For some three weeks I had lain racked and shriveled in a nervous, delirious1 fever. It left me at last, the ghost of my old self, to face once more the problems of a ruined life. For many days these gave me no concern, or only in a fitful, indifferent manner. I was content to sip2 the dew of convalescence3, to slumber4 and to cherish my exhaustion5, and the others disturbed me but little. My recovery once assured, they left me generally to myself, scarce visiting me more often than was necessary for the administering of food or medicine. Sometimes one or other of them would come and sit by my bedside awhile and exchange with me a few desultory6 remarks; but this was seldom, and grew, with my strength more so, for the earth was brilliant with summer outside and naturally fuller of attractions than a sick-room.
Their neglect troubled me little at first; but by and by, when the first idle ecstasy7 of convalescence was beginning to deepen into a sense of responsibilities that I should soon have to gather up and adjust, it woke day by day an increasing uneasiness in my soul. As yet, it is true, the immediate8 past I could only call up before my mental vision as a blurred9 picture of certain events the significance of which was suggestive only. Gradually, however, detail by detail, the whole composition of it concentrated, on the blank sheet of my mind, and stood straight before me terribly uncompromising in its sternness of outline. Had I any reason to suppose, in short, that my share in Modred’s death was known to or guessed at by my father, Jason or Zyp? On that pivot10 turned the whole prospect11 of my future; for as to myself, were the secret to remain mine alone, I yet felt that I could make out life with a tolerable degree of resignation in the certain knowledge that Modred had forgiven me before he died, for a momentary12 mad impulse, the provocation13 to which had been so bitter—the reaction from which had been so immediate and so equally impulsive14.
Of my father, I may say at once, I had little fear. His manner toward me when, as he did occasionally, he came and sat by me for a half-hour or so, was marked by a gentleness and affection I had never known him to exhibit before. Pathetic as it was, I could sometimes almost have wished it replaced by a sterner mood, a more dubious15 attitude; for my remorse16 at having so bereaved17 him became a barbed sting in presence of his new condescension18 to me that dated from the afternoon of my appeal to him, and was intensified19 by our common loss.
Of Zyp I hardly dared to think, or dared to do more than tremulously hover20 round the thought that Modred’s death had absolved21 me from my promise to him to avoid her. Still the thought was there and perhaps I only played with self-deception when I affected22 to fly from it out of a morbid23 loyalty24 to him that was gone. I could not live with and not long for her with all the passion I was capable of.
Therefore it was that I dreaded25 any possible disclosure of a suspicion on her part—dreaded it with a fever of the mind so fierce that it must truly have retarded26 my recovery indefinitely had not a counter-irritant occurred to me, in certain moods, in the form of a thought that perhaps, after all, my deed might not so affright one who, on her own showing, found a charm in the contemplation of evil.
But it was Jason I feared most. Something—I can hardly give it a name—had come to me within the last few weeks that seemed to be the preface to an awakening27 of the moral right on my part. In the unfolding of this new faculty28 I was startled and distressed29 to observe deformities in my brother where I had before seen nothing but manly30 beauty and a breezy recklessness that I delighted in. Beautiful bodily, I and all must still think him, though it had worried me lately to often observe an expression in his blue eyes that was only new to my new sense. This I can but describe, with despair of the melodramatic sound of it, as poisonous. The pupils were as full and purple as berries of the deadly nightshade.
It was not, however, his eyes only that baffled me. I saw that he coveted31 any novelty of sensation greedily, and that sooner than forego enjoyment32 of it he would ruthlessly stamp down whatever obstacle to its attainment33 crossed his path.
Now I knew in my heart that his hitherto indifference34 to Zyp was an affectation born only of wounded vanity, and that such as he could never voluntarily yield so piquant35 a prize to homelier rivals. I recalled, with a brooding apprehension36, certain words of his on that fatal morning, that seemed intended to convey, at least, a dark suspicion as to the manner of Modred’s death. Probably they were bolts shot at random37 with a sinister38 object—for I could conceive no shadow of direct evidence against me. In that connection they might mean much or little; in one other I had small doubt that they meant a good deal—this in fact, that, if I got in his way with Zyp, down I should go.
Daily probing and analyzing39 such darkly dismal40 problems as these, I slowly crawled through convalescence to recovery.
It was a sweltering morning in early July that I first crept out of doors, with Zyp for my companion. It was happiness to me to have her by my side, though as yet my weak and watery41 veins42 could prickle to no ghost of passion. I had thought that life could hold nothing for me ever again but present pain and agonized43 retrospects44. It was not so. The very smell of the freshly watered roads woke a shadowy delight in me as we stepped over the threshold. The buoyant thunder of the river, as it leaped under the old street bridge seemed to gush45 over my heart with a cleansing46 joyousness47 that left it white and innocent again.
We crossed the road and wandered by a zig-zag path to the ancient close, where soft stretches and paddocks of green lawn, “immemorial elms” and scattered48 buildings antique and embowered wrought49 such an harmonious50 picture as filled my tired soul with peace.
Here we sat down on an empty bench. I had much to question Zyp about—much to reflect on and put into words—but my neglected speech moved as yet on rusty51 hinges.
“Zyp,” I said presently, in a low voice; “tell me—where is he buried?”
“In the churchyard—St. John’s, under the hill, Renny.”
Not once until now had I touched upon this subject or mentioned Modred’s name to any one of them, and a great longing52 was upon me to get it over and done with.
“Who went?”
“Dad and Jason and Dr. Crackenthorpe.”
“Zyp, nobody has asked me anything about it. Don’t you all want to know how—how it happened?”
“He was caught in the weeds—you said so yourself, Renny.”
Vainly I strove to get under her words; intuition was, for the time being, a sluggish53 quantity in me.
“Yes; but——” I began, when she took me up softly.
“Dad said it was all clear and that we were never to bother you about it at all.”
“And I for one,” said Zyp, “don’t intend to.”
Something in her words jarred unaccountably on my sick nerves.
“At first,” she said, just glancing at me, “dad thought there ought to be an inquest, but Dr. Crackenthorpe was so set against it that he gave in.”
“Dr. Crackenthorpe? Why was——”
“He said that juries took such an idiotic55 view of a father’s responsibilities; that dad might be censured56 for letting the boy run wild; that in any case the family’s habits of life would be raked over and cause a scandal that might make things very uncomfortable; that it was a perfectly57 plain case of drowning, and that he was quite willing to give a certificate that death was due to a rupture58 of some blood vessel59 in the brain following exhaustion from exposure—or something of that sort.”
“And he did?”
“Yes, at last, after a deal of talk, and he was buried quietly and there was an end of it.”
Not quite an end, Zyp—not quite an end!
She was very gentle and patient with me all the morning, and my poor soul brimmed over with gratitude. My pulses began even to flicker60 a little with hope that things might be as they were before the catastrophe61. After all she was a very independent changeling and, if there existed in her heart any bias62 in my favor, Jason might find himself quite baffled in his efforts to control her inclinations63.
Presently I turned to the same overclouding subject.
“What happened the day I was taken bad, Zyp?”
“Jason found you on the stairs, talking rubbish. They carried you to bed and you hardly left off talking rubbish for weeks. Don’t you remember anything of it?”
“Nothing, after—after I saw him lying there so dreadful.”
“Ah, it was ugly, wasn’t it? Well, you must have wandered off somewhere—anywhere; and the rest of us to the parlor64. There dad and the doctor fell to words. They had spent all the night over that stupid drink, sleeping and quarreling by fits and couldn’t remember much about it. They had not heard any noise upstairs, either of them; but suddenly the doctor pointed65 to something hanging out of dad’s pocket. ‘Why, you must have gone to the boy’s room some time,’ he said. ‘Look there!’ Dad took it out and it was Modred’s braces66, all twisted up and stuffed into his pocket.”
“Modred’s braces?”
“Yes; they all knew them, for they were blue, you know—the color he liked. Dad afterward67 thought he must have put them there to be out of the way while he was carrying Modred upstairs, but at the time he was furious. ‘D’ye dare to imply I had a hand in my son’s death?’ he shrieked68. ‘I imply nothing; I mean no offense69; they are plain for every one to see,’ said the doctor, going back a little. I thought he was frightened and that dad would jump at his throat like a weasel, and I clapped my hands, waiting for the battle. But it never came, for dad turned pale and called for brandy, and there was an end of it.”
This story of the doctor’s horrible suggestion wrought only one comfort in me—it warmed my heart with a great heat of loyalty to one who, I knew, for all his faults, could never be guilty of so inhuman70 a wickedness.
“I should like to kill that doctor,” I said, fiercely and proudly.
Zyp was my companion during the greater part of that day and the next. Her manner toward me was uniformly gentle and attentive72. Sometimes during meals I would become conscious of Jason’s eyes fixed73 upon one or other of us in a curious stare that was watchful74 and introspective at once, as if he were summing up the voiceless arguments of counsels invisible, while never losing sight of the fact that we he sat in judgment75 on were already convicted in his mind. This, for the time being, did not much disturb me. I was lulled76 to a sense of false security by the gracious championship I thought I now could rely upon.
It was the evening of the second day and we three were in the living-room together; Jason reading at the window. Zyp had been so kind to me that my heart was very full indeed, and now she sat by me, one hand slipped into mine, the other supporting her little pointed chin, while her sweet, flower-stained eyes communed with other, it seemed, than affairs of earth. A strange wistful tenderness had marked her late treatment of me; a pathetic solicitude77 that was inexpressibly touching78 to one so forlorn. Suddenly she rose and I heard Jason’s book rustle79 in his hand.
“Now, little boy,” she said, “’tis time you were in bed.”
Then she leaned toward me and whispered:
“Is he so unhappy? What has he done for Zyp’s sake?”
In a moment she bent80 and kissed me, with a soft kiss, on the forehead, and shooting a Parthian glance of defiance81 at Jason, who never spoke82 or moved, ran from the room.
All my soul thrilled with a delicious joy. Zyp, who had refused to kiss him, had kissed me. The ecstasy of her lips’ touch blotted83 out all significance her words might carry.
Half-stunned with triumphant84 happiness, I climbed the stairs and, getting into bed, fell into a luminous85 dream of thought in which for the moment was no place for apprehension.
I did not even hear Jason enter or shut the door, and it was only when he shook me roughly by the shoulder that I became conscious of his presence in the room.
He was standing86 over me, and the windows of his soul were down, and through them wickedness grinned like a skull87.
“I’ve had enough of this,” he said in a terrible low voice. “D’you want to drive me to telling that I know it was you who killed Modred?”
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收听单词发音
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1
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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8
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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pivot
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| v.在枢轴上转动；装枢轴，枢轴；adj.枢轴的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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absolved
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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26
retarded
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| a.智力迟钝的，智力发育迟缓的 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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32
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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attainment
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| n.达到，到达；［常pl.］成就，造诣 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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analyzing
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| v.分析；分析( analyze的现在分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析n.分析 | |
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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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watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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43
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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retrospects
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| n.回顾，回想( retrospect的名词复数 )v.回顾，回想( retrospect的第三人称单数 ) | |
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45
gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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joyousness
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| 快乐，使人喜悦 | |
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48
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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49
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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50
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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53
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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54
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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55
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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56
censured
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| v.指责，非难，谴责( censure的过去式 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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bias
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| n.偏见，偏心，偏袒；vt.使有偏见 | |
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inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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braces
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| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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67
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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68
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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71
soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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72
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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75
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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76
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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79
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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80
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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81
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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82
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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83
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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84
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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85
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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86
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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87
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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