The old parsonage house, with its sombre atmosphere and its silence broken only by the ticking of the great Dutch clock in the parlor1, seemed to Bess a secluded2 hermitage where she would be safe from her kinsfolk and from the savagery3 of her forest lover. The kitchen was in the wing at the back of the house, shut off from the fields by Dr. Sugg’s orchard5 and a holly6 hedge, and parted on the west from the church-yard by the garden and a high stone-wall. The very consciousness of her nearness to Jeffray filled her with contentment. She flitted about the brick-paved kitchen singing to herself at times, and thinking of Jeffray as she did her work. There was the cow to be called in from the parsonage meadow and milked at dawn and sunset. Mary Sugg herself answered the kitchen door so that Bess’s presence should be kept as secret as possible. Dr. Sugg alone went into Rodenham village, for since the breaking out of the small-pox his daughter had kept to the house and garden, leaving such business as lay outside the rectory to her father. Bess served her new friends with all the ardor7 of her nature. She brushed Dr. Sugg’s coat for him, buckled8 on his shoes, and warmed his slippers9. As for Miss Mary, she had fallen coyly in love with their handsome handmaid, and treated her more as a friend than as a servant.
Each day Dr. Sugg would trudge10 up to the priory and make inquiries11 after Richard Jeffray’s health. For Bess it was the culminating moment in the day when she unlocked the front-door for the rector—for they kept the door locked—saw him hang his hat in the hall, and heard him remark with a twinkle that “Mr. Jeffray was doing very well.” Bess would turn back, in her red petticoat, white cap and apron12, into the kitchen and sing softly to herself as she turned the joint13 on the spit, polished the pewter, or peeled apples for a tart14. As yet she knew nothing of Jeffray’s betrothal15 to Miss Hardacre, and in her simple and passionate17 way she let her imagination roam at will. It was more a rare and sensuous18 dream with the girl, a passing and repassing of mysterious and alluring19 visions. Practical as she was in the trivialities of life, she became a desirous-eyed child of nature when love opened the gates of the sunset and of the dawn.
As for Miss Mary Sugg, she was a very modest creature, and had grown to regard the passionate intoxications of life as bordering on indecency. Like many inevitable20 spinsters, she had become ashamed, as it were, of her own sex, and the very reading of the banns in church made her mouth straighten primly22 and her hands clasp each other more chastely23 in her lap. The parson’s daughter appeared sincerely disturbed when Bess spoke24 to her of her life in Pevensel. Prudence25 and propriety26! The very thought of such savagery as Dan’s sent a pious27 shiver through Miss Sugg’s frame. She admired Bess for her courage, and even looked up to her with some sort of awe28 as to one who had survived terrible temptings of the devil. Bess grew to trust the prim21, kindly29 little creature in the course of a few days. She felt greatly moved to pet Miss Sugg, to stroke her gentle face, and caress30 her as a child might caress some smiling and delightful31 grandmother. Poor Mary took Bess’s attentions with blushes and a secret sense of pleasure. It had been her lot to be one of the odd women in the world, slighted by every one with the exception of Richard Jeffray and her father.
It has been said that Mary Sugg regarded matrimony with suspicion, and though Miss Sugg had not the remotest hope of marrying Richard Jeffray herself, she had no liking32 for his betrothal to Jilian Hardacre. Mary, like all women of sense, was something of a gossip, and it was at Rodenham parsonage that Bess learned at last of Jeffray’s entanglement33 at Hardacre. Mary was helping34 Bess to clean the silver and the pewter in the pantry when she let the truth slip casually35 into the girl’s ears.
Bess started, reddened, and went on polishing Dr. Sugg’s tankard as though the news had no concern for her heart.
“I did not know Mr. Jeffray was to be married,” she said, frowning a little, and staring out of the narrow window.
Miss Sugg, lost in her own reflections for the moment, noticed nothing strained or unnatural36 in Bess’s manner.
“Yes, I suppose it will soon be quite an old affair,” she said, with a sigh.
“And is Miss Hardacre very handsome?”
“A matter of opinion, my dear.”
“Mr. Jeffray is very much in love with her?”
“It is not my business,” she said, quietly, “to inquire into the warmth and nature of a gentleman’s affections.”
Poor Bess, her forecastings of the future were greatly changed by those few words of Mary Sugg’s. She woke no longer in the morning with a rush of joy to hear the thrushes singing in the parsonage garden. All her quaint38 imaginings were past and gone, for she was woman enough to feel the significance of this new truth. A kind of hopelessness took possession of her, a conviction that Jeffray had given her nothing but pity, and that all her dreams had been made of mist. Miss Hardacre was a great lady, and of course Mr. Jeffray was right in wishing to marry her. Bess went about her work with a dull ache at her heart. She no longer dreamed of the day when she should see Jeffray face to face again; rather, she dreaded39 the very thought of it, and grew full of a bitter humbleness40 that softened41 her whole nature. Her one yearning42 was to be saved from Dan and Isaac, to be left in peace awhile, unquestioned and alone.
It was the seventh evening of Bess’s sojourn43 at the parsonage. Dr. Sugg had gone down into the village to visit certain of the villagers who were sick to death of the fever, and Miss Sugg was sitting in her bedroom, sewing. Bess had been sweeping44 the kitchen and polishing the pewter and the plate. The evening was full of the splendor45 of spring, birds singing in every tree, and the sky a great sheet of gold in the west. The garden looked so green and fair with the sunlight shimmering46 through upon the grass, and daffodils asleep in the shade, that Bess had opened the garden door and looked up at the blue zenith and the golden west. The broad beds would soon be ablaze47 with tulips, red and white. Anemones48 and primroses49 were flowering in the shrubbery, and the gorse on the heath above Rodenham was gilding50 the purple of the hills.
Halting suddenly as she crossed the grass, she fancied that she caught the sound of footsteps close by in the church-yard. The stone-wall that divided the burial-ground, with its gray headstones and its yews51, from the parsonage garden, stood some seven feet high, and was tufted along the summit with gilliflower and grass. Bess ran her eyes suspiciously along the edge that cut the gold of the western sky. Suddenly, just above her, she saw a pair of hairy hands come over the wall, the fingers clawing at the stone-work to gain a surer hold. A fur cap jerked up above the wall; a face followed it, the mouth agape, the eyes straining right and left into the dusk.
Bess, standing52 stone-still, recognized Dan, her cousin. He had a red handkerchief knotted about his forehead, and a pad of lamb’s-wool over his wounded ear. Her fear of him made her like Lot’s wife for the moment, as she stood discovered on the open lawn. She was conscious only of the grin on the man’s face, as he stared at her, and of the great, hairy hands still gripping the wall.
Her pistol! She felt in her bosom53 for it, and found with a shock of horror that she had left it in the attic54. Dan, who had scrambled55 astride the wall, gave a hoarse56 shout and waved his hand. Bess had turned and was racing57 for the house. She heard Dan leap down from the wall and come padding after her across the grass. Mary Sugg’s white and terrified face showed for a moment at one of the upper windows. The parson’s daughter saw two more men leap down from the church-yard into the garden.
Bess stumbled over the step at the kitchen door, and half fell across the threshold. She struggled up and in, and clapped to the door, only to find Dan’s weight heaving against it before she could put up the bar. The latch58 and bolt gave way like brittle59 wood, and Bess herself was sent staggering against the wall. Before she could recover, Dan’s great arms were round her, his face thrust close to hers, his breath beating on her cheek.
Bess struggled fiercely, beating one fist in his face, and striving to untwine herself from his arms. He was too strong for her, however, and she read the savage4 delight of it in his eyes. Crushing Bess to him, and lifting her off her feet, he carried her out into the garden, mocking her as she pleaded, fought, and threatened.
Isaac, and Solomon, his brother, were waiting under the holly hedge closing the orchard. They ran forward to meet Dan, and set to to bind60 Bess’s wrists and ankles, while Dan held her down upon the grass. Isaac was mocking her the while with an exultation61 that made his smooth face seem diabolical62 under its white hair. Bess, desperate, and struggling still, cursed him as he held her left arm pinned against the ground while Solomon knotted the cord about her wrist.
“Old man,” she said, “be sure that I shall kill you some day.”
Isaac, thrusting his hand into her hair, and twisting a mass of it about his fingers, wrenched63 at the strands64 till Bess cried out with pain.
“You would run away from us, eh! We’ll cure you of your tricks, my lady. This is the last time you’ll laugh at us, I guess.”
“Devil—”
“That’s as it may be, my dear. Quick, lad, tie up her feet. I’ll shove this rag in her mouth and tie the cloth over it. That’s the trick. Up with her, Dan, she’s yours now, I reckon.”
Dan took Bess in his arms, hugging her tight to his broad chest, and carried her through the orchard and out into the meadow. Isaac and Solomon followed, keeping a keen watch behind them to see whether they were to be meddled65 with from the house. On the road over Rodenham heath old Isaac’s wagon66 was waiting, with three stout67 horses in the team. One of Solomon’s sons, Enoch, held the ropes. There was a pile of loose straw in the wagon, and Dan, half throwing Bess in over the tail-board, climbed in after her and covered her with the straw. Isaac and Solomon clambered in after him, and, whipping up the horses, they went at a trot16 for the wooded slopes of Pevensel.
点击收听单词发音
1 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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2 secluded | |
adj.与世隔绝的;隐退的;偏僻的v.使隔开,使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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3 savagery | |
n.野性 | |
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4 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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5 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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6 holly | |
n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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7 ardor | |
n.热情,狂热 | |
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8 buckled | |
a. 有带扣的 | |
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9 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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10 trudge | |
v.步履艰难地走;n.跋涉,费力艰难的步行 | |
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11 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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12 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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13 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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14 tart | |
adj.酸的;尖酸的,刻薄的;n.果馅饼;淫妇 | |
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15 betrothal | |
n. 婚约, 订婚 | |
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16 trot | |
n.疾走,慢跑;n.老太婆;现成译本;(复数)trots:腹泻(与the 连用);v.小跑,快步走,赶紧 | |
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17 passionate | |
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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18 sensuous | |
adj.激发美感的;感官的,感觉上的 | |
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19 alluring | |
adj.吸引人的,迷人的 | |
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20 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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21 prim | |
adj.拘泥形式的,一本正经的;n.循规蹈矩,整洁;adv.循规蹈矩地,整洁地 | |
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22 primly | |
adv.循规蹈矩地,整洁地 | |
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23 chastely | |
adv.贞洁地,清高地,纯正地 | |
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24 spoke | |
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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25 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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26 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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27 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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28 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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29 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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30 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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31 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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32 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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33 entanglement | |
n.纠缠,牵累 | |
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34 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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35 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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36 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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37 tightened | |
收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)变紧; (使)绷紧; 加紧 | |
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38 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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39 dreaded | |
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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40 humbleness | |
n.谦卑,谦逊;恭顺 | |
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41 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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42 yearning | |
a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
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43 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
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44 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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45 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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46 shimmering | |
v.闪闪发光,发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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47 ablaze | |
adj.着火的,燃烧的;闪耀的,灯火辉煌的 | |
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48 anemones | |
n.银莲花( anemone的名词复数 );海葵 | |
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49 primroses | |
n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 );淡黄色;追求享乐(招至恶果) | |
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50 gilding | |
n.贴金箔,镀金 | |
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51 yews | |
n.紫杉( yew的名词复数 ) | |
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52 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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53 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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54 attic | |
n.顶楼,屋顶室 | |
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55 scrambled | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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56 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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57 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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58 latch | |
n.门闩,窗闩;弹簧锁 | |
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59 brittle | |
adj.易碎的;脆弱的;冷淡的;(声音)尖利的 | |
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60 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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61 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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62 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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63 wrenched | |
v.(猛力地)扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 );扭伤;使感到痛苦;使悲痛 | |
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64 strands | |
n.(线、绳、金属线、毛发等的)股( strand的名词复数 );缕;海洋、湖或河的)岸;(观点、计划、故事等的)部份v.使滞留,使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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65 meddled | |
v.干涉,干预(他人事务)( meddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66 wagon | |
n.四轮马车,手推车,面包车;无盖运货列车 | |
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