FOUR more days had passed. Bessy seldom spoke1 when Justine was with her. She was wrapped in a thickening cloud of opiates--morphia by day, bromides, sulphonal, chloral hydrate at night. When the cloud broke and consciousness emerged, it was centred in the one acute point of bodily anguish2. Darting3 throes of neuralgia, agonized4 oppression of the breath, the diffused5 misery6 of the whole helpless body--these were reducing their victim to a mere7 instrument on which pain played its incessant8 deadly variations. Once or twice she turned her dull eyes on Justine, breathing out: "I want to die," as some inevitable9 lifting or readjusting thrilled her body with fresh pangs10; but there were no signs of contact with the outer world--she had ceased even to ask for Cicely....
And yet, according to the doctors, the patient held her own. Certain alarming symptoms had diminished, and while others persisted, the strength to fight them persisted too. With such strength to call on, what fresh agonies were reserved for the poor body when the narcotics11 had lost their power?
That was the question always before Justine. She never again betrayed her fears to Wyant--she carried out his orders with morbid12 precision, trembling lest any failure in efficiency should revive his suspicions. She hardly knew what she feared his suspecting--she only had a confused sense that they were enemies, and that she was the weaker of the two.
And then the an?sthetics began to fail. It was the sixteenth day since the accident, and the resources of alleviation13 were almost exhausted14. It was not sure, even now, that Bessy was going to die--and she was certainly going to suffer a long time. Wyant seemed hardly conscious of the increase of pain--his whole mind was fixed15 on the prognosis. What matter if the patient suffered, as long as he proved his case? That, of course, was not his way of putting it. In reality, he did all he could to allay16 the pain, surpassed himself in new devices and experiments. But death confronted him implacably, claiming his due: so many hours robbed from him, so much tribute to pay; and Wyant, setting his teeth, fought on--and Bessy paid.
* * * * *
Justine had begun to notice that it was hard for her to get a word alone with Dr. Garford. The other nurses were not in the way--it was Wyant who always contrived17 to be there. Perhaps she was unreasonable18 in seeing a special intention in his presence: it was natural enough that the two persons in charge of the case should confer together with their chief. But his persistence19 annoyed her, and she was glad when, one afternoon, the surgeon asked him to telephone an important message to town.
As soon as the door had closed, Justine said to Dr. Garford: "She is beginning to suffer terribly."
He answered with the large impersonal20 gesture of the man to whom physical suffering has become a painful general fact of life, no longer divisible into individual cases. "We are doing all we can."
"Yes." She paused, and then raised her eyes to his dry kind face. "Is there any hope?"
Another gesture--the fatalistic sweep of the lifted palms. "The next ten days will tell--the fight is on, as Wyant says. And if any one can do it, that young fellow can. There's stuff in him--and infernal ambition."
"Yes: but do _you_ believe she can live--?"
Dr. Garford smiled indulgently on such unprofessional insistence21; but she was past wondering what they must all think of her.
"My dear Miss Brent," he said, "I have reached the age when one always leaves a door open to the unexpected."
As he spoke, a slight sound at her back made her turn. Wyant was behind her--he must have entered as she put her question. And he certainly could not have had time to descend22 the stairs, walk the length of the house, ring up New York, and deliver Dr Garford's message.... The same thought seemed to strike the surgeon. "Hello, Wyant?" he said.
"Line busy," said Wyant curtly23.
* * * * *
About this time, Justine gave up her night vigils. She could no longer face the struggle of the dawn hour, when life ebbs24 lowest; and since her duties extended beyond the sick-room she could fairly plead that she was more needed about the house by day. But Wyant protested: he wanted her most at the difficult hour.
"You know you're taking a chance from her," he said, almost sternly.
"Oh, no----"
He looked at her searchingly. "You don't feel up to it?"
"No."
He turned away with a slight shrug25; but she knew he resented her defection.
The day watches were miserable26 enough. It was the nineteenth day now; and Justine lay on the sofa in Amherst's sitting-room27, trying to nerve herself for the nurse's summons. A page torn out of the calendar lay before her--she had been calculating again how many days must elapse before Mr. Langhope could arrive. Ten days--ten days and ten nights! And the length of the nights was double.... As for Amherst, it was impossible to set a date for his coming, for his steamer from Buenos Ayres called at various ports on the way northward28, and the length of her stay at each was dependent on the delivery of freight, and on the dilatoriness30 of the South American official.
She threw down the calendar and leaned back, pressing her hands to her temples. Oh, for a word with Amherst--he alone would have understood what she was undergoing! Mr. Langhope's coming would make no difference--or rather, it would only increase the difficulty of the situation. Instinctively31 Justine felt that, though his heart would be wrung32 by the sight of Bessy's pain, his cry would be the familiar one, the traditional one: _Keep her alive!_ Under his surface originality33, his verbal audacities34 and ironies35, Mr. Langhope was the creature of accepted forms, inherited opinions: he had never really thought for himself on any of the pressing problems of life.
But Amherst was different. Close contact with many forms of wretchedness had freed him from the bondage36 of accepted opinion. He looked at life through no eyes but his own; and what he saw, he confessed to seeing. He never tried to evade37 the consequences of his discoveries.
Justine's remembrance flew back to their first meeting at Hanaford, when his confidence in his own powers was still unshaken, his trust in others unimpaired. And, gradually, she began to relive each detail of their talk at Dillon's bedside--her first impression of him, as he walked down the ward29; the first sound of his voice; her surprised sense of his authority; her almost involuntary submission38 to his will.... Then her thoughts passed on to their walk home from the hospital--she recalled his sober yet unsparing summary of the situation at Westmore, and the note of insight with which he touched on the hardships of the workers.... Then, word by word, their talk about Dillon came back...Amherst's indignation and pity...his shudder39 of revolt at the man's doom40.
"_In your work, don't you ever feel tempted41 to set a poor devil free?_" And then, after her conventional murmur42 of protest: "_To save what, when all the good of life is gone?_"
To distract her thoughts she stretched her hand toward the book-case, taking out the first volume in reach--the little copy of Bacon. She leaned back, fluttering its pages aimlessly--so wrapped in her own misery that the meaning of the words could not reach her. It was useless to try to read: every perception of the outer world was lost in the hum of inner activity that made her mind like a forge throbbing43 with heat and noise. But suddenly her glance fell on some pencilled sentences on the fly-leaf. They were in Amherst's hand, and the sight arrested her as though she had heard him speak.
_La vraie morale44 se moque de la morale...._
_We perish because we follow other men's examples...._
_Socrates used to call the opinions of the many by the name of Lami?--bugbears to frighten children...._
A rush of air seemed to have been let into her stifled45 mind. Were they his own thoughts? No--her memory recalled some confused association with great names. But at least they must represent his beliefs--must embody46 deeply-felt convictions--or he would scarcely have taken the trouble to record them.
She murmured over the last sentence once or twice: _The opinions of the many--bugbears to frighten children...._ Yes, she had often heard him speak of current judgments47 in that way...she had never known a mind so free from the spell of the Lami?.
* * * * *
Some one knocked, and she put aside the book and rose to her feet. It was a maid bringing a note from Wyant.
"There has been a motor accident beyond Clifton, and I have been sent for. I think I can safely be away for two or three hours, but ring me up at Clifton if you want me. Miss Mace48 has instructions, and Garford's assistant will be down at seven."
She looked at the clock: it was just three, the hour at which she was to relieve Miss Mace. She smoothed the hair from her forehead, straightened her cap, tied on the apron49 she had laid aside....
As she entered Bessy's sitting-room the nurse came out, memoranda50 in hand. The two moved to the window for a moment's conference, and as the wintry light fell on Miss Mace's face, Justine saw that it was white with fatigue51.
"You're ill!" she exclaimed.
The nurse shook her head. "No--but it's awful...this afternoon...." Her glance turned to the sick-room.
"Go and rest--I'll stay till bedtime," Justine said.
"Miss Safford's down with another headache."
"I know: it doesn't matter. I'm quite fresh."
"You _do_ look rested!" the other exclaimed, her eyes lingering enviously52 on Justine's face.
She stole away, and Justine entered the room. It was true that she felt fresh--a new spring of hope had welled up in her. She had her nerves in hand again, she had regained53 her steady vision of life....
But in the room, as the nurse had said, it was awful. The time had come when the effect of the an?sthetics must be carefully husbanded, when long intervals54 of pain must purchase the diminishing moments of relief. Yet from Wyant's standpoint it was a good day--things were looking well, as he would have phrased it. And each day now was a fresh victory.
Justine went through her task mechanically. The glow of strength and courage remained, steeling her to bear what had broken down Miss Mace's professional fortitude55. But when she sat down by the bed Bessy's moaning began to wear on her. It was no longer the utterance56 of human pain, but the monotonous57 whimper of an animal--the kind of sound that a compassionate58 hand would instinctively crush into silence. But her hand had other duties; she must keep watch on pulse and heart, must reinforce their action with the tremendous stimulants59 which Wyant was now using, and, having revived fresh sensibility to pain, must presently try to allay it by the cautious use of narcotics.
It was all simple enough--but suppose she should not do it? Suppose she left the stimulants untouched? Wyant was absent, one nurse exhausted with fatigue, the other laid low by headache. Justine had the field to herself. For three hours at least no one was likely to cross the threshold of the sick-room.... Ah, if no more time were needed! But there was too much life in Bessy--her youth was fighting too hard for her! She would not sink out of life in three hours...and Justine could not count on more than that.
She looked at the little travelling-clock on the dressing-table, and saw that its hands marked four. An hour had passed already.... She rose and administered the prescribed restorative; then she took the pulse, and listened to the beat of the heart. Strong still--too strong!
As she lifted her head, the vague animal wailing60 ceased, and she heard her name: "Justine----"
She bent61 down eagerly. "Yes?"
No answer: the wailing had begun again. But the one word showed her that the mind still lived in its torture-house, that the poor powerless body before her was not yet a mere bundle of senseless reflexes, but her friend Bessy Amherst, dying, and feeling herself die....
Justine reseated herself, and the vigil began again. The second hour ebbed62 slowly--ah, no, it was flying now! Her eyes were on the hands of the clock and they seemed leagued against her to devour63 the precious minutes. And now she could see by certain spasmodic symptoms that another crisis of pain was approaching--one of the struggles that Wyant, at times, had almost seemed to court and exult64 in.
Bessy's eyes turned on her again. "_Justine_----"
She knew what that meant: it was an appeal for the hypodermic needle. The little instrument lay at hand, beside a newly-filled bottle of morphia. But she must wait--must let the pain grow more severe. Yet she could not turn her gaze from Bessy, and Bessy's eyes entreated65 her again--_Justine_! There was really no word now--the whimperings were uninterrupted. But Justine heard an inner voice, and its pleading shook her heart. She rose and filled the syringe--and returning with it, bent above the bed....
* * * * *
She lifted her head and looked at the clock. The second hour had passed. As she looked, she heard a step in the sitting-room. Who could it be? Not Dr. Garford's assistant--he was not due till seven. She listened again.... One of the nurses? No, not a woman's step----
The door opened, and Wyant came in. Justine stood by the bed without moving toward him. He paused also, as if surprised to see her there motionless. In the intense silence she fancied for a moment that she heard Bessy's violent agonized breathing. She tried to speak, to drown the sound of the breathing; but her lips trembled too much, and she remained silent.
Wyant seemed to hear nothing. He stood so still that she felt she must move forward. As she did so, she picked up from the table by the bed the memoranda that it was her duty to submit to him.
"Well?" he said, in the familiar sick-room whisper.
"She is dead."
He fell back a step, glaring at her, white and incredulous.
"_Dead?_--When----?"
"A few minutes ago...."
"_Dead--?_ It's not possible!"
He swept past her, shouldering her aside, pushing in an electric button as he sprang to the bed. She perceived then that the room had been almost in darkness. She recovered command of herself, and followed him. He was going through the usual rapid examination--pulse, heart, breath--hanging over the bed like some angry animal balked66 of its prey67. Then he lifted the lids and bent close above the eyes.
"Take the shade off that lamp!" he commanded.
Justine obeyed him.
He stooped down again to examine the eyes...he remained stooping a long time. Suddenly he stood up and faced her.
"Had she been in great pain?"
"Yes."
"Worse than usual?"
"Yes."
"What had you done?"
"Nothing--there was no time."
"No time?" He broke off to sweep the room again with his excited incredulous glance. "Where are the others? Why were you here alone?" he demanded.
"It came suddenly. I was going to call----"
Their eyes met for a moment. Her face was perfectly68 calm--she could feel that her lips no longer trembled. She was not in the least afraid of Wyant's scrutiny69.
As he continued to look at her, his expression slowly passed from incredulous wrath70 to something softer--more human--she could not tell what....
"This has been too much for you--go and send one of the others.... It's all over," he said.
收听单词发音 |
1
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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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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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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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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narcotics
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| n.麻醉药( narcotic的名词复数 )；毒品；毒 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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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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allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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ebbs
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| 退潮( ebb的名词复数 )； 落潮； 衰退 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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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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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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dilatoriness
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| n.迟缓，拖延 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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audacities
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| n.大胆( audacity的名词复数 )；鲁莽；胆大妄为；鲁莽行为 | |
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ironies
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| n.反语( irony的名词复数 )；冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事；嘲弄 | |
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bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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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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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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morale
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| n.道德准则，士气，斗志 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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embody
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| vt.具体表达，使具体化；包含，收录 | |
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judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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mace
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| n.狼牙棒，豆蔻干皮 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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stimulants
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| n.兴奋剂( stimulant的名词复数 )；含兴奋剂的饮料；刺激物；激励物 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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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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ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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63
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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exult
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| v.狂喜，欢腾；欢欣鼓舞 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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68
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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69
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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70
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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