In the least sombre room of the house, one with a large modern window (put into it by Sir George Godolphin to please my lady, just before that whim6 came into her head to build the Folly7), opening upon a gravel8 walk, were two ladies, on the evening of this same Saturday. Were they sisters? They did not look like it. Charlotte Pain you have seen. She stood underneath9 the wax-lights of the chandelier, tall, commanding, dark, handsome; scarlet10 flowers in her hair, a scarlet bouquet11 in her corsage; her dress a rich cream-coloured silk interwoven with scarlet sprigs. She had in her hand a small black dog of the King Charles species, holding him up to the lights, and laughing at his anger. He was snarling12 fractiously, whether at the lights or the position might be best known to his mistress; whilst at her feet barked and yelped13 an ugly Scotch14 terrier, probably because he was not also held up: for dogs, like men, covet15 what they cannot obtain.
In a dress of pink gauze, with pretty pink cheeks, smooth features, and hazel eyes, her auburn hair interlaced with pearls, her height scarcely reaching to Miss Pain’s shoulder, was Mrs. Verrall. She was younger than her sister: for sisters they were: a lady who passed through life with easy indifference16, or appeared to do so, and called her husband “Verrall.” She stood before the fire, a delicate white Indian screen in her hand, shading her face from the blaze. The room was hot, and the large window had been thrown open. So calm was the night, that not a breath of air came in to stir the wax-lights: the wind, which you heard moaning round the Rectory of All Souls in the morning, whirling the leaves and displeasing17 Mrs. Hastings, had dropped at sundown to a dead calm.
“Charlotte, I think I shall make Verrall take me to town with him! The thought has just come into my mind.”
Charlotte made no answer. Possibly she did not hear the words, for the dogs were barking and she was laughing louder than ever. Mrs. Verrall stamped her foot petulantly18, and her voice rang through the room.
[42]“Charlotte, then, do you hear me? Put that horrible little brute19 down, or I will ring for both to be taken away! One might as well keep a screaming cockatoo! I say I have a great mind to go up to town with Verrall.”
“Verrall would not take you,” responded Charlotte, putting her King Charles on to the back of the terrier.
“Why do you think that?”
“He goes up for business only.”
“It will be so dull for me, all alone!” complained Mrs. Verrall. “You in Scotland, he in London, and I moping myself to death in this gloomy Ashlydyat! I wish we had never taken it!”
Charlotte Pain bent20 her dark eyes in surprise upon her sister. “Since when have you found out that you do not like Ashlydyat?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It is a gloomy place inside, especially if you contrast it with Lady Godolphin’s Folly. And they are beginning to whisper of ghostly things being abroad on the Dark Plain!”
“For shame, Kate!” exclaimed Charlotte Pain. “Ghostly things! Oh, I see—you were laughing.”
“Is it not enough to make us all laugh—these tales of the Godolphins? But I shall convert it into a pretext21 for not being left alone here when you and Verrall are away. Why do you go, Charlotte?” Mrs. Verrall added, in a tone which had changed to marked significance. “It is waste of time.”
Charlotte Pain would not notice the innuendo22. “I never was in Scotland, and shall like the visit,” she said, picking up the King Charles again. “I enjoy fine scenery: you do not care for it.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Verrall; “it is scenery that draws you, is it? Take you care, Charlotte.”
“Care of what?”
“Shall I tell you? You must not fly into one of your tempers and pull my hair. You are growing too fond of George Godolphin.”
Charlotte Pain gave no trace of “flying into a temper;” she remained perfectly23 cool and calm. “Well?” was all she said, her lip curling.
“If it would bring you any good; if it would end in your becoming Mrs. George Godolphin; I should say well; go into it with your whole heart and energy. But it will not so end; and your time and plans are being wasted.”
“Has he told you so much?” ironically asked Charlotte.
“Nonsense! There was one in possession of the field before you, Charlotte—if my observation goes for anything. She will win the race; you will not even be in at the distance chair. I speak of Maria Hastings.”
“You speak of what you know nothing,” carelessly answered Charlotte Pain, a self-satisfied smile upon her lips.
“Very well. When it is all over, and you find your time has been wasted, do not say I never warned you. George Godolphin may be a prize worth entering the lists for; I do not say he is not: but there is no chance of your winning him.”
Charlotte Pain tossed the dog upwards24 and caught him as he descended25, a strange look of triumph on her brow.
“And—Charlotte,” went on Mrs. Verrall in a lower tone, “there is[43] a proverb, you know, about two stools. We may fall to the ground if we try to sit upon both at once. How would Dolf like this expedition to Scotland, handsome George making one in it?”
Charlotte’s eyes flashed now. “I care no more for Dolf than I care for—not half so much as I care for this poor little brute. Don’t bring up Dolf to me, Kate!”
“As you please. I would not mix myself up with your private affairs for the world. Only a looker-on sometimes sees more than those engaged in the play.”
Crossing the apartment, Mrs. Verrall traversed the passage that led from it, and opened the door of another room. There sat her husband at the dessert-table, taking his wine alone, and smoking a cigar. He was a slight man, twice the age of his wife, his hair and whiskers yellow, and his eyes set deep in his head: rather a good-looking man on the whole, but a very silent one. “I want to go to London with you,” said Mrs. Verrall.
“You can’t,” he answered.
She advanced to the table, and sat down near him. “There’s Charlotte going one way, and you another——”
“Don’t stop Charlotte,” he interrupted, with a meaning nod.
“And I must be left alone in the house; to the ghosts and dreams and shadows they are inventing about that Dark Plain. I will go with you, Verrall.”
“I should not take you with me to save the ghosts running off with you,” was Mr. Verrall’s answer, as he pressed the ashes from his cigar on a pretty shell, set in gold. “I go up incog. this time.”
“Then I’ll fill the house with guests,” she petulantly said.
“Fill it, and welcome, if you like, Kate,” he replied. “But, to go to London, you must wait for another opportunity.”
“What a hateful thing business is! I wish it had never been invented!”
“A great many more wish the same. And have more cause to wish it than you,” he drily answered. “Is tea ready?”
Mrs. Verrall returned to the room she had left, to order it in. Charlotte Pain was then standing outside the large window, leaning against its frame, the King Charles lying quietly in her arms, and her own ears on the alert, for she thought she heard advancing footsteps; and they seemed to be stealthy ones. The thought—or, perhaps, the wish—that it might be George Godolphin, stealing up to surprise her, flashed into her mind. She bent her head, and stroked the dog, in the prettiest unconsciousness of the approaching footsteps.
A hand was laid upon her shoulder. “Charlotte!”
She cried out—a sharp, genuine cry of dismay—dropped the King Charles, and bounded into the room. The intruder followed her.
“Why, Dolf!” uttered Mrs. Verrall in much astonishment26. “Is it you?”
“It is not my ghost,” replied the gentleman, holding out his hand. He was a little man, with fair hair, this Mr. Rodolf Pain, cousin to the two ladies. “Did I alarm you, Charlotte?”
“Alarm me!” she angrily rejoined. “You must have sprung from the earth.”
[44]“I have sprung from the railway station. Where is Verrall?”
“Why have you come down so unexpectedly?” exclaimed Mrs. Verrall.
“To see Verrall. I return to-morrow.”
“Verrall goes up to-morrow night.”
“I know he does. And that is why I have come down.”
“You might have waited to see him in London,” said Charlotte, her equanimity27 not yet restored.
“It was necessary for me to see him before he reached London. Where shall I find him, Mrs. Verrall?”
“In the dining-room,” Mrs. Verrall replied. “What can you want with him so hurriedly?”
“Business,” laconically28 replied Rodolf Pain, as he left the room in search of Mr. Verrall.
It was not the only interruption. Ere two minutes had elapsed, Lady Godolphin was shown in, causing Mrs. Verrall and her sister almost as much surprise as did the last intruder. She had walked over from the Folly, attended by a footman, and some agitation29 peeped out through her usual courtly suavity30 of manner, as she asked whether Charlotte Pain could be ready to start for Scotland on the morrow, instead of on Monday.
“To-morrow will be Sunday!” returned Charlotte.
“I do not countenance31 Sunday travelling, if other days can be made use of,” continued Lady Godolphin. “But there are cases where it is not only necessary, but justifiable32; when we are glad to feel the value of those Divine words, ‘The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath.’ Fever has broken out again, and I shall make use of to-morrow to escape from it. We start in the morning.”
“I shall be ready and willing to go,” replied Charlotte.
“It has appeared at Lady Sarah Grame’s,” added Lady Godolphin, “one of the most unlikely homes it might have been expected to visit. After this, none of us can feel safe. Were that fever to attack Sir George, his life, in his present reduced state, would not be worth an hour’s purchase.”
The dread33 of fever had been strong upon Lady Godolphin from the first; but never had it been so keen as now. Some are given to this dread in an unwonted degree: whilst an epidemic34 lasts (of whatever nature it may be) they live in a constant state of fear and pain. It is death they fear: being sent violently to the unknown life to come. I know of only one remedy for this: to be at peace with God: death or life are alike then. Lady Godolphin had not found it.
“Will Mr. Hastings permit his daughter to travel on a Sunday?” exclaimed Mrs. Verrall, the idea suddenly occurring to her, as Lady Godolphin was leaving.
“That is my business,” was my lady’s frigid35 answer. It has been said that she brooked36 not interference in the slightest degree.
It certainly could not be called the business of Mr. Hastings. For the travellers were far away from Prior’s Ash the next morning before he had received an inkling of the departure.
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1
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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2
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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3
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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6
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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7
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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8
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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9
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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10
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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11
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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12
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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13
yelped
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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15
covet
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| vt.垂涎；贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
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16
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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17
displeasing
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| 不愉快的，令人发火的 | |
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18
petulantly
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19
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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20
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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21
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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innuendo
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| n.暗指，讽刺 | |
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23
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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24
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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25
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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26
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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27
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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28
laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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29
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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30
suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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31
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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32
justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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33
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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34
epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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35
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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36
brooked
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| 容忍，忍受（brook的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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