nothing has happened. Only he said he wanted to ask me something, some day; and I said never mind that now. He hasn’t asked yet, and is coining to speak to you about it. He would have done so to-night, only I asked him not to be in a hurry. But he will come to-morrow, I am sure!’
点击收听单词发音
1 gravel | |
n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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2 drizzling | |
下蒙蒙细雨,下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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3 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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4 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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5 publicity | |
n.众所周知,闻名;宣传,广告 | |
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6 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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7 influential | |
adj.有影响的,有权势的 | |
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8 revolving | |
adj.旋转的,轮转式的;循环的v.(使)旋转( revolve的现在分词 );细想 | |
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9 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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10 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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11 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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12 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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13 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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14 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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15 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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16 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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17 offender | |
n.冒犯者,违反者,犯罪者 | |
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18 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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19 untoward | |
adj.不利的,不幸的,困难重重的 | |
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20 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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21 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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22 contemplating | |
深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
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23 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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24 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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25 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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26 gaol | |
n.(jail)监狱;(不加冠词)监禁;vt.使…坐牢 | |
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27 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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28 disastrously | |
ad.灾难性地 | |
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29 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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30 auspicious | |
adj.吉利的;幸运的,吉兆的 | |
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31 curt | |
adj.简短的,草率的 | |
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32 conveyance | |
n.(不动产等的)转让,让与;转让证书;传送;运送;表达;(正)运输工具 | |
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33 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
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34 lurked | |
vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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35 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
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36 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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37 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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38 retraced | |
v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 );回忆;回顾;追溯 | |
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39 dubiously | |
adv.可疑地,怀疑地 | |
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40 footpath | |
n.小路,人行道 | |
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41 mead | |
n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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42 embittered | |
v.使怨恨,激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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44 banishing | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的现在分词 ) | |
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45 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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46 writhed | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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48 demolish | |
v.拆毁(建筑物等),推翻(计划、制度等) | |
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49 lawful | |
adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
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50 tardy | |
adj.缓慢的,迟缓的 | |
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51 amends | |
n. 赔偿 | |
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52 triumphantly | |
ad.得意洋洋地;得胜地;成功地 | |
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53 conservatory | |
n.温室,音乐学院;adj.保存性的,有保存力的 | |
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54 blot | |
vt.弄脏(用吸墨纸)吸干;n.污点,污渍 | |
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55 weir | |
n.堰堤,拦河坝 | |
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56 hoarsely | |
adv.嘶哑地 | |
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57 winking | |
n.瞬眼,目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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58 affixed | |
adj.[医]附着的,附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 );粘贴;加以;盖(印章) | |
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59 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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60 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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61 waggons | |
四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 ); 铁路货车; 小手推车 | |
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62 ripples | |
逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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63 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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64 joyful | |
adj.欢乐的,令人欢欣的 | |
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65 preoccupied | |
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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66 joviality | |
n.快活 | |
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67 gasp | |
n.喘息,气喘;v.喘息;气吁吁他说 | |
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