First Scene.— Boulogne-Sur-Mer.— The Duel1.
i.
THE doctors could do no more for the Dowager Lady Berrick.
When the medical advisers2 of a lady who has reached seventy years of age recommend the mild climate of the South of France, they mean in plain language that they have arrived at the end of their resources. Her ladyship gave the mild climate a fair trial, and then decided3 (as she herself expressed it) to “die at home.” Traveling slowly, she had reached Paris at the date when I last heard of her. It was then the beginning of November. A week later, I met with her nephew, Lewis Romayne, at the club.
“What brings you to London at this time of year?” I asked.
“The fatality4 that pursues me,” he answered grimly. “I am one of the unluckiest men living.”
He was thirty years old; he was not married; he was the enviable possessor of the fine old country seat, called Vange Abbey; he had no poor relations; and he was one of the handsomest men in England. When I add that I am, myself, a retired5 army officer, with a wretched income, a disagreeable wife, four ugly children, and a burden of fifty years on my back, no one will be surprised to hear that I answered Romayne, with bitter sincerity7, in these words:
“I wish to heaven I could change places with you!”
“I wish to heaven you could!” he burst out, with equal sincerity on his side. “Read that.”
He handed me a letter addressed to him by the traveling medical attendant of Lady Berrick. After resting in Paris, the patient had continued her homeward journey as far as Boulogne. In her suffering condition, she was liable to sudden fits of caprice. An insurmountable horror of the Channel passage had got possession of her; she positively8 refused to be taken on board the steamboat. In this difficulty, the lady who held the post of her “companion” had ventured on a suggestion. Would Lady Berrick consent to make the Channel passage if her nephew came to Boulogne expressly to accompany her on the voyage? The reply had been so immediately favorable, that the doctor lost no time in communicating with Mr. Lewis Romayne. This was the substance of the letter.
It was needless to ask any more questions — Romayne was plainly on his way to Boulogne. I gave him some useful information. “Try the oysters,” I said, “at the restaurant on the pier9.”
He never even thanked me. He was thinking entirely10 of himself.
“Just look at my position,” he said. “I detest11 Boulogne; I cordially share my aunt’s horror of the Channel passage; I had looked forward to some months of happy retirement12 in the country among my books — and what happens to me? I am brought to London in this season of fogs, to travel by the tidal train at seven to-morrow morning — and all for a woman with whom I have no sympathies in common. If I am not an unlucky man — who is?”
He spoke13 in a tone of vehement14 irritation15 which seemed to me, under the circumstances, to be simply absurd. But my nervous system is not the irritable16 system — sorely tried by night study and strong tea — of my friend Romayne. “It’s only a matter of two days,” I remarked, by way of reconciling him to his situation.
“How do I know that?” he retorted. “In two days the weather may be stormy. In two days she may be too ill to be moved. Unfortunately, I am her heir; and I am told I must submit to any whim17 that seizes her. I’m rich enough already; I don’t want her money. Besides, I dislike all traveling — and especially traveling alone. You are an idle man. If you were a good friend, you would offer to go with me.” He added, with the delicacy18 which was one of the redeeming19 points in his wayward character. “Of course as my guest.”
I had known him long enough not to take offense20 at his reminding me, in this considerate way, that I was a poor man. The proposed change of scene tempted21 me. What did I care for the Channel passage? Besides, there was the irresistible22 attraction of getting away from home. The end of it was that I accepted Romayne’s invitation.
ii.
SHORTLY after noon, on the next day, we were established at Boulogne — near Lady Berrick, but not at her hotel. “If we live in the same house,” Romayne reminded me, “we shall be bored by the companion and the doctor. Meetings on the stairs, you know, and exchanging bows and small talk.” He hated those trivial conventionalities of society, in which, other people delight. When somebody once asked him in what company he felt most at ease? he made a shocking answer — he said, “In the company of dogs.”
I waited for him on the pier while he went to see her ladyship. He joined me again with his bitterest smile. “What did I tell you? She is not well enough to see me to-day. The doctor looks grave, and the companion puts her handkerchief to her eyes. We may be kept in this place for weeks to come.”
The afternoon proved to be rainy. Our early dinner was a bad one. This last circumstance tried his temper sorely. He was no gourmand23; the question of cookery was (with him) purely24 a matter of digestion25. Those late hours of study, and that abuse of tea to which I have already alluded26, had sadly injured his stomach. The doctors warned him of serious consequences to his nervous system, unless he altered his habits. He had little faith in medical science, and he greatly overrated the restorative capacity of his constitution. So far as I know, he had always neglected the doctors’ advice.
The weather cleared toward evening, and we went out for a walk. We passed a church — a Roman Catholic church, of course — the doors of which were still open. Some poor women were kneeling at their prayers in the dim light. “Wait a minute,” said Romayne. “I am in a vile27 temper. Let me try to put myself into a better frame of mind.”
I followed him into the church. He knelt down in a dark corner by himself. I confess I was surprised. He had been baptized in the Church of England; but, so far as outward practice was concerned, he belonged to no religious community. I had often heard him speak with sincere reverence28 and admiration29 of the spirit of Christianity — but he never, to my knowledge, attended any place of public worship. When we met again outside the church, I asked if he had been converted to the Roman Catholic faith.
“No,” he said. “I hate the inveterate30 striving of that priesthood after social influence and political power as cordially as the fiercest Protestant living. But let us not forget that the Church of Rome has great merits to set against great faults. Its system is administered with an admirable knowledge of the higher needs of human nature. Take as one example what you have just seen. The solemn tranquillity31 of that church, the poor people praying near me, the few words of prayer by which I silently united myself to my fellow-creatures, have calmed me and done me good. In our country I should have found the church closed, out of service hours.” He took my arm and abruptly32 changed the subject. “How will you occupy yourself,” he asked, “if my aunt receives me to-morrow?”
I assured him that I should easily find ways and means of getting through the time. The next morning a message came from Lady Berrick, to say that she would see her nephew after breakfast. Left by myself, I walked toward the pier, and met with a man who asked me to hire his boat. He had lines and bait, at my service. Most unfortunately, as the event proved, I decided on occupying an hour or two by sea fishing.
The wind shifted while we were out, and before we could get back to the harbor, the tide had turned against us. It was six o’clock when I arrived at the hotel. A little open carriage was waiting at the door. I found Romayne impatiently expecting me, and no signs of dinner on the table. He informed me that he had accepted an invitation, in which I was included, and promised to explain everything in the carriage.
Our driver took the road that led toward the High Town. I subordinated my curiosity to my sense of politeness, and asked for news of his aunt’s health.
“She is seriously ill, poor soul,” he said. “I am sorry I spoke so petulantly33 and so unfairly when we met at the club. The near prospect34 of death has developed qualities in her nature which I ought to have seen before this. No matter how it may be delayed, I will patiently wait her time for the crossing to England.”
So long as he believed himself to be in the right, he was, as to his actions and opinions, one of the most obstinate35 men I ever met with. But once let him be convinced that he was wrong, and he rushed into the other extreme — became needlessly distrustful of himself, and needlessly eager in seizing his opportunity of making atonement. In this latter mood he was capable (with the best intentions) of committing acts of the most childish imprudence. With some misgivings36, I asked how he had amused himself in my absence.
“I waited for you,” he said, “till I lost all patience, and went out for a walk. First, I thought of going to the beach, but the smell of the harbor drove me back into the town; and there, oddly enough, I met with a man, a certain Captain Peterkin, who had been a friend of mine at college.”
“A visitor to Boulogne?” I inquired.
“Not exactly.”
“A resident?”
“Yes. The fact is, I lost sight of Peterkin when I left Oxford37 — and since that time he seems to have drifted into difficulties. We had a long talk. He is living here, he tells me, until his affairs are settled.”
I needed no further enlightenment — Captain Peterkin stood as plainly revealed to me as if I had known him for years. “Isn’t it a little imprudent,” I said, “to renew your acquaintance with a man of that sort? Couldn’t you have passed him, with a bow?”
Romayne smiled uneasily. “I daresay you’re right,” he answered. “But, remember, I had left my aunt, feeling ashamed of the unjust way in which I had thought and spoken of her. How did I know that I mightn’t be wronging an old friend next, if I kept Peterkin at a distance? His present position may be as much his misfortune, poor fellow, as his fault. I was half inclined to pass him, as you say — but I distrusted my own judgment38. He held out his hand, and he was so glad to see me. It can’t be helped now. I shall be anxious to hear your opinion of him.”
“Are we going to dine with Captain Peterkin?”
“Yes. I happened to mention that wretched dinner yesterday at our hotel. He said, ‘Come to my boarding-house. Out of Paris, there isn’t such a table d’hote in France.’ I tried to get off it — not caring, as you know, to go among strangers — I said I had a friend with me. He invited you most cordially to accompany me. More excuses on my part only led to a painful result. I hurt Peterkin’s feelings. ‘I’m down in the world,’ he said, ‘and I’m not fit company for you and your friends. I beg your pardon for taking the liberty of inviting39 you!’ He turned away with the tears in his eyes. What could I do?”
I thought to myself, “You could have lent him five pounds, and got rid of his invitation without the slightest difficulty.” If I had returned in reasonable time to go out with Romayne, we might not have met the captain — or, if we had met him, my presence would have prevented the confidential40 talk and the invitation that followed. I felt I was to blame — and yet, how could I help it? It was useless to remonstrate41: the mischief42 was done.
We left the Old Town on our right hand, and drove on, past a little colony of suburban43 villas44, to a house standing45 by itself, surrounded by a stone wall. As we crossed the front garden on our way to the door, I noticed against the side of the house two kennels46, inhabited by two large watch-dogs. Was the proprietor47 afraid of thieves?
iii.
THE moment we were introduced to the drawing-room, my suspicions of the company we were likely to meet with were fully48 confirmed.
“Cards, billiards49, and betting”— there was the inscription50 legibly written on the manner and appearance of Captain Peterkin. The bright-eyed yellow old lady who kept the boarding-house would have been worth five thousand pounds in jewelry51 alone, if the ornaments52 which profusely53 covered her had been genuine precious stones. The younger ladies present had their cheeks as highly rouged54 and their eyelids55 as elaborately penciled in black as if they were going on the stage, instead of going to dinner. We found these fair creatures drinking Madeira as a whet56 to their appetites. Among the men, there were two who struck me as the most finished and complete blackguards whom I had ever met with in all my experience, at home and abroad. One, with a brown face and a broken nose, was presented to us by the title of “Commander,” and was described as a person of great wealth and distinction in Peru, traveling for amusement. The other wore a military uniform and decorations, and was spoken of as “the General.” A bold bullying57 manner, a fat sodden58 face, little leering eyes, and greasy59-looking hands, made this man so repellent to me that I privately60 longed to kick him. Romayne had evidently been announced, before our arrival, as a landed gentleman with a large income. Men and women vied in servile attentions to him. When we went into the dining-room, the fascinating creature who sat next to him held her fan before her face, and so made a private interview of it between the rich Englishman and herself. With regard to the dinner, I shall only report that it justified61 Captain Peterkin’s boast, in some degree at least. The wine was good, and the conversation became gay to the verge62 of indelicacy. Usually the most temperate63 of men, Romayne was tempted by his neighbors into drinking freely. I was unfortunately seated at the opposite extremity64 of the table, and I had no opportunity of warning him.
The dinner reached its conclusion, and we all returned together, on the foreign plan, to coffee and cigars in the drawing-room. The women smoked, and drank liqueurs as well as coffee, with the men. One of them went to the piano, and a little impromptu65 ball followed, the ladies dancing with their cigarettes in their mouths. Keeping my eyes and ears on the alert, I saw an innocent-looking table, with a surface of rosewood, suddenly develop a substance of green cloth. At the same time, a neat little roulette-table made its appearance from a hiding-place in a sofa. Passing near the venerable landlady66, I heard her ask the servant, in a whisper, “if the dogs were loose?” After what I had observed, I could only conclude that the dogs were used as a patrol, to give the alarm in case of a descent of the police. It was plainly high time to thank Captain Peterkin for his hospitality, and to take our leave.
“We have had enough of this,” I whispered to Romayne in English. “Let us go.”
In these days it is a delusion67 to suppose that you can speak confidentially68 in the English language, when French people are within hearing. One of the ladies asked Romayne, tenderly, if he was tired of her already. Another reminded him that it was raining heavily (as we could all hear), and suggested waiting until it cleared up. The hideous69 General waved his greasy hand in the direction of the card table, and said, “The game is waiting for us.”
Romayne was excited, but not stupefied, by the wine he had drunk. He answered, discreetly70 enough, “I must beg you to excuse me; I am a poor card player.”
The General suddenly looked grave. “You are speaking, sir, under a strange misapprehension,” he said. “Our game is lansquenet — essentially71 a game of chance. With luck, the poorest player is a match for the whole table.”
Romayne persisted in his refusal. As a matter of course, I supported him, with all needful care to avoid giving offense. The General took offense, nevertheless. He crossed his arms on his breast, and looked at us fiercely.
“Does this mean, gentlemen, that you distrust the company?” he asked.
The broken-nosed Commander, hearing the question, immediately joined us, in the interests of peace — bearing with him the elements of persuasion72, under the form of a lady on his arm.
The lady stepped briskly forward, and tapped the General on the shoulder with her fan. “I am one of the company,” she said, “and I am sure Mr. Romayne doesn’t distrust me.” She turned to Romayne with her most irresistible smile. “A gentleman always plays cards,” she resumed, “when he has a lady for a partner. Let us join our interests at the table — and, dear Mr. Romayne, don’t risk too much!” She put her pretty little purse into his hand, and looked as if she had been in love with him for half her lifetime.
The fatal influence of the sex, assisted by wine, produced the inevitable73 result. Romayne allowed himself to be led to the card table. For a moment the General delayed the beginning of the game. After what had happened, it was necessary that he should assert the strict sense of justice that was in him. “We are all honorable men,” he began.
“And brave men,” the Commander added, admiring the General.
“And brave men,” the General admitted, admiring the Commander. “Gentlemen, if I have been led into expressing myself with unnecessary warmth of feeling, I apologize, and regret it.
“Nobly spoken!” the Commander pronounced. The General put his hand on his heart and bowed. The game began.
As the poorest man of the two I had escaped the attentions lavished74 by the ladies on Romayne. At the same time I was obliged to pay for my dinner, by taking some part in the proceedings75 of the evening. Small stakes were allowed, I found, at roulette; and, besides, the heavy chances in favor of the table made it hardly worth while to run the risk of cheating in this case. I placed myself next to the least rascally-looking man in the company, and played roulette.
For a wonder, I was successful at the first attempt. My neighbor handed me my winnings. “I have lost every farthing I possess,” he whispered to me, piteously, “and I have a wife and children at home.” I lent the poor wretch6 five francs. He smiled faintly as he looked at the money. “It reminds me,” he said, “of my last transaction, when I borrowed of that gentleman there, who is betting on the General’s luck at the card table. Beware of employing him as I did. What do you think I got for my note of hand of four thousand francs? A hundred bottles of champagne76, fifty bottles of ink, fifty bottles of blacking, three dozen handkerchiefs, two pictures by unknown masters, two shawls, one hundred maps, and— five francs.”
We went on playing. My luck deserted77 me; I lost, and lost, and lost again. From time to time I looked round at the card table. The “deal” had fallen early to the General, and it seemed to be indefinitely prolonged. A heap of notes and gold (won mainly from Romayne, as I afterward78 discovered) lay before him. As for my neighbor, the unhappy possessor of the bottles of blacking, the pictures by unknown masters, and the rest of it, he won, and then rashly presumed on his good fortune. Deprived of his last farthing, he retired into a corner of the room, and consoled himself with a cigar. I had just arisen, to follow his example, when a furious uproar79 burst out at the card table.
I saw Romayne spring up, and snatch the cards out of the General’s hand. “You scoundrel!” he shouted, “you are cheating!” The General started to his feet in a fury. “You lie!” he cried. I attempted to interfere80, but Romayne had already seen the necessity of controlling himself. “A gentleman doesn’t accept an insult from a swindler,” he said, coolly. “Accept this, then!” the General answered — and spat81 on him. In an instant Romayne knocked him down.
The blow was dealt straight between his eyes: he was a gross big-boned man, and he fell heavily. For the time he was stunned82. The women ran, screaming, out of the room. The peaceable Commander trembled from head to foot. Two of the men present, who, to give them their due, were no cowards, locked the doors. “You don’t go,” they said, “till we see whether he recovers or not.” Cold water, assisted by the landlady’s smelling salts, brought the General to his senses after a while. He whispered something to one of his friends, who immediately turned to me. “The General challenges Mr. Romayne,” he said. “As one of his seconds, I demand an appointment for to-morrow morning.” I refused to make any appointment unless the doors were first unlocked, and we were left free to depart. “Our carriage is waiting outside,” I added. “If it returns to the hotel without us, there will be an inquiry83.” This latter consideration had its effect. On their side, the doors were opened. On our side, the appointment was made. We left the house.
iv.
IN consenting to receive the General’s representative, it is needless to say that I merely desired to avoid provoking another quarrel. If those persons were really impudent85 enough to call at the hotel, I had arranged to threaten them with the interference of the police, and so to put an end to the matter. Romayne expressed no opinion on the subject, one way or the other. His conduct inspired me with a feeling of uneasiness. The filthy86 insult of which he had been made the object seemed to be rankling87 in his mind. He went away thoughtfully to his own room. “Have you nothing to say to me?” I asked. He only answered: “Wait till to-morrow.”
The next day the seconds appeared.
I had expected to see two of the men with whom we had dined. To my astonishment88, the visitors proved to be officers of the General’s regiment89. They brought proposals for a hostile meeting the next morning; the choice of weapons being left to Romayne as the challenged man.
It was now quite plain to me that the General’s peculiar90 method of card-playing had, thus far, not been discovered and exposed. He might keep doubtful company, and might (as I afterward heard) be suspected in certain quarters. But that he still had, formally-speaking, a reputation to preserve, was proved by the appearance of the two gentlemen present as his representatives. They declared, with evident sincerity, that Romayne had made a fatal mistake; had provoked the insult offered to him; and had resented it by a brutal91 and cowardly outrage92. As a man and a soldier, the General was doubly bound to insist on a duel. No apology would be accepted, even if an apology were offered.
In this emergency, as I understood it, there was but one course to follow. I refused to receive the challenge.
Being asked for my reasons, I found it necessary to speak within certain limits. Though we knew the General to be a cheat, it was a delicate matter to dispute his right to claim satisfaction, when he had found two officers to carry his message. I produced the seized cards (which Romayne had brought away with him in his pocket), and offered them as a formal proof that my friend had not been mistaken.
The seconds — evidently prepared for this circumstance by their principal — declined to examine the cards. In the first place, they said, not even the discovery of foul93 play (supposing the discovery to have been really made) could justify94 Romayne’s conduct. In the second place, the General’s high character made it impossible, under any circumstances, that he could be responsible. Like ourselves, he had rashly associated with bad company; and he had been the innocent victim of an error or a fraud, committed by some other person present at the table.
Driven to my last resource, I could now only base my refusal to receive the challenge on the ground that we were Englishmen, and that the practice of dueling95 had been abolished in England. Both the seconds at once declined to accept this statement in justification96 of my conduct.
“You are now in France,” said the elder of the two, “where a duel is the established remedy for an insult, among gentlemen. You are bound to respect the social laws of the country in which you are for the time residing. If you refuse to do so, you lay yourselves open to a public imputation97 on your courage, of a nature too degrading to be more particularly alluded to. Let us adjourn98 this interview for three hours on the ground of informality. We ought to confer with two gentlemen, acting99 on Mr. Romayne’s behalf. Be prepared with another second to meet us, and reconsider your decision before we call again.”
The Frenchmen had barely taken their departure by one door, when Romayne entered by another.
“I have heard it all,” he said, quietly. “Accept the challenge.”
I declare solemnly that I left no means untried of opposing my friend’s resolution. No man could have felt more strongly convinced than I did, that nothing could justify the course he was taking. My remonstrances100 were completely thrown away. He was deaf to sense and reason, from the moment when he had heard an imputation on his courage suggested as a possible result of any affair in which he was concerned.
“With your views,” he said, “I won’t ask you to accompany me to the ground. I can easily find French seconds. And mind this, if you attempt to prevent the meeting, the duel will take place elsewhere — and our friendship is at an end from that moment.”
After this, I suppose it is needless to add that I accompanied him to the ground the next morning as one of his seconds.
V.
WE were punctual to the appointed hour — eight o’clock.
The second who acted with me was a French gentleman, a relative of one of the officers who had brought the challenge. At his suggestion, we had chosen the pistol as our weapon. Romayne, like most Englishmen at the present time, knew nothing of the use of the sword. He was almost equally inexperienced with the pistol.
Our opponents were late. They kept us waiting for more than ten minutes. It was not pleasant weather to wait in. The day had dawned damp and drizzling102. A thick white fog was slowly rolling in on us from the sea.
When they did appear, the General was not among them. A tall, well-dressed young man saluted103 Romayne with stern courtesy, and said to a stranger who accompanied him: “Explain the circumstances.”
The stranger proved to be a surgeon. He entered at once on the necessary explanation. The General was too ill to appear. He had been attacked that morning by a fit — the consequence of the blow that he had received. Under these circumstances, his eldest104 son (Maurice) was now on the ground to fight the duel on his father’s behalf; attended by the General’s seconds, and with the General’s full approval.
We instantly refused to allow the duel to take place, Romayne loudly declaring that he had no quarrel with the General’s son. Upon this, Maurice broke away from his seconds; drew off one of his gloves; and stepping close up to Romayne, struck him on the face with the glove. “Have you no quarrel with me now?” the young Frenchman asked. “Must I spit on you, as my father did?” His seconds dragged him away, and apologized to us for the outbreak. But the mischief was done. Romayne’s fiery105 temper flashed in his eyes. “Load the pistols,” he said. After the insult publicly offered to him, and the outrage publicly threatened, there was no other course to take.
It had been left to us to produce the pistols. We therefore requested the seconds of our opponent to examine and to load them. While this was being done, the advancing sea-fog so completely enveloped106 us that the duelists were unable to see each other. We were obliged to wait for the chance of a partial clearing in the atmosphere. Romayne’s temper had become calm again. The generosity107 of his nature spoke in the words which he now addressed to his seconds. “After all,” he said, “the young man is a good son — he is bent108 on redressing109 what he believes to be his father’s wrong. Does his flipping110 his glove in my face matter to me? I think I shall fire in the air.”
“I shall refuse to act as your second if you do,” answered the French gentleman who was assisting us. “The General’s son is famous for his skill with the pistol. If you didn’t see it in his face just now, I did — he means to kill you. Defend your life, sir!” I spoke quite as strongly, to the same purpose, when my turn came. Romayne yielded — he placed himself unreservedly in our hands.
In a quarter of an hour the fog lifted a little. We measured the distance, having previously111 arranged (at my suggestion) that the two men should both fire at the same moment, at a given signal. Romayne’s composure, as they faced each other, was, in a man of his irritable nervous temperament112, really wonderful. I placed him sidewise, in a position which in some degree lessened113 his danger, by lessening114 the surface exposed to the bullet. My French colleague put the pistol into his hand, and gave him the last word of advice. “Let your arm hang loosely down, with the barrel of the pistol pointing straight to the ground. When you hear the signal, only lift your arm as far as the elbow; keep the elbow pressed against your side — and fire.” We could do no more for him. As we drew aside — I own it — my tongue was like a cinder115 in my mouth, and a horrid116 inner cold crept through me to the marrow117 of my bones.
The signal was given, and the two shots were fired at the same time.
My first look was at Romayne. He took off his hat, and handed it to me with a smile. His adversary’s bullet had cut a piece out of the brim of his hat, on the right side. He had literally118 escaped by a hair-breadth.
While I was congratulating him, the fog gathered again more thickly than ever. Looking anxiously toward the ground occupied by our adversaries119, we could only see vague, shadowy forms hurriedly crossing and recrossing each other in the mist. Something had happened! My French colleague took my arm and pressed it significantly. “Leave me to inquire,” he said. Romayne tried to follow; I held him back — we neither of us exchanged a word.
The fog thickened and thickened, until nothing was to be seen. Once we heard the surgeon’s voice, calling impatiently for a light to help him. No light appeared that we could see. Dreary120 as the fog itself, the silence gathered round us again. On a sudden it was broken, horribly broken, by another voice, strange to both of us, shrieking121 hysterically122 through the impenetrable mist. “Where is he?” the voice cried, in the French language. “Assassin! Assassin! where are you?” Was it a woman? or was it a boy? We heard nothing more. The effect upon Romayne was terrible to see. He who had calmly confronted the weapon lifted to kill him, shuddered123 dumbly like a terror-stricken animal. I put my arm round him, and hurried him away from the place.
We waited at the hotel until our French friend joined us. After a brief interval124 he appeared, announcing that the surgeon would follow him.
The duel had ended fatally. The chance course of the bullet, urged by Romayne’s unpracticed hand, had struck the General’s son just above the right nostril125 — had penetrated126 to the back of his neck — and had communicated a fatal shock to the spinal127 marrow. He was a dead man before they could take him back to his father’s house.
So far, our fears were confirmed. But there was something else to tell, for which our worst presentiments128 had not prepared us.
A younger brother of the fallen man (a boy of thirteen years old) had secretly followed the dueling party, on their way from his father’s house — had hidden himself — and had seen the dreadful end. The seconds only knew of it when he burst out of his place of concealment129, and fell on his knees by his dying brother’s side. His were the frightful130 cries which we had heard from invisible lips. The slayer131 of his brother was the “assassin” whom he had vainly tried to discover through the fathomless132 obscurity of the mist.
We both looked at Romayne. He silently looked back at us, like a man turned to stone. I tried to reason with him.
“Your life was at your opponent’s mercy,” I said. “It was he who was skilled in the use of the pistol; your risk was infinitely133 greater than his. Are you responsible for an accident? Rouse yourself, Romayne! Think of the time to come, when all this will be forgotten.”
“Never,” he said, “to the end of my life.”
He made that reply in dull, monotonous134 tones. His eyes looked wearily and vacantly straight before him. I spoke to him again. He remained impenetrably silent; he appeared not to hear, or not to understand me. The surgeon came in, while I was still at a loss what to say or do next. Without waiting to be asked for his opinion, he observed Romayne attentively135, and then drew me away into the next room.
“Your friend is suffering from a severe nervous shock,” he said. “Can you tell me anything of his habits of life?”
I mentioned the prolonged night studies and the excessive use of tea. The surgeon shook his head.
“If you want my advice,” he proceeded, “take him home at once. Don’t subject him to further excitement, when the result of the duel is known in the town. If it ends in our appearing in a court of law, it will be a mere84 formality in this case, and you can surrender when the time comes. Leave me your address in London.”
I felt that the wisest thing I could do was to follow his advice. The boat crossed to Folkestone at an early hour that day — we had no time to lose. Romayne offered no objection to our return to England; he seemed perfectly136 careless what became of him. “Leave me quiet,” he said; “and do as you like.” I wrote a few lines to Lady Berrick’s medical attendant, informing him of the circumstances. A quarter of an hour afterward we were on board the steamboat.
There were very few passengers. After we had left the harbor, my attention was attracted by a young English lady — traveling, apparently137, with her mother. As we passed her on the deck she looked at Romayne with compassionate138 interest so vividly139 expressed in her beautiful face that I imagined they might be acquainted. With some difficulty, I prevailed sufficiently140 over the torpor141 that possessed142 him to induce him to look at our fellow passenger.
“Do you know that charming person?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, with the weariest indifference143. “I never saw her before. I’m tired — tired — tired! Don’t speak to me; leave me by myself.”
I left him. His rare personal attractions — of which, let me add, he never appeared to be conscious — had evidently made their natural appeal to the interest and admiration of the young lady who had met him by chance. The expression of resigned sadness and suffering, now visible in his face, added greatly no doubt to the influence that he had unconsciously exercised over the sympathies of a delicate and sensitive woman. It was no uncommon144 circumstance in his past experience of the sex — as I myself well knew — to be the object, not of admiration only, but of true and ardent145 love. He had never reciprocated146 the passion — had never even appeared to take it seriously. Marriage might, as the phrase is, be the salvation147 of him. Would he ever marry?
Leaning over the bulwark148, idly pursuing this train of thought, I was recalled to present things by a low sweet voice — the voice of the lady of whom I had been thinking.
“Excuse me for disturbing you,” she said; “I think your friend wants you.”
She spoke with the modesty149 and self-possession of a highly-bred woman. A little heightening of her color made her, to my eyes, more beautiful than ever. I thanked her, and hastened back to Romayne.
He was standing by the barred skylight which guarded the machinery150. I instantly noticed a change in him. His eyes wandering here and there, in search of me, had more than recovered their animation151 — there was a wild look of terror in them. He seized me roughly by the arm and pointed101 down to the engine-room.
“What do you hear there?” he asked.
“I hear the thump152 of the engines.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing. What do you hear?”
He suddenly turned away.
“I’ll tell you,” he said, “when we get on shore.”
收听单词发音 |
1
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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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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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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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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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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gourmand
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| n.嗜食者 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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petulantly
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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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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remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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42
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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44
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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46
kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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49
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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50
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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51
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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52
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53
profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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54
rouged
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| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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56
whet
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| v.磨快，刺激 | |
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57
bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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58
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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59
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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60
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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61
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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62
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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63
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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64
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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65
impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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66
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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67
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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68
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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69
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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70
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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71
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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72
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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73
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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74
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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76
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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77
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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78
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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79
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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80
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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81
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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82
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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83
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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84
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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85
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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86
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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87
rankling
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的现在分词 ) | |
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88
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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89
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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91
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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92
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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93
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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94
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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95
dueling
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| n. 决斗, 抗争(=duelling) 动词duel的现在分词形式 | |
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96
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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97
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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98
adjourn
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| v.（使）休会，（使）休庭 | |
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99
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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100
remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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101
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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102
drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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103
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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104
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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105
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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106
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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108
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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109
redressing
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| v.改正( redress的现在分词 )；重加权衡；恢复平衡 | |
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110
flipping
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| 讨厌之极的 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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112
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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113
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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114
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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115
cinder
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| n.余烬，矿渣 | |
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116
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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117
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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118
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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119
adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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120
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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121
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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122
hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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123
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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nostril
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| n.鼻孔 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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spinal
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| adj.针的，尖刺的，尖刺状突起的；adj.脊骨的，脊髓的 | |
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presentiments
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| n.（对不祥事物的）预感( presentiment的名词复数 ) | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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fathomless
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| a.深不可测的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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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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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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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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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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141
torpor
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| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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reciprocated
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| v.报答，酬答( reciprocate的过去式和过去分词 )；（机器的部件）直线往复运动 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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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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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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