It threw its recipient2 into a state of agitated3, quivering exultation4. Mrs. Ryan had heard nothing from her son, and her hopes of the separation had sunk to the lowest ebb5. Not so prudent6 as Cannon, she called up Dominick at the bank, asking him if it were true that his wife had left him, and beseeching7 him simply to tell her “yes” or “no.” The young man, hampered8 by the publicity9 of his surroundings and his promise to Berny, answered her with the utmost brevity, telling her[487] that there had been a change in his domestic life but that he could not enter into details now. He begged her to ask him no further questions as he would be at home at three o’clock that afternoon, when he would explain the whole matter to her.
She wrote this to the Bonanza10 King and sent it by his waiting messenger. The old man felt relieved when he read the letter. He was confident now that Berny had not deceived him. She had told the truth, and was leaving the town and her husband, for what reason he could not yet be sure, but there seemed no doubt that she was going. They would ignore the subject before Rose, and, in the course of time, Dominick would break down the unflinching resistance she had threatened to make to his suit. The old man felt buoyant and exhilarated. It looked as if things were at last going their way.
He sent a message to Mrs. Ryan, asking her to let him know as soon as possible what Dominick said, and waited in his office in a state of tension very foreign to his usual iron stolidity11. It was four o’clock before word came from her in the form of a telephone message, demanding his presence at her house at the earliest possible moment. He responded to it at once, and in the sitting-room12 of the Ryan mansion13 heard from Dominick’s own lips the story of his false and tragic14 marriage.
[488]The old man listened, unwinking, speechless, immovable. It was the one thing he had never thought of, a solution of the situation that was as completely unexpected to him as death would have been. He said nothing to Dominick about the money he had given Berny, did not mention having seen her. A sharp observer might have noticed that he looked a little blank, that, the first shock of surprise over, there was a slight expression of wandering attention in his eye, a suggestion of mental faculties15 inwardly focusing on an unseen point, about his manner.
He walked home, deeply thinking, abashed16 a little by the ease with which Fate unties17 the knots that man’s clumsy fingers work over in vain. And it was untied18. They were free—the boy and girl he loved—to realize his and their own dreams. It would need no years of wooing to melt Rose from stony19 resistance. Nobody had been sacrificed.
He felt a sense of gratitude20 toward Berny. Down in his heart he was conscious of a stirring of something that was kindly21, almost affectionate, toward her. It did not require a great stretch of imagination to see himself and her as two knowing, world-battered rogues22 who had combined to let youth and innocence23 have their happiness. He could almost feel the partnership24 with her she had spoken of, a sort of bond of Masonic understanding, a kindred attitude in[489] matters of ethics25. They had a mutually low estimate of human nature, a bold, cool unscrupulousness, a daring courage that never faltered26. In fact, he was sorry he had not given Berny the whole fifty thousand dollars.
“She could have got it out of me,” he said to himself, pondering pensively27. “If she’d stuck out for it I’d have given it to her. And she might just as well have had it.”
That evening for the first time in nearly three years Dominick Ryan dined with his mother in the great dining-room of the Ryan mansion. Cornelia was out with Jack28 Duffy, so Mrs. Ryan had her boy all to herself and she beamed and glowed and gloated on him as he sat opposite her, the reddened light of the candles falling on his beloved, familiar face.
After dinner they went into the sitting-room, the sanctum with the ebonized cherry furniture where the family always retired29 when important matters were afoot. Here, side by side, they sat before the fireplace with the portrait of the late Cornelius Ryan looking benignly30 down on them. They did not talk much. The subject of the young man’s marriage had been thoroughly31 gone over in the afternoon. Later on, his mother would extract from him further particulars, till she would be as conversant32 with that miserable33 chapter of his life as if she had lived it herself.
To-night they were both in the quiescent34 state[490] that follows turmoil35 and strife36. They sat close together, staring into space, now and then dropping one of the short disconnected sentences that indicate a fused, understanding intimacy37. The young man’s body was limp in his chair, his mind lulled38 in the restorative lethargy, the suspension of activities, that follows a struggle. His thoughts shrank shudderingly39 from the past, and did not seek to penetrate40 the future. He rested in a torpor41 of relief through which a dreamy sense of happiness came dimly, as if in the faintest, most delicate whispers.
His mother’s musings were definite and practical. She could now make that settlement, share and share alike, on both children that she had long desired—Cornelia’s would be a dowry on her wedding day and Dominick’s—well, Dominick had had hard times enough. She would go down to-morrow morning and see her lawyer about it.
At the same hour, in the house of the other rich man, the Bonanza King, having driven the servants from the room with violent words that did not indicate bad humor so much as high spirits, told his daughter the story. He told it shortly, hardly more than the main facts, and when it was concluded, forbore to make comments or, in fact, to look at her. It was a great deliverance, but he was not quite sure that his darling would experience the frank, unadulterated joy that had possessed42 both himself and Mrs. Ryan[491] without restraining qualms43. He did not know what to say to Rose. There were mysterious complexities44 in her character that made him decide to confine his statement to a recital45 of facts, eliminating those candid46 expressions of feeling which he could permit himself when talking to Mrs. Ryan or Berny.
As soon as he had told it all he rose from his chair as if ending the interview. His daughter rose too, pale and silent, and he put his arm round her shoulders and pressed her against his chest in a good-night hug. She kissed him and went up stairs to her own rooms, and he returned to his arm-chair at the end of the dining-table. Here, as was his wont47, he sat smoking and pondering, turning over in his head the various aspects of the curious story and its unexpected outcome. Once, as the memory of Berny weeping into his handkerchief recurred48 to him, he stirred uneasily and muttered to himself,
“Why didn’t the damned fool stick out for the whole fifty thousand? I’d have given it to her as soon as not.”
Meantime the storm center, the focus round which the hopes and angers and fears of this little group had circled, was speeding eastward49 in the darkness of the early night. Berny sat in the corner of her section with her luggage piled high on the seat before her, a pillow behind her head. In the brightly clear light, intensified50 by[492] reflections from glazed51 woodwork and the surfaces of mirrors, she looked less haggard, calmer and steadier, than she had looked for many weeks. Relief was at her heart. Now that she had turned her back on it she realized how she had hated it all—the flat, the isolation52, the unsuccessful struggle, Dominick and his superior ways.
The excitement of change, the desire of the new, the unfamiliar53, the untried, which had taken her far afield once before, sang in her blood and whispered its siren song in her ear. She had missed a fortune, but still she had something. She was not plunging54 penniless into the great outside world, and she pressed her hand against her chest where the thirty-five thousand dollars was sewed into the lining55 of her bodice. Thirty-five thousand dollars! It was a good deal if it wasn’t three hundred thousand.
As the train thundered on through the darkness she saw before her the lights of great cities, and heard the call of liberty, the call of the nomad56 and the social vagabond, the call of the noisy thoroughfare, of the bright places, of the tumult57 and the crowd. The roving passion of the wanderer, to whom the spell of home is faint as a whisper in the night, passed into her veins58 like the invigorating heat of wine. She exulted59 in the sense of her freedom, in the magic of adventure, in the wild independence of the unknown.
点击收听单词发音
1 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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2 recipient | |
a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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3 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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4 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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5 ebb | |
vi.衰退,减退;n.处于低潮,处于衰退状态 | |
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6 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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7 beseeching | |
adj.恳求似的v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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8 hampered | |
妨碍,束缚,限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9 publicity | |
n.众所周知,闻名;宣传,广告 | |
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10 bonanza | |
n.富矿带,幸运,带来好运的事 | |
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11 stolidity | |
n.迟钝,感觉麻木 | |
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12 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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13 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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14 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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15 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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16 abashed | |
adj.窘迫的,尴尬的v.使羞愧,使局促,使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17 unties | |
松开,解开( untie的第三人称单数 ); 解除,使自由; 解决 | |
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18 untied | |
松开,解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 ); 解除,使自由; 解决 | |
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19 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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20 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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21 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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22 rogues | |
n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 );无赖;调皮捣蛋的人;离群的野兽 | |
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23 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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24 partnership | |
n.合作关系,伙伴关系 | |
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25 ethics | |
n.伦理学;伦理观,道德标准 | |
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26 faltered | |
(嗓音)颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
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27 pensively | |
adv.沉思地,焦虑地 | |
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28 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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29 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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30 benignly | |
adv.仁慈地,亲切地 | |
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31 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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32 conversant | |
adj.亲近的,有交情的,熟悉的 | |
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33 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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34 quiescent | |
adj.静止的,不活动的,寂静的 | |
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35 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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36 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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37 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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38 lulled | |
vt.使镇静,使安静(lull的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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39 shudderingly | |
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40 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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41 torpor | |
n.迟钝;麻木;(动物的)冬眠 | |
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42 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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43 qualms | |
n.不安;内疚 | |
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44 complexities | |
复杂性(complexity的名词复数); 复杂的事物 | |
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45 recital | |
n.朗诵,独奏会,独唱会 | |
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46 candid | |
adj.公正的,正直的;坦率的 | |
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47 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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48 recurred | |
再发生,复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 ); 治愈 | |
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49 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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50 intensified | |
v.(使)增强, (使)加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51 glazed | |
adj.光滑的,像玻璃的;上过釉的;呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式);上釉于,上光;(目光)变得呆滞无神 | |
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52 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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53 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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54 plunging | |
adj.跳进的,突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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55 lining | |
n.衬里,衬料 | |
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56 nomad | |
n.游牧部落的人,流浪者,游牧民 | |
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57 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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58 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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59 exulted | |
狂喜,欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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