One result of Dr. Crackenthorpe’s visit was that I determined1 to then and there push my secret inquiries2 to a head in the direction of my friend, the sexton of St. John’s.
I had not seen or heard of this man since the day of his seizure3 in the archway of the close, but I thought his attack must surely by now have yielded and left him sane4 again.
That very afternoon, leaving my father comfortably established with book and paper, I walked over to the old churchyard under the hill and looked about among the graves for some sign of him who farmed them. The place was empty and deserted5; it showed clearly that the hand of order was withdrawn6 and had not been replaced.
Not knowing whither to go to make inquiries, I loitered idly about some little time longer, in the hope that chance might throw some one who could direct me in my way.
Within my vision two mounds8 only stood out stark9 and sterile10 from the tangled11 green of Death’s garden, and one was Modred’s and the other the grave of the murdered man.
It was only a strange chance, of course, yet a strange chance it was that should smite12 those two out of all the yard with barrenness.
As I turned I was aware of a bent13 old man issuing from a side door of the church with a bunch of keys in his hand. To him I walked and addressed my inquiries.
“Ah!” he said, struggling out of a violent fit of coughing. “George White, sir? The man’s dismissed for drunkenness. To my sorrer, so it is. I has to do his work till they finds a substitoot. It’ll be the death of me this chill autumn.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“He ain’t app’inted yet.”
“George White, I mean?”
“He lives, if living he is, ower at Fullflood yonder. I misremember the number, but it’s either 17 or 27, or mebbe 74. They’ll tell you if you ask. Not but what I’d leave him alone, if I was you, for he’ll do you no good.”
“He can’t do me any harm, at least. I think I’ll try.”
“Go your courses, then. Young men are that bold-blooded. Go your courses. You can’t miss if you follers my directions.”
I had my own opinion as to that, but I tramped off to the district indicated, which lay in the western quarter of the town. Chance put out a friendly hand to me.
I had paused in indecision, when a woman standing14 at an open door behind me hailed another who was coming down the pavement with a little basket over her arm.
“Good-arternoon, Mrs. White,” said the first wife as the other came up. “And how did ye find your marn?”
“The horrers has left him, I’m told.”
“Ye’re told true, but little recommends the going. His face is the color o’ my apron17 here—an awesome18 sight. It’s the music membrim in his stommick, ’tis said that’s out o’ toon.”
“Ah, ma dear, I know it. It’s what the doctors call an orgin; and the pain is grinding.”
“Deary me, deary me! Poor Mr. White!”
“I left him a-sitting before the infirmary fire in a happythetic state, they names it, though to my mind he looked wretched.”
“And so must you be to harve your marn in the house. Well, well—and dismissed from his post, too, come rain or sunshine.”
I hurried off, satisfied with what I had heard. If the woman with the basket was not the sexton’s wife, there was no happy fortuity in fate. For a moment I had thought I would address myself to her, but the reflection that no good purpose could be answered thereby20, and that by doing so I might awaken21 suspicions where none existed, made me think better of it.
Expanding her allusions22, I writ23 down in my mind that George White, taken in hand by the police, had been remanded to the workhouse infirmary pending24 his recovery from an attack of delirium25 tremens, and such I found to be the case. Now the hope of getting anything in the nature of conclusive26 proof from him seemed remote. At least no harm could be done by me paying him a visit.
Fortunately I discovered, upon presenting myself at the “house,” that it was a visitors’ day, and that a margin27 yet remained of the time limit imposed upon callers.
I was referred to the infirmary doctor—a withered28 stick of a man, with an unprofessional beard the color and texture29 of dead grass. This gentleman’s broadcloth, reversing the order of things, seemed to have worn out him, instead of he it, so sleek30, imposing31 and many sizes too large for him were his clothes.
He listened with his teeth, it seemed, for his lip went up, exposing them every time he awaited an answer.
“George White? The man’s in a state of melancholia following alcoholic32 excess. He is only a responsible creature at moments, and has hallucinations. I doubt his recovery.”
“I might take my chance of one of the moments, sir.”
“You might, if you could recognize your opportunity. Is it important?”
“Very. That’s no idle assertion, I assure you. He only knows the truth of a certain matter, the solution of which affects many people.”
“Well, you can try. I give you little hope. An attendant must be within reach. There’s no calculating the next crazy impulse in such cases.”
An attendant took me in charge and convoyed me to the infirmary—a cleanly bare room, with a row of bedsteads headed against a distempered wall, and nailed to the latter over each patient’s pillow, a diagnosis33 of his disease and its treatment, like a descriptive label in a museum.
Some of the beds were occupied; a convalescent pallid34 figure or two lingered about the sunny windows at the end of the room, and seated solitary35 before the fire was the foundering36 wreck37 of George White.
The attendant briefly38 said, “That’s him,” and, retiring a short distance away, leaned against a bedstead rail. I fetched a chair from the wall and sat myself down by the poor shattered ruin.
A hopeless vacuity39 reigned40 in his expression at first, and presently he began to maunder and dribble41 forth42 a liquid patter of words all unintelligible43.
By and by some connectedness was apparent in his wanderings. I stooped my head to listen.
“He’s alone and asleep—the only one. Time to try—sarftly, now—a fut i’ the toe-hole wi’ caution—and I’m up and out. Curse the crumbling44 clay. Ah! a bit’s fell on him! My God, what a grin! One eye’s open! If I cud sweat to moisten it, now! I’m dry wi’ fire and dust! I’m farlin’ back—I’m——”
He half-rose to his feet; I put out a hand to control him, but he sunk down again and into apathy45 in a moment.
A few minutes and the stream of words was flowing once more.
“Not so deep—not so deep, arter all. The tails o’ the warms wriggles46 on the coffin47, while their heads be stuck out i’ the blessed air. Two fut, I make it. I cud putt my harnd through, so be as this cruel lid would heist up. It’s breaking—the soil’s coming through the cracks. It’s pouring in and choking me—it’s choking me, I say. Isn’t there none to hear? Why, I’m sinking! The subsoil’s dropped in! I shall be ten fut down and no chance if——”
Again the struggle; again the collapse48; and by and by, the monotonous49 murmur50 gathering51 volume as it proceeded.
“Sing, says you—and the devil drums i’ the pit if I so much as whisper. Look’ee ther—at the white square o’ the sky. Thart’s what keeps me going. If you was to blot52 thart out, he’d have me by the hip53 wi’ a pinch like a bloodhound’s jaw54. There’s summut darkens! Who’s thart a-looking down? Why, you bloody55 murderer, I knows you! I found you out, I did, you ugly cutthroat devil. Already dead, says you? Who kills dead men? There bain’t a thing i’ the warld I’d hold my tongue for but drink—you gie it me, then. What’s this? The bottle’s swarming56 wi’ maggots—arnts, black arnts. You’re a rare villain57! Not a doctor, I say. A doctor don’t cut the weasands o’ dead men and let out the worms—millions of them—and there’s some wi’ faces and shining rings and gewgaws. The ungodly shall go down into the pit—help me out o’ it—they’re burying me alive!”
He leaped to his feet, with drawn7, ashy face. The watchful58 attendant was at his side in a moment and had put a restraining hand on him.
As he spoke60 the sexton’s eyes lighted on me in their wild roving, steadied, flickered61 and took a little glint of reason. Still gazing at me, he sunk into his chair again.
“Leave us alone for a minute,” I said to the man. “He seems to recognize me, I think.”
“As long as his eyes don’t wander, maybe,” he answered. “Keep ’em fixed62 on you”—and he withdrew to his former standpoint.
“George,” I said, in a low, distinct voice, “do you know me?”
I held him with an intense gaze. He seemed struggling in an inward agony to escape it.
“George,” I said again, “do you know who I am?”
“The grave yon, where no grass grows,” he muttered.
“Yes, yes. Why doesn’t it grow there?”
“Ask the——”
“Ask whom? I’m listening.”
“It’s he—oh, my God!”
I saw the terror creep and flutter behind the surface of his skin. I saw it leap out and heard a yell, as his eyes escaped their thraldom63; and on the instant the attendant was there and struggling with him.
“What do you want?” I cried; “what are you here for?”
I think I was about to strike him, when the wizened66 figure of the doctor who had given me permission to enter thrust itself between us.
I fell back, shaking with rage. All down the row of beds pale sick faces had risen, looking on in wonder. Beside the fire my escort was still struggling with the madman.
“What right has he to be here—to come and spy upon me?” I cried.
“This is simply outrageous68! Dr. Crackenthorpe” (he glanced at the newcomer with no very flattering expression) “is here to superintend the removal of a patient of his. He must be protected from insult. I rescind69 my permit. Johnson, see this man off the premises70.”
A second attendant advanced and took me, police fashion, by the elbow. I offered no resistance. Impulse had made a fool of me, and I felt it.
The sound of the scuffle by the fire still continued. As I passed Dr. Crackenthorpe he made me a mocking bow, hat in hand. Then, waving me aside as if I were some troublesome supplicant71 he desired to ignore, he advanced further into the room.
Then came a sudden thud and loud exclamation72, at which both I and my attendant turned.
The madman had bested his enemy and dashed him to the floor. A moment then he paused, his gasping73 mouth and pale eyes indicative of his terror of the man approaching—a moment only, and he turned and fled. I was conscious of a sudden breaking out of voices—of a fearful screech74 ringing above them—of a hurried rush of shapes—of a bound and crash and shattering snap of glass. It all happened in an instant, and there was a jagged and gaping75 fissure76 in a window at the end of the room—and George White was gone.
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收听单词发音
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1
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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2
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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3
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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4
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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5
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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6
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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7
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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8
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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9
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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10
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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11
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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12
smite
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| v.重击；彻底击败；n.打；尝试；一点儿 | |
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13
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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14
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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15
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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16
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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17
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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18
awesome
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| adj.令人惊叹的，难得吓人的，很好的 | |
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19
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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20
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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21
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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22
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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23
writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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24
pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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25
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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26
conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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27
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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28
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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29
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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30
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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31
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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32
alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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33
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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34
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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35
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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36
foundering
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| v.创始人( founder的现在分词 ) | |
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37
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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38
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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39
vacuity
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| n.(想象力等)贫乏，无聊，空白 | |
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40
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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41
dribble
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| v.点滴留下，流口水；n.口水 | |
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42
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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43
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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44
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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45
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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46
wriggles
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| n.蠕动，扭动( wriggle的名词复数 )v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的第三人称单数 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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47
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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48
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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49
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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50
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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51
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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52
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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53
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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54
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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55
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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56
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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57
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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58
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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59
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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60
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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61
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
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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63
thraldom
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| n.奴隶的身份，奴役，束缚 | |
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64
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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65
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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66
wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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67
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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68
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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69
rescind
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| v.废除，取消 | |
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70
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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71
supplicant
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| adj.恳求的n.恳求者 | |
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72
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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73
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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74
screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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75
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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76
fissure
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| n.裂缝；裂伤 | |
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