Mr. Tuke and his man were employed upon a very profitless and monotonous1 task. The one—the first—was engaged in drawing stagnant2 water from a well in a bucket; the other received and toiled3 away with each vessel-full in succession, and flung it broadcast about the garden.
They had cleared from the well-rim the torn earth and rubbish that encumbered4 it. A flap of wood had originally protected the mouth of the hole; but the slobbering tooth of Time had chewed this to the veriest pulp5, upheld only by the clutch of the grass roots that had spread over and beyond it, and it had become the merest question of accident as to whose foot should first break into the pitfall7.
Despite the unchancy look of the place, measurement with a plumb8 revealed the fact that not so much as four feet of dead water lay at the bottom of the inky funnel9; and this four feet Mr. Tuke had set himself patiently to withdraw, in fulfilment of a certain promise made to a couple of rather colourless beaux yeux.
Now, for an hour had the two been regularly dipping and spilling, in the remote hope of finding a gold chain and bréviaire curled snugly10 in the pail after some particular haul. But it seemed a forlorn and fruitless search. If the gewgaw had in truth slipped in, it was for a certainty imbedded in the silt11 and slime at the bottom.
Fatigue12 was telling a little upon the loose physique of the servant. His cheeks were hot and his breath laboured. But the master worked on, vigorous and pre-occupied, and gave little thought to the other’s condition.
Indeed, his want of consideration could plead the excuse that he had much present matter to meditate13 and digest. He had inherited, it seemed, the lonely lordship of many mysteries; and to the devil’s captured attorneys, he could have thought, had been committed the task of drawing up his new lease of life, so teeming14 was it with uninterpretable perplexities, after the most admired human models.
Once or twice he spoke15 to his servant, in a stern, even voice that was really little of an invitation to confidence.
“Whimple,” he had said, “had you any previous knowledge of the fellow who called yesterday?”
“I have seen him about, sir.”
“Had he ever spoken to you before?”
“He had—he may have once or twice.”
It was always an aggravation16 that this man could never, it appeared, give a direct answer.
“What do you mean by ‘may have’? Has he or has he not?”
“He has, sir.”
“On what matters?”
“I don’t know, sir—of no importance—I really couldn’t tell.”
Mr. Tuke glanced up angrily.
“You part with every word as if it were a tooth. Now, mind,” he said sharply—“you’ll give him a wide berth17 for the future. I’ll not have anything concerning me discussed between you—concerning me, or my house, or whatsoever18 connected with the estate.”
Once again, as the man took the bucket from him, he had looked into his face and said:
“Sir,” he muttered piteously—“I thought you would never know, or, knowing, never mind. She—she—it would break her heart to part with them altogether. They are abominations to you and me——”
“You can leave yourself out of the question, fellow. I don’t concern myself with the quality of your emotions.”
The other twined his nervous fingers together over the bucket handle. Suddenly he spoke up, with a flushed face.
“If they are to go, sir, I would rather take the girl, with all her cranks and fancies, and do my best to seek a living elsewhere.”
The baronet looked hard at the poor baited creature.
“Am I losing touch of humanity in face of a little botheration?” he thought. Then he added aloud, with a spirit of scorn: “Words, words! But you would force me again into being the agent of your self-martyrdom. It won’t do, my friend. The lodge21 may serve as museum until it is pulled down. I see at least that the most disgusting item of the collection has vanished.”
They laboured at their task once more; and once more Mr. Tuke fell into profound musing23 over the perplexities of his later lot. In this connection were two matters for worrying consideration—two flails24 that beat up the dust of his mind in the absence of any sound grain of evidence.
Of these, the first was a certain hyperbolic expression used and reiterated25 by yesterday’s rogue—a preposterous26 inquiry27 that had yet seemed instinct with a subtle undermeaning, and, so weighted, had sung and buzzed ever since in the eavesdropper’s brain.
“The Lake of Wine!” The term had been surely employed to cover or suggest a tangible28 fact. Its persistent29 repetition by Mr. Joe Corby precluded30 the idea that it was merely an accidental fancy played upon for the girl’s behoof.
Then, what was its interpretation31?—to what did it allude32? Beyond the surmise33 that it must refer to something concealed34 upon, or connected with, his bugbear property, it was obviously impracticable for him to reach.
So, rebounding35 from a blank wall of speculation36, he would stumble against his second trouble. This, in its essence, was nothing but a fear, or the shadow of one. It amounted to sounds about the house of a night—sounds indistinctly acknowledged by a consciousness on the borderland of slumber37 and acute to nice impressions of the senses. He could recall them thundering on the drum of his visionary ear, and could remember starting up wildly awake to be aware of nothing in all the atmosphere of his room but a ticking silence. Still, the feeling would remain that something had been moving, creeping, breathing in his neighbourhood only a moment earlier; and more than once he had risen, with a wet forehead, to satisfy himself that he had been merely dreaming.
This recurrent uneasiness he had experienced on every night but the first of his inhabitance of the room; and it was beginning to thread his being with a little strand38 of nervousness. Oddly he felt himself in some telepathic way to be the centre of a nebulous mystery without having the remotest idea as to what was its nature. But his present lot was so strange, his position so isolated39, that, even as a fearless man, he felt he was justified40 in adopting some nice precautions against the possibility of midnight surprises.
Now it occurred to him that upon that single night only of his arrival had he enjoyed immunity41 from this shadowy sense of unseen company in his room; and he could not fail to remember that upon that occasion alone had the shutters42 of the broad window been closed and fastened. Ever since, by his own order, had they remained open. Moreover, as was his custom, he slept with a lattice flung wide to the inpour of fresh cold air.
Certainly to assume that any midnight visitor could have taken advantage of this so far as to enter, by way of ladder or creeper, and prowl about his chamber43 without immediately awakening44 him, seemed a ridiculous supposition. Yet, as a wise man, it would perhaps be as well for the future to obviate45, by closing the shutters, the necessity of suffering an apprehension46 so far-fetched.
“Whimple,” said he, as the man brought the bucket wearily back to the well-side—“why, when I first came, did you so protest against my flinging open the shutters of my bedroom?”
“I—I thought it wisest, sir. The—the house is lonely, and the neighbourhood harbours some rogues48, I fear.”
“Such as him you are on speaking terms with? Well, I have altered my mind. For the future, close them—you understand?”
For the life of him he could not treat the man with even an assumption of confidence. He would have thought the revocation49 of his order received with unmistakable relief, had he not been so steeped in suspicion of all things.
He was bending to his work again, when a voice hailing him from over the garden hedge made him start and turn round.
“At your service,” said he, and went forward.
A little man seated on a great horse was there in the drive—a pert cocksparrow knowingly-attired and bristling51 with pride of raiment. He had a comical small face, very pale, and his hat was of the last-approved shade of grey, with a broad ribbon of black and a broader buckle52 about it.
He looked a mere6 handy-dandy snip53; though he had in fact at that time come of age some five years; but his whimsical self-sufficiency not the fly on the bull’s horn could have outdone.
He raised his hat in a very courtly manner as the other approached.
“I have to apologize,” he said, “for this unceremonious greetin’.”
“By no means,” said Mr. Tuke. “You are Sir David Blythewood, I presume?”
The manling had by this time dismounted. He reached a hand over the hedge—a little gloved paw, small as a girl’s—and offered it in grasp to the gentleman.
“I ask the honour of your acquaintance,” said he. “My sister owes her life to you, I hear. ’Twas an admirable rescue, and more than her deserts.”
He grinned all over his little face.
“She was pryin’, Mr. Tuke—she was pryin’. She didn’t let that cat out of the bag, I’ll warrant. Ever since your comin’ she’d been eatin’ her heart out to get a glimpse of the lord of Wastelands, as they call you.”
“Rest you, rest you. The hurt’s to her vanity, by Gad56. ’Twas rich for her to make her bow wrong end up. She’s Miss Royston—my half-sister; and a devilish responsible legacy57, by the token. She keeps house for me. I say, you’ll let us be acquainted. D’you breed from your own game-eggs? There’s a pit at Stockbridge kept by old Pollack of the inn. I’ve a duckwing cockerel, March sittin’ would torment58 ye;—hackles as gold as his mettle59. Come Yule, I’ll back him, fifty pounds a side, against the bloodiest60 rooster you can show.”
So he ran on. His naïve self-importance, half-nullified by the frankness of his boyish confidence, was like a gush61 of sweet air through the enwrapping gloom of the other’s surroundings.
“We’ll see,” said Mr. Tuke, with a smile—“we’ll see. At present, as you may observe, I’ve my work cut out here for months.”
Sir David craned his neck over the hedge.
“It’s a wilderness62, good truth,” said he. “Is that Whimple? He’s a spine-broke artichoke, he is, with a worm at his root. What’s he doin’ there? Sure that’s the hole that Angel near sunk into. You ain’t never—why, you ain’t never dippin’ for that chain of hers?”
“We are, though.”
The youngling turned to him with a grin and a titter.
“It’s a shame, by cock,” said he. “I ought to have sent a message, but clean forgot. You may save yourself the trouble. She had left it at home all the time.”
Mr. Tuke, all considered, received this belated information very handsomely.
“Then I have laboured like Jacob,” said he. “But my second term is yet to serve.”
“Rachel was a prodigious64 coquette,” he said. “Well, Mr. Tuke, I’m forgettin’ my manners keepin’ you talkin’ here.”
“No, no. Come to the house.”
He was reluctant to part with the bright little dandy; but the latter was already in the saddle.
“Can’t,” he chirped65. “I’ve an appointment at four, and Angel ’ll be faintin’ to hear tell of every word you’ve spoke. I say—I’ll draw the bow on that Jacob. You must come over to my place, and let’s be friends.”
The lord of Wastelands walked with him to the gate, and bid him a cheery good-speed as he cantered away.
He was dipping out of sight, when a long man, with a rod over his shoulder, came past up the road, and leered sourly as he went by at the baronet.
“Come,” thought the gentleman, “I’ve seen you once before. What do you fish for in these dry beds, my friend?”
He waited until the man had vanished over the hill. The latter had looked back once on his way, and seeing himself observed, had gone forward with no further token of inquisitiveness66.
Mr. Tuke returned to his house, in a pleasantly preoccupied67 frame of mind. He was both cheered and amused over the meeting with his lively neighbour, and promised himself a substantial dividend68 of fun out of that investment in the other’s friendship. He called to Whimple, as he passed, that he should need him no longer, and so went by to his front door, and, on the threshold, met Darda.
At once, some impulse of the moment drove him to look full in her face and to say: “What is the Lake of Wine?”
The girl backed from him, and stared a breathless instant with round eyes of wonder. Then she gave a small soft laugh, and, twining her fingers together, set her lips chilly69 like frosted rosebuds70 shrunk from opening to a north-easter.
“Darda,” he said, “will you not tell me? I think you don’t know what is the Lake of Wine, or where it is?”
“I know—I know!” she cried suddenly—“but what have you done that I should tell you?”—and, with a changeling screech71, she sprang past him and vanished up the drive.
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收听单词发音
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1
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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2
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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3
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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4
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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6
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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7
pitfall
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| n.隐患，易犯的错误；陷阱，圈套 | |
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plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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10
snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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11
silt
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| n.淤泥，淤沙，粉砂层，泥沙层；vt.使淤塞；vi.被淤塞 | |
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12
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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13
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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14
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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15
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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16
aggravation
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| n.烦恼，恼火 | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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18
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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19
evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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22
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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23
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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24
flails
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| v.鞭打( flail的第三人称单数 )；用连枷脱粒；（臂或腿）无法控制地乱动；扫雷坦克 | |
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25
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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28
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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precluded
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| v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 )；排除；妨碍；使…行不通 | |
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31
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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32
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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34
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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35
rebounding
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| 蹦跳运动 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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40
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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41
immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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42
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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43
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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44
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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45
obviate
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| v.除去，排除，避免，预防 | |
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46
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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47
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
rogues
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| 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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49
revocation
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| n.废止，撤回 | |
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50
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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51
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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52
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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53
snip
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| n.便宜货，廉价货，剪，剪断 | |
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54
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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55
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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56
gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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57
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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58
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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59
mettle
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| n.勇气，精神 | |
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60
bloodiest
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| adj.血污的( bloody的最高级 )；流血的；屠杀的；残忍的 | |
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61
gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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62
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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63
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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65
chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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66
inquisitiveness
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| 好奇，求知欲 | |
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67
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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68
dividend
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| n.红利，股息；回报，效益 | |
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69
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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70
rosebuds
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| 蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女，初入社交界的少女( rosebud的名词复数 ) | |
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71
screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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