BESSY, languidly glancing through her midday mail some five days later, uttered a slight exclamation1 as she withdrew her finger-tip from the flap of the envelope she had begun to open.
It was a black sleety2 day, with an east wind bowing the trees beyond the drenched4 window-panes, and the two friends, after luncheon5, had withdrawn6 to the library, where Justine sat writing notes for Bessy, while the latter lay back in her arm-chair, in the state of dreamy listlessness into which she always sank when not under the stimulus8 of amusement or exercise.
She sat suddenly upright as her eyes fell on the letter.
"I beg your pardon! I thought it was for me," she said, holding it out to Justine.
The latter reddened as she glanced at the superscription. It had not occurred to her that Amherst would reply to her appeal: she had pictured him springing on the first north-bound train, perhaps not even pausing to announce his return to his wife.... And to receive his letter under Bessy's eye was undeniably embarrassing, since Justine felt the necessity of keeping her intervention9 secret.
But under Bessy's eye she certainly was--it continued to rest on her curiously10, speculatively11, with an under-gleam of malicious12 significance.
"So stupid of me--I can't imagine why I should have expected my husband to write to me!" Bessy went on, leaning back in lazy contemplation of her other letters, but still obliquely14 including Justine in her angle of vision.
The latter, after a moment's pause, broke the seal and read.
"Millfield, Georgia.
"My dear Miss Brent,
"Your letter reached me yesterday and I have thought it over
carefully. I appreciate the feeling that prompted it--but I don't
know that any friend, however kind and discerning, can give the
final advice in such matters. You tell me you are sure my wife will
not ask me to return--well, under present conditions that seems to
me a sufficient reason for staying away.
"Meanwhile, I assure you that I have remembered all you said to me
that day. I have made no binding15 arrangement here--nothing to
involve my future action--and I have done this solely16 because you
asked it. This will tell you better than words how much I value
your advice, and what strong reasons I must have for not following
it now.
"I suppose there are no more exploring parties in this weather. I
wish I could show Cicely some of the birds down here.
"Yours faithfully,
"John Amherst.
"Please don't let my wife ride Impulse."
Latent under Justine's acute consciousness of what this letter meant, was the sense of Bessy's inferences and conjectures17. She could feel them actually piercing the page in her hand like some hypersensitive visual organ to which matter offers no obstruction18. Or rather, baffled in their endeavour, they were evoking19 out of the unseen, heaven knew what fantastic structure of intrigue--scrawling over the innocent page with burning evidences of perfidy20 and collusion....
One thing became instantly clear to her: she must show the letter to Bessy. She ran her eyes over it again, trying to disentangle the consequences. There was the allusion21 to their talk in town--well, she had told Bessy of that! But the careless reference to their woodland excursions--what might not Bessy, in her present mood, make of it? Justine's uppermost thought was of distress22 at the failure of her plan. Perhaps she might still have induced Amherst to come back, had it not been for this accident; but now that hope was destroyed.
She raised her eyes and met Bessy's. "Will you read it?" she said, holding out the letter.
Bessy received it with lifted brows, and a protesting murmur23--but as she read, Justine saw the blood mount under her clear skin, invade the temples, the nape, even the little flower-like ears; then it receded24 as suddenly, ebbing25 at last from the very lips, so that the smile with which she looked up from her reading was as white as if she had been under the stress of physical pain.
"So you have written my husband to come back?"
"As you see."
Bessy looked her straight in the eyes. "I am very much obliged to you--extremely obliged!"
Justine met the look quietly. "Which means that you resent my interference----"
"Oh, I leave you to call it that!" Bessy mocked, tossing the letter down on the table at her side.
"Bessy! Don't take it in that way. If I made a mistake I did so with the hope of helping26 you. How can I stand by, after all these months together, and see you deliberately27 destroying your life without trying to stop you?"
The smile withered28 on Bessy's lips. "It is very dear and good of you--I know you're never happy unless you're helping people--but in this case I can only repeat what my husband says. He and I don't often look at things in the same light--but I quite agree with him that the management of such matters is best left to--to the persons concerned."
Justine hesitated. "I might answer that, if you take that view, it was inconsistent of you to talk with me so openly. You've certainly made me feel that you wanted help--you've turned to me for it. But perhaps that does not justify29 my writing to Mr. Amherst without your knowing it."
Bessy laughed. "Ah, my dear, you knew that if you asked me the letter would never be sent!"
"Perhaps I did," said Justine simply. "I was trying to help you against your will."
"Well, you see the result." Bessy laid a derisive30 touch on the letter. "Do you understand now whose fault it is if I am alone?"
Justine faced her steadily31. "There is nothing in Mr. Amherst's letter to make me change my opinion. I still think it lies with you to bring him back."
Bessy raised a glittering face to her--all hardness and laughter. "Such modesty32, my dear! As if I had a chance of succeeding where you failed!"
She sprang up, brushing the curls from her temples with a petulant33 gesture. "Don't mind me if I'm cross--but I've had a dose of preaching from Maria Ansell, and I don't know why my friends should treat me like a puppet without any preferences of my own, and press me upon a man who has done his best to show that he doesn't want me. As a matter of fact, he and I are luckily agreed on that point too--and I'm afraid all the good advice in the world won't persuade us to change our opinion!"
Justine held her ground. "If I believed that of either of you, I shouldn't have written--I should not be pleading with you now--And Mr. Amherst doesn't believe it either," she added, after a pause, conscious of the risk she was taking, but thinking the words might act like a blow in the face of a person sinking under a deadly narcotic34.
Bessy's smile deepened to a sneer35. "I see you've talked me over thoroughly--and on _his_ views I ought perhaps not to have risked an opinion----"
"We have not talked you over," Justine exclaimed. "Mr. Amherst could never talk of you...in the way you think...." And under the light staccato of Bessy's laugh she found resolution to add: "It is not in that way that I know what he feels."
"Ah? I should be curious to hear, then----"
Justine turned to the letter, which still lay between them. "Will you read the last sentence again? The postscript36, I mean."
Bessy, after a surprised glance at her, took the letter up with the deprecating murmur of one who acts under compulsion rather than dispute about a trifle.
"The postscript? Let me see...'Don't let my wife ride Impulse.'--_Et puis?_" she murmured, dropping the page again.
"Well, does it tell you nothing? It's a cold letter--at first I thought so--the letter of a man who believes himself deeply hurt--so deeply that he will make no advance, no sign of relenting. That's what I thought when I first read it...but the postscript undoes37 it all."
Justine, as she spoke38, had drawn7 near Bessy, laying a hand on her arm, and shedding on her the radiance of a face all charity and sweet compassion39. It was her rare gift, at such moments, to forget her own relation to the person for whose fate she was concerned, to cast aside all consciousness of criticism and distrust in the heart she strove to reach, as pitiful people forget their physical timidity in the attempt to help a wounded animal.
For a moment Bessy seemed to waver. The colour flickered40 faintly up her cheek, her long lashes41 drooped--she had the tenderest lids!--and all her face seemed melting under the beams of Justine's ardour. But the letter was still in her hand--her eyes, in sinking, fell upon it, and she sounded beneath her breath the fatal phrase: "'I have done this solely because you asked it.'
"After such a tribute to your influence I don't wonder you feel competent to set everybody's affairs in order! But take my advice, my dear--_don't_ ask me not to ride Impulse!"
The pity froze on Justine's lip: she shrank back cut to the quick. For a moment the silence between the two women rang with the flight of arrowy, wounding thoughts; then Bessy's anger flagged, she gave one of her embarrassed half-laughs, and turning back, laid a deprecating touch on her friend's arm.
"I didn't mean that, Justine...but let us not talk now--I can't!"
Justine did not move: the reaction could not come as quickly in her case. But she turned on Bessy two eyes full of pardon, full of speechless pity...and Bessy received the look silently before she moved to the door and went out.
"Oh, poor thing--poor thing!" Justine gasped42 as the door closed.
She had already forgotten her own hurt--she was alone again with Bessy's sterile43 pain. She stood staring before her for a moment--then her eyes fell on Amherst's letter, which had fluttered to the floor between them. The fatal letter! If it had not come at that unlucky moment perhaps she might still have gained her end.... She picked it up and re-read it. Yes--there were phrases in it that a wounded suspicious heart might misconstrue.... Yet Bessy's last words had absolved44 her.... Why had she not answered them? Why had she stood there dumb? The blow to her pride had been too deep, had been dealt too unexpectedly--for one miserable45 moment she had thought first of herself! Ah, that importunate46, irrepressible self--the _moi ha?ssable_ of the Christian--if only one could tear it from one's breast! She had missed an opportunity--her last opportunity perhaps! By this time, even, a hundred hostile influences, cold whispers of vanity, of selfishness, of worldly pride, might have drawn their freezing ring about Bessy's heart....
Justine started up to follow her...then paused, recalling her last words. "Let us not talk now--I can't!" She had no right to intrude47 on that bleeding privacy--if the chance had been hers she had lost it. She dropped back into her seat at the desk, hiding her face in her hands.
Presently she heard the clock strike, and true to her tireless instinct of activity, she lifted her head, took up her pen, and went on with the correspondence she had dropped.... It was hard at first to collect her thoughts, or even to summon to her pen the conventional phrases that sufficed for most of the notes. Groping for a word, she pushed aside her writing and stared out at the sallow frozen landscape framed by the window at which she sat. The sleet3 had ceased, and hollows of sunless blue showed through the driving wind-clouds. A hard sky and a hard ground--frost-bound ringing earth under rigid48 ice-mailed trees.
As Justine looked out, shivering a little, she saw a woman's figure riding down the avenue toward the gate. The figure disappeared behind a clump49 of evergreens--showed again farther down, through the boughs50 of a skeleton beech--and revealed itself in the next open space as Bessy--Bessy in the saddle on a day of glaring frost, when no horse could keep his footing out of a walk!
Justine went to the window and strained her eyes for a confirming glimpse. Yes--it was Bessy! There was no mistaking that light flexible figure, every line swaying true to the beat of the horse's stride. But Justine remembered that Bessy had not meant to ride--had countermanded51 her horse because of the bad going.... Well, she was a perfect horsewoman and had no doubt chosen her surest-footed mount...probably the brown cob, Tony Lumpkin.
But when did Tony's sides shine so bright through the leafless branches? And when did he sweep his rider on with such long free play of the hind-quarters? Horse and rider shot into sight again, rounding the curve of the avenue near the gates, and in a break of sunlight Justine saw the glitter of chestnut52 flanks--and remembered that Impulse was the only chestnut in the stables....
* * * * *
She went back to her seat and continued writing. Bessy had left a formidable heap of bills and letters; and when this was demolished53, Justine had her own correspondence to despatch54. She had heard that morning from the matron of Saint Elizabeth's: an interesting "case" was offered her, but she must come within two days. For the first few hours she had wavered, loath55 to leave Lynbrook without some definite light on her friend's future; but now Amherst's letter had shed that light--or rather, had deepened the obscurity--and she had no pretext56 for lingering on where her uselessness had been so amply demonstrated.
She wrote to the matron accepting the engagement; and the acceptance involved the writing of other letters, the general reorganizing of that minute polity, the life of Justine Brent. She smiled a little to think how easily she could be displaced and transplanted--how slender were her material impedimenta, how few her invisible bonds! She was as light and detachable as a dead leaf on the autumn breeze--yet she was in the season of sap and flower, when there is life and song in the trees!
But she did not think long of herself, for an undefinable anxiety ran through her thoughts like a black thread. It found expression, now and then, in the long glances she threw through the window--in her rising to consult the clock and compare her watch with it--in a nervous snatch of humming as she paced the room once or twice before going back to her desk....
Why was Bessy so late? Dusk was falling already--the early end of the cold slate-hued day. But Bessy always rode late--there was always a rational answer to Justine's irrational57 conjectures.... It was the sight of those chestnut flanks that tormented58 her--she knew of Bessy's previous struggles with the mare59. But the indulging of idle apprehensions60 was not in her nature, and when the tea-tray came, and with it Cicely, sparkling from a gusty61 walk, and coral-pink in her cloud of crinkled hair, Justine sprang up and cast off her cares.
It cost her a pang62, again, to see the lamps lit and the curtains drawn--shutting in the warmth and brightness of the house from that wind-swept frozen twilight63 through which Bessy rode alone. But the icy touch of the thought slipped from Justine's mind as she bent64 above the tea-tray, gravely measuring Cicely's milk into a "grown-up" teacup, hearing the confidential65 details of the child's day, and capping them with banter66 and fantastic narrative67.
She was not sorry to go--ah, no! The house had become a prison to her, with ghosts walking its dreary68 floors. But to lose Cicely would be bitter--she had not felt how bitter till the child pressed against her in the firelight, insisting raptly, with little sharp elbows stabbing her knee: "And _then_ what happened, Justine?"
The door opened, and some one came in to look at the fire. Justine, through the mazes69 of her fairy-tale, was dimly conscious that it was Knowles, and not one of the footmen...the proud Knowles, who never mended the fires himself.... As he passed out again, hovering70 slowly down the long room, she rose, leaving Cicely on the hearth-rug, and followed him to the door.
"Has Mrs. Amherst not come in?" she asked, not knowing why she wished to ask it out of the child's hearing.
"No, miss. I looked in myself to see--thinking she might have come by the side-door."
"She may have gone to her sitting-room71."
"She's not upstairs."
They both paused. Then Justine said: "What horse was she riding?"
"Impulse, Miss." The butler looked at his large responsible watch. "It's not late--" he said, more to himself than to her.
"No. Has she been riding Impulse lately?"
"No, Miss. Not since that day the mare nearly had her off. I understood Mr. Amherst did not wish it."
Justine went back to Cicely and the fairy-tale.--As she took up the thread of the Princess's adventures, she asked herself why she had ever had any hope of helping Bessy. The seeds of disaster were in the poor creature's soul.... Even when she appeared to be moved, lifted out of herself, her escaping impulses were always dragged back to the magnetic centre of hard distrust and resistance that sometimes forms the core of soft-fibred natures. As she had answered her husband's previous appeal by her flight to the woman he disliked, so she answered this one by riding the horse he feared.... Justine's last illusions crumbled72. The distance between two such natures was unspannable. Amherst had done well to remain away...and with a tidal rush her sympathies swept back to his side....
* * * * *
The governess came to claim Cicely. One of the footmen came to put another log on the fire. Then the rite13 of removing the tea-table was majestically73 performed--the ceremonial that had so often jarred on Amherst's nerves. As she watched it, Justine had a vague sense of the immutability74 of the household routine--a queer awed75 feeling that, whatever happened, a machine so perfectly76 adjusted would work on inexorably, like a natural law....
She rose to look out of the window, staring vainly into blackness between the parted curtains. As she turned back, passing the writing-table, she noticed that Cicely's irruption had made her forget to post her letters--an unusual oversight77. A glance at the clock told her that she was not too late for the mail--reminding her, at the same time, that it was scarcely three hours since Bessy had started on her ride.... She saw the foolishness of her fears. Even in winter, Bessy often rode for more than three hours; and now that the days were growing longer----
Suddenly reassured78, Justine went out into the hall, intending to carry her batch79 of letters to the red pillar-box by the door. As she did so, a cold blast struck her. Could it be that for once the faultless routine of the house had been relaxed, that one of the servants had left the outer door ajar? She walked over to the vestibule--yes, both doors were wide. The night rushed in on a vicious wind. As she pushed the vestibule door shut, she heard the dogs sniffing80 and whining81 on the threshold. She crossed the vestibule, and heard voices and the tramping of feet in the darkness--then saw a lantern gleam. Suddenly Knowles shot out of the night--the lantern struck on his bleached82 face.
Justine, stepping back, pressed the electric button in the wall, and the wide door-step was abruptly83 illuminated84, with its huddled85, pushing, heavily-breathing group...black figures writhing86 out of darkness, strange faces distorted in the glare.
"Bessy!" she cried, and sprang forward; but suddenly Wyant was before her, his hand on her arm; and as the dreadful group struggled by into the hall, he froze her to him with a whisper: "The spine----"
收听单词发音 |
1
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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2
sleety
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| 雨夹雪的，下雨雪的 | |
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sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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4
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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5
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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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
stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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9
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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10
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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11
speculatively
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| adv.思考地，思索地；投机地 | |
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12
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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13
rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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obliquely
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| adv.斜； 倾斜； 间接； 不光明正大 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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18
obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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evoking
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| 产生，引起，唤起( evoke的现在分词 ) | |
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perfidy
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| n.背信弃义，不忠贞 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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ebbing
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的现在分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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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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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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narcotic
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| n.麻醉药，镇静剂；adj.麻醉的，催眠的 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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postscript
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| n.附言，又及；(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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undoes
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| 松开( undo的第三人称单数 )； 解开； 毁灭； 败坏 | |
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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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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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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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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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42
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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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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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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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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51
countermanded
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| v.取消（命令），撤回( countermand的过去分词 ) | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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mazes
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| 迷宫( maze的名词复数 )； 纷繁复杂的规则； 复杂难懂的细节； 迷宫图 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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immutability
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| n.不变(性) | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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85
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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