Mary placed her hand to her head in utter bewilderment. The world seemed to have changed in the last few hours. Hitherto, life at Dashwood had progressed on oiled springs, calm and peaceful. There was the regular decently appointed day, with its routine of refined duties, the dinner and the pleasant contemplation of placid1 evenings. Mary had swung like a proud planet in the still atmosphere. And now everything had passed into the wildest topsy-turveydom.
Even Lady Dashwood had altered. The quiet, self-contained woman, whose very restfulness had been one of her greatest charms! The sweet expression of her face had vanished; she looked aged2 and anxious, almost fierce.
"What does it all mean?" Mary asked. "What has come to everything and everybody? It seems almost impossible to believe that here at Dashwood----"
"Trouble comes; but trouble comes everywhere. It enters the palace as easily as the cottage, my child. And my fault, all of it. But come outside and talk to me. Mary, you must have nothing to do with that man!"
"But how do you know?" Mary asked. "I--I am not yet certain myself. Who could have told you anything?"
"But you are certain, child. You had made up your mind. The misery3 of your face tells me so. And you sent a note to that man. Would you have done so unless you had made up your mind to surrender?"
Mary looked down, and the red of shame flamed into her face. Come what would, she could not turn to either side and escape humiliation4.
"Slight told me," Lady Dashwood went on. "He came to me at once. My dear, you must not be angry with old Slight. He worships the very ground you walk on; he would lay down his life for you. And he knows everything; I shrewdly suspect that he knows even more than I do. Slight is something more than a servant, he is a valued friend of the family. And he came to me as I have said. He tells me that Horace Mayfield has got his wicked fingers in here; that he has plotted to make you his wife. That must not be, Mary, that must never take place. Surely you can defy that man, can order him out of the house."
"I could," Mary said slowly, "I am not afraid of him. As yet I have not pledged my word. Still, I am quite helpless. Look into the drawing-room and see for yourself. . . . That is what we have to put up with, three of them for the best part of a week. By eight o'clock tomorrow morning the servants will know everything; before the day is out we will be the talk of the county. I could not show my face after that. The degradation5 would make me old before my time. It is not as if I cared nothing for Dashwood. I love every stick and stone of it, the place is part of my being. It was your house for nearly forty years. Can't you understand my feelings?"
"I ought to," Lady Dashwood said bitterly. "It was I who first fostered those feelings. I tended them; day and night I watered them and fed them till they grew like a plant. With the lesson of the past before my eyes, I encouraged your pride. And now it is the master passion of your life. Everything has to be sacrificed to the old name and the old place. As for me, I should not hesitate for a single moment."
"And never know the feeling of happiness again!" Mary cried.
"Oh, my dear! happiness and I parted years ago. The old never expect happiness; there are too many ghosts, too many gaps, and too many memories. Peace is the greatest possession that one can expect at my time of life. And if you do this vile6 thing, then I shall have to go down to the grave without it. I am a wicked old woman; I am suffering now because I dare not tell the truth; but rather than this wrong shall be done, I will speak, though I made a death-bedside promise not to do so. Suppose I told you that you have less right at Dashwood than I have!"
The last words came with a fierce whisper that struck a cold chill to Mary's heart. Had Lady Dashwood suddenly lost her reason? But that white quivering face had no dull insanity7 upon it; the dark eyes were full of horror but not of madness.
"What do you mean?" Mary asked.
"I--I cannot tell you. I was sorry to say as much. Do you suppose that Horace Mayfield loves you in the ordinary sense of the word?"
"I believe he does, if that has anything to do with the question."
"Dear child, that man is incapable8 of any such feeling. Love is a sacred thing. Horace Mayfield is a cold-blooded and designing scoundrel. Your beauty may inflame9 him, but there is no love behind. He calculates that it will be no bad thing to call this his home. He plays upon your sinful pride as a master plays the violin. He knows that you would do anything, even to marrying him, to keep the scandal away."
"It is the only way," Mary said; "Horace Mayfield is too strong for us. What is that?"
Something stirred in the bushes close by, a crooning song was but half audible.
"It is your old nurse, Patience," Lady Dashwood explained. "She was sitting with me tonight when Slight came over hot-foot with the news. Patience has one of her lucid10 moods tonight. And Patience knows everything. The secret is hers, too."
"I am tired of this mystery," Mary said; "why is Patience Ray hiding there?"
A thin, bent11 figure emerged from the bushes; a dark withered12 face in a frame of thin grey hair looked out. It was an old woman, toothless and haggard, yet the eyes were sharp and shrewd now. For some years past the aged creature had been suffering from decay, but there were moments when her wit was as sharp and shrewd as ever.
"I couldn't stay away, dearie," the thin piping voice said. "It was like a mercy that God gave me back my mind tonight. The wicked old woman may do a lot of good before she dies yet. Don't you do it, dearie. Tell him that the proper owner is coming back to Dashwood, and that your face is your only dowry. Because I've seen the heir, as I knew that I should do before I die."
"What is she talking about?" Mary asked in utter astonishment13. "Patience, explain yourself."
But the old woman shook her head and refused to say any more. She muttered to herself something about disgrace and the house of Dashwood.
"Smoke the rats out!" she cried shrilly14 and suddenly, "smoke them out! It is the only way to clear Dashwood of such vermin. Put the match to the faggot and burn them out. That's what I would do if I had my way. And to think that it should come to this after all these years. Mistress, mistress, what a couple of wicked old women we are."
"We are that," Lady Dashwood said mournfully. She did not chide15 the wild speaker's words as Mary had expected. "Our sin is going to find us out, Patience. Mary, I implore16 you to do what I ask you. I implore you to spare me the pain of a full confession17. Send the man about his business and have none of him."
There was passionate18 entreaty19 in Lady Dashwood's tone, so that Mary was troubled in more ways than one. The heart pulled her one way, pride and reason another. And behind it all was a haunting sense that something was terribly wrong here. There was some dreadful meaning underlying20 the wild words of old Patience. As Mary stood there, cold and dispassionate in the moonlight, Horace Mayfield emerged with a telegram form in his hand.
"I have been some little time," he explained, "the forms were mislaid. But what is the meaning of this, Miss Mary? Surely it is late for Lady Dashwood to be abroad."
Mayfield spoke21 calmly enough, but his eyes looked troubled. He glanced from one to the other of the group anxiously.
"I came to see Mary," Lady Dashwood said coldly. In some magical way she had recovered her self-possession. She was cold and collected, a veritable grande dame22 in the presence of an inferior. "I had received certain information as to what has recently taken place here. It seems that Sir George Dashwood is under obligations to you, and that as these obligations have not been satisfied, you have put the law in motion. In the language of unfortunate people in a lower walk of life, you have 'put the bailiffs in.' It probably occurred to you that this would cause Miss Dashwood a deal of suffering!"
Mayfield bowed with exaggerated politeness.
"We have known each other a long time, Lady Dashwood," he said. "We have had some business transactions together, and you have never been at any great pains to conceal23 your opinion of me. Therefore, I should gain nothing by an endeavour now to appear in a more favourable24 light in your eyes. To be candid25, when I set the law in motion, I was not blind to the fact that my action would cause Miss Dashwood a certain anxiety."
"Shameless!" Lady Dashwood cried, "more shameless than I expected."
"Smoke them out!" came shrilly from the lips of the old woman, "Burn the rats out! Put the firewood and the candle together and burn out the vermin! Burn Horace Mayfield! Burn him and the other rascals26 in a pile together!"
Mayfield started, he seemed as if about to say something, then apparently27 he changed his mind, and ignored the speaker altogether.
"As you please," he said, "I shall be glad to have your views on the matter."
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1
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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7
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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8
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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9
inflame
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| v.使燃烧；使极度激动；使发炎 | |
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10
lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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11
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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12
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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13
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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14
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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15
chide
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| v.叱责；谴责 | |
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16
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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17
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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18
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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21
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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22
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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24
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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25
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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26
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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27
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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