‘God forgive me!’ he said tremulously. ‘I have been a wicked wretch3. I did not know she was such a treasure as this!’
He reassured4 her instantly; declaring that he would not of course desert her, that he would provide a home for her somewhere. Meanwhile she was to stay where she was as long as her mistress would allow her.
But a misfortune supervened in this direction. Whether an inkling of Anna’s circumstances reached the knowledge of Mrs. Harnham’s husband or not cannot be said, but the girl was compelled, in spite of Edith’s entreaties5, to leave the house. By her own choice she decided6 to go back for a while to the cottage on the Plain. This arrangement led to a consultation7 as to how the correspondence should be carried on; and in the girl’s inability to continue personally what had been begun in her name, and in the difficulty of their acting8 in concert as heretofore, she requested Mrs. Harnham—the only well-to-do friend she had in the world—to receive the letters and reply to them off-hand, sending them on afterwards to herself on the Plain, where she might at least get some neighbour to read them to her, if a trustworthy one could be met with. Anna and her box then departed for the Plain.
Thus it befel that Edith Harnham found herself in the strange position of having to correspond, under no supervision9 by the real woman, with a man not her husband, in terms which were virtually those of a wife, concerning a condition that was not Edith’s at all; the man being one for whom, mainly through the sympathies involved in playing this part, she secretly cherished a predilection10, subtle and imaginative truly, but strong and absorbing. She opened each letter, read it as if intended for herself, and replied from the promptings of her own heart and no other.
Throughout this correspondence, carried on in the girl’s absence, the high-strung Edith Harnham lived in the ecstasy11 of fancy; the vicarious intimacy12 engendered13 such a flow of passionateness14 as was never exceeded. For conscience’ sake Edith at first sent on each of his letters to Anna, and even rough copies of her replies; but later on these so-called copies were much abridged15, and many letters on both sides were not sent on at all.
Though selfish, and, superficially at least, infested16 with the self-indulgent vices17 of artificial society, there was a substratum of honesty and fairness in Raye’s character. He had really a tender regard for the country girl, and it grew more tender than ever when he found her apparently18 capable of expressing the deepest sensibilities in the simplest words. He meditated19, he wavered; and finally resolved to consult his sister, a maiden20 lady much older than himself, of lively sympathies and good intent. In making this confidence he showed her some of the letters.
‘She seems fairly educated,’ Miss Raye observed. ‘And bright in ideas. She expresses herself with a taste that must be innate23.’
The upshot of the discussion was that though he had not been directly advised to do it, Raye wrote, in his real name, what he would never have decided to write on his own responsibility; namely that he could not live without her, and would come down in the spring and shelve her looming26 difficulty by marrying her.
This bold acceptance of the situation was made known to Anna by Mrs. Harnham driving out immediately to the cottage on the Plain. Anna jumped for joy like a little child. And poor, crude directions for answering appropriately were given to Edith Harnham, who on her return to the city carried them out with warm intensification27.
‘O!’ she groaned28, as she threw down the pen. ‘Anna—poor good little fool—hasn’t intelligence enough to appreciate him! How should she? While I—don’t bear his child!’
It was now February. The correspondence had continued altogether for four months; and the next letter from Raye contained incidentally a statement of his position and prospects30. He said that in offering to wed22 her he had, at first, contemplated31 the step of retiring from a profession which hitherto had brought him very slight emolument32, and which, to speak plainly, he had thought might be difficult of practice after his union with her. But the unexpected mines of brightness and warmth that her letters had disclosed to be lurking33 in her sweet nature had led him to abandon that somewhat sad prospect29. He felt sure that, with her powers of development, after a little private training in the social forms of London under his supervision, and a little help from a governess if necessary, she would make as good a professional man’s wife as could be desired, even if he should rise to the woolsack. Many a Lord Chancellor’s wife had been less intuitively a lady than she had shown herself to be in her lines to him.
‘O—poor fellow, poor fellow!’ mourned Edith Harnham.
Her distress34 now raged as high as her infatuation. It was she who had wrought35 him to this pitch—to a marriage which meant his ruin; yet she could not, in mercy to her maid, do anything to hinder his plan. Anna was coming to Melchester that week, but she could hardly show the girl this last reply from the young man; it told too much of the second individuality that had usurped36 the place of the first.
Anna came, and her mistress took her into her own room for privacy. Anna began by saying with some anxiety that she was glad the wedding was so near.
‘O Anna!’ replied Mrs. Harnham. ‘I think we must tell him all—that I have been doing your writing for you?—lest he should not know it till after you become his wife, and it might lead to dissension and recriminations—’
‘O mis’ess, dear mis’ess—please don’t tell him now!’ cried Anna in distress. ‘If you were to do it, perhaps he would not marry me; and what should I do then? It would be terrible what would come to me! And I am getting on with my writing, too. I have brought with me the copybook you were so good as to give me, and I practise every day, and though it is so, so hard, I shall do it well at last, I believe, if I keep on trying.’
Edith looked at the copybook. The copies had been set by herself, and such progress as the girl had made was in the way of grotesque37 facsimile of her mistress’s hand. But even if Edith’s flowing caligraphy were reproduced the inspiration would be another thing.
‘You do it so beautifully,’ continued Anna, ‘and say all that I want to say so much better than I could say it, that I do hope you won’t leave me in the lurch38 just now!’
‘Very well,’ replied the other. ‘But I—but I thought I ought not to go on!’
‘Why?’
‘Because of its effect upon me.’
‘But it can’t have any!’
‘Why, child?’
‘Of course it can’t,’ said her mistress hastily; yet glad, despite her conscience, that two or three outpourings still remained to her. ‘But you must concentrate your attention on writing your name as I write it here.’
该作者的其它作品
《忧郁的双眸 A Pair of Blue Eyes》
《韦塞克斯的故事 Wessex Tales》
《无名的裘德 Jude the Obscure》
《Tess of the D‘Urbervilles德伯家的苔丝》
该作者的其它作品
《忧郁的双眸 A Pair of Blue Eyes》
《韦塞克斯的故事 Wessex Tales》
《无名的裘德 Jude the Obscure》
《Tess of the D‘Urbervilles德伯家的苔丝》
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1 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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2 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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3 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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4 reassured | |
adj.使消除疑虑的;使放心的v.再保证,恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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5 entreaties | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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6 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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7 consultation | |
n.咨询;商量;商议;会议 | |
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8 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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9 supervision | |
n.监督,管理 | |
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10 predilection | |
n.偏好 | |
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11 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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12 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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13 engendered | |
v.产生(某形势或状况),造成,引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14 passionateness | |
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15 abridged | |
削减的,删节的 | |
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16 infested | |
adj.为患的,大批滋生的(常与with搭配)v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 );遍布于 | |
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17 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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18 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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19 meditated | |
深思,沉思,冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 ); 内心策划,考虑 | |
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20 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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21 confide | |
v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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22 wed | |
v.娶,嫁,与…结婚 | |
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23 innate | |
adj.天生的,固有的,天赋的 | |
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24 prettily | |
adv.优美地;可爱地 | |
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25 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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26 looming | |
n.上现蜃景(光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼)v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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27 intensification | |
n.激烈化,增强明暗度;加厚 | |
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28 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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29 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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30 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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31 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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32 emolument | |
n.报酬,薪水 | |
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33 lurking | |
潜在 | |
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34 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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35 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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36 usurped | |
篡夺,霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 ); 盗用; 篡夺,篡权 | |
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37 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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38 lurch | |
n.突然向前或旁边倒;v.蹒跚而行 | |
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39 lucid | |
adj.明白易懂的,清晰的,头脑清楚的 | |
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40 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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