ADAM understood Dinah’s haste to go away, and drew hope rather than discouragement from it. She was fearful lest the strength of her feeling towards him should hinder her from waiting and listening faithfully for the ultimate guiding voice from within.
“I wish I’d asked her to write to me, though,” he thought. “And yet even that might disturb her a bit, perhaps. She wants to be quite quiet in her old way for a while. And I’ve no right to be impatient and interrupting her with my wishes. She’s told me what her mind is, and she’s not a woman to say one thing and mean another. I’ll wait patiently.”
That was Adam’s wise resolution, and it throve excellently for the first two or three weeks on the nourishment1 it got from the remembrance of Dinah’s confession2 that Sunday afternoon. There is a wonderful amount of sustenance3 in the first few words of love. But towards the middle of October the resolution began to dwindle4 perceptibly, and showed dangerous symptoms of exhaustion5. The weeks were unusually long: Dinah must surely have had more than enough time to make up her mind. Let a woman say what she will after she has once told a man that she loves him, he is a little too flushed and exalted6 with that first draught7 she offers him to care much about the taste of the second. He treads the earth with a very elastic8 step as he walks away from her, and makes light of all difficulties. But that sort of glow dies out: memory gets sadly diluted9 with time, and is not strong enough to revive us. Adam was no longer so confident as he had been. He began to fear that perhaps Dinah’s old life would have too strong a grasp upon her for any new feeling to triumph. If she had not felt this, she would surely have written to him to give him some comfort; but it appeared that she held it right to discourage him. As Adam’s confidence waned10, his patience waned with it, and he thought he must write himself. He must ask Dinah not to leave him in painful doubt longer than was needful. He sat up late one night to write her a letter, but the next morning he burnt it, afraid of its effect. It would be worse to have a discouraging answer by letter than from her own lips, for her presence reconciled him to her will.
You perceive how it was: Adam was hungering for the sight of Dinah, and when that sort of hunger reaches a certain stage, a lover is likely to still it though he may have to put his future in pawn11.
But what harm could he do by going to Snowfield? Dinah could not be displeased12 with him for it. She had not forbidden him to go. She must surely expect that he would go before long. By the second Sunday in October this view of the case had become so clear to Adam that he was already on his way to Snowfield, on horseback this time, for his hours were precious now, and he had borrowed Jonathan Burge’s good nag13 for the journey.
What keen memories went along the road with him! He had often been to Oakbourne and back since that first journey to Snowfield, but beyond Oakbourne the greystone walls, the broken country, the meagre trees, seemed to be telling him afresh the story of that painful past which he knew so well by heart. But no story is the same to us after a lapse14 of time — or rather, we who read it are no longer the same interpreters — and Adam this morning brought with him new thoughts through that grey country, thoughts which gave an altered significance to its story of the past.
That is a base and selfish, even a blasphemous15, spirit which rejoices and is thankful over the past evil that has blighted16 or crushed another, because it has been made a source of unforeseen good to ourselves. Adam could never cease to mourn over that mystery of human sorrow which had been brought so close to him; he could never thank God for another’s misery17. And if I were capable of that narrow-sighted joy in Adam’s behalf, I should still know he was not the man to feel it for himself. He would have shaken his head at such a sentiment and said, “Evil’s evil, and sorrow’s sorrow, and you can’t alter it’s natur by wrapping it up in other words. Other folks were not created for my sake, that I should think all square when things turn out well for me.”
But it is not ignoble18 to feel that the fuller life which a sad experience has brought us is worth our own personal share of pain. Surely it is not possible to feel otherwise, any more than it would be possible for a man with cataract19 to regret the painful process by which his dim blurred20 sight of men as trees walking had been exchanged for clear outline and effulgent21 day. The growth of higher feeling within us is like the growth of faculty22, bringing with it a sense of added strength. We can no more wish to return to a narrower sympathy than a painter or a musician can wish to return to his cruder manner, or a philosopher to his less complete formula.
Something like this sense of enlarged being was in Adam’s mind this Sunday morning, as he rode along in vivid recollection of the past. His feeling towards Dinah, the hope of passing his life with her, had been the distant unseen point towards which that hard journey from Snowfield eighteen months ago had been leading him. Tender and deep as his love for Hetty had been — so deep that the roots of it would never be torn away — his love for Dinah was better and more precious to him, for it was the outgrowth of that fuller life which had come to him from his acquaintance with deep sorrow. “It’s like as if it was a new strength to me,” he said to himself, “to love her and know as she loves me. I shall look t’ her to help me to see things right. For she’s better than I am — there’s less o’ self in her, and pride. And it’s a feeling as gives you a sort o’ liberty, as if you could walk more fearless, when you’ve more trust in another than y’ have in yourself. I’ve always been thinking I knew better than them as belonged to me, and that’s a poor sort o’ life, when you can’t look to them nearest to you t’ help you with a bit better thought than what you’ve got inside you a’ready.”
It was more than two o’clock in the afternoon when Adam came in sight of the grey town on the hill-side and looked searchingly towards the green valley below, for the first glimpse of the old thatched roof near the ugly red mill. The scene looked less harsh in the soft October sunshine than it had in the eager time of early spring, and the one grand charm it possessed23 in common with all wide-stretching woodless regions — that it filled you with a new consciousness of the overarching sky — had a milder, more soothing24 influence than usual, on this almost cloudless day. Adam’s doubts and fears melted under this influence as the delicate weblike clouds had gradually melted away into the clear blue above him. He seemed to see Dinah’s gentle face assuring him, with its looks alone, of all he longed to know.
He did not expect Dinah to be at home at this hour, but he got down from his horse and tied it at the little gate, that he might ask where she was gone today. He had set his mind on following her and bringing her home. She was gone to Sloman’s End, a hamlet about three miles off, over the hill, the old woman told him — had set off directly after morning chapel25, to preach in a cottage there, as her habit was. Anybody at the town would tell him the way to Sloman’s End. So Adam got on his horse again and rode to the town, putting up at the old inn and taking a hasty dinner there in the company of the too chatty landlord, from whose friendly questions and reminiscences he was glad to escape as soon as possible and set out towards Sloman’s End. With all his haste it was nearly four o’clock before he could set off, and he thought that as Dinah had gone so early, she would perhaps already be near returning. The little, grey, desolate-looking hamlet, unscreened by sheltering trees, lay in sight long before he reached it, and as he came near he could hear the sound of voices singing a hymn26. “Perhaps that’s the last hymn before they come away,” Adam thought. “I’ll walk back a bit and turn again to meet her, farther off the village.” He walked back till he got nearly to the top of the hill again, and seated himself on a loose stone, against the low wall, to watch till he should see the little black figure leaving the hamlet and winding27 up the hill. He chose this spot, almost at the top of the hill, because it was away from all eyes — no house, no cattle, not even a nibbling28 sheep near — no presence but the still lights and shadows and the great embracing sky.
She was much longer coming than he expected. He waited an hour at least watching for her and thinking of her, while the afternoon shadows lengthened29 and the light grew softer. At last he saw the little black figure coming from between the grey houses and gradually approaching the foot of the hill. Slowly, Adam thought, but Dinah was really walking at her usual pace, with a light quiet step. Now she was beginning to wind along the path up the hill, but Adam would not move yet; he would not meet her too soon; he had set his heart on meeting her in this assured loneliness. And now he began to fear lest he should startle her too much. “Yet,” he thought, “she’s not one to be overstartled; she’s always so calm and quiet, as if she was prepared for anything.”
What was she thinking of as she wound up the hill? Perhaps she had found complete repose30 without him, and had ceased to feel any need of his love. On the verge31 of a decision we all tremble: hope pauses with fluttering wings.
But now at last she was very near, and Adam rose from the stone wall. It happened that just as he walked forward, Dinah had paused and turned round to look back at the village — who does not pause and look back in mounting a hill? Adam was glad, for, with the fine instinct of a lover, he felt that it would be best for her to hear his voice before she saw him. He came within three paces of her and then said, “Dinah!” She started without looking round, as if she connected the sound with no place. “Dinah!” Adam said again. He knew quite well what was in her mind. She was so accustomed to think of impressions as purely32 spiritual monitions that she looked for no material visible accompaniment of the voice.
But this second time she looked round. What a look of yearning33 love it was that the mild grey eyes turned on the strong dark-eyed man! She did not start again at the sight of him; she said nothing, but moved towards him so that his arm could clasp her round.
And they walked on so in silence, while the warm tears fell. Adam was content, and said nothing. It was Dinah who spoke34 first.
“Adam,” she said, “it is the Divine Will. My soul is so knit to yours that it is but a divided life I live without you. And this moment, now you are with me, and I feel that our hearts are filled with the same love. I have a fulness of strength to bear and do our heavenly Father’s Will that I had lost before.”
Adam paused and looked into her sincere eyes.
“Then we’ll never part any more, Dinah, till death parts us.”
And they kissed each other with a deep joy.
What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined for life — to strengthen each other in all labour, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting?
收听单词发音 |
1
nourishment
|
|
| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
sustenance
|
|
| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
dwindle
|
|
| v.逐渐变小（或减少） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
exhaustion
|
|
| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
exalted
|
|
| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
draught
|
|
| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
elastic
|
|
| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
diluted
|
|
| 无力的，冲淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
waned
|
|
| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
pawn
|
|
| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
displeased
|
|
| a.不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
nag
|
|
| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
lapse
|
|
| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
blasphemous
|
|
| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
blighted
|
|
| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
ignoble
|
|
| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
cataract
|
|
| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
blurred
|
|
| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
effulgent
|
|
| adj.光辉的；灿烂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
faculty
|
|
| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
chapel
|
|
| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
hymn
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
nibbling
|
|
| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
lengthened
|
|
| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
verge
|
|
| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
yearning
|
|
| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |