THE shame and distress1 natural to every unhackneyed mind, in any necessity of soliciting2 a pecuniary3 favour, had now, in that of Camilla, the additional difficulty of coping against the avowed4 desire of Mrs. Arlbery not to open her purse.
When they arrived at Mount Pleasant, she saw all the horsemen alighted, and in conversation with that lady; and Edgar move towards the carriage, palpably with a design to hand her out; but as the Major advanced, he retreated, and, finding himself unnoticed by Mrs. Arlbery, remounted his horse. Provoked and chagrined5, she sprung forwards alone, and when pursued by the Major, with some of his usual compliments, turned from him impatiently and went up stairs.
Intent in thinking only of Edgar, she was not herself aware of this abruptness6, till Mrs. Arlbery, following her to her chamber7, said, ‘Why were you so suddenly haughty8 to the Major, my dear Miss Tyrold? Has he offended you?’
Much surprised, she answered, no; but, forced by further questions, to be more explicit9, confessed she wished to distance him, as his behaviour had been remarked.
‘Remarked! How? By whom?’
She coloured, and was again hardly pressed before she answered, ‘Mr. Mandlebert-once-named it to me.’
‘O, ho, did he?’ said Mrs. Arlbery, surprised in her turn; ‘why then, my dear, depend upon it, he loves you himself.’
‘Me!–Mr. Mandlebert!–’ exclaimed Camilla, doubting what she heard.
‘Nay, why not?’
‘Why not?’ repeated she in an excess of perturbation; ‘O, he is too good! too excelling! he sees all my faults-points them out himself–’
‘Does he?’ said Mrs. Arlbery thoughtfully, and pausing: ‘nay, then,-if so-he wishes to marry you!’
‘Me, ma’am?’ cried Camilla, blushing high with mingled10 delight at the idea, and displeasure at its free expression.
‘Why, else, should he caution you against another?’
‘From goodness, from kindness, from generosity11!–’
‘No, no; those are not the characteristics of young men who counsel young women! We all heard he was engaged to your beautiful vacant-looking cousin; but I suppose he grew sick of her. A very young man seldom likes a silly wife. It is generally when he is further advanced in life that he takes that depraved taste. He then flatters himself a fool will be easier to govern.’
She now went away to dress; leaving Camilla a new creature; changed in all her hopes, though overwhelmed with shame at the freedom of this attack, and determined12 to exert her utmost strength of mind, not to expose to view the secret pleasure with which it filled her.
She was, however, so absent when they met again, that Mrs. Arlbery, shaking her head, said: ‘Ah, my fair friend! what have you been thinking of?’
Excessively ashamed, she endeavoured to brighten up. The General and Sir Sedley had been invited to dinner. The latter was engaged in the evening to Lady Alithea Selmore, who gave tea at her own lodgings13. ‘The Rooms, then, will be quite empty” said Mrs. Arlbery; ‘so we had better go to the play.’
Mr. Dennel had no objection, and Sir Sedley promised to attend them, as it would be time enough for her ladyship afterwards.
* * *
So completely was Camilla absorbed in her new ideas, that she forgot both her borrowed guinea, and the state of her purse, till she arrived at the theatre. The recollection was then too late; and she had no resource against completely emptying it.
She was too happy however, at this instant, to admit any regret. The sagacity of Mrs. Arlbery she thought infallible; and the sight of Edgar in a box just facing her, banished14 every other consideration.
The theatre was almost without company. The assembly at Lady Alithea Selmore’s had made it unfashionable, and when the play was over, Edgar found easily a place in the box.
Lord Newford and Sir Theophilus Jarard looked in just after, and affected15 not to know the piece was begun. Sir Sedley retired16 to his toilette, and Mr. Dennel to seek his carriage.
Some bills now got into the box, and were read by Sir Theophilus, announcing a superb exhibition of wild beasts for the next day, consisting chiefly of monkies who could perform various feats17, and a famous ourang outang, just landed from Africa.
Lord Newford said he would go if he had but two more days to live. Sir Theophilus echoed him. Mr. Dennel expressed some curiosity; Miss Dennel, though she protested she should be frightened out of her wits, said she would not stay at home; Mrs. Arlbery confessed it would be an amusing sight to see so many representations of the dear human race; but Camilla spoke18 not: and scarce heard even the subject of discourse19.
‘You,’ cried the Major, addressing her, ‘will be there?’
‘Where?’ demanded she.
‘To see this curious collection of animals.’
‘It will be curious, undoubtedly,’ said Edgar, pleased that she made no answer; ‘but ’tis a species of curiosity not likely to attract the most elegant spectators; and rather, perhaps, adapted to give pleasure to naturalists20, than to young ladies.’
Softened21, at this moment, in every feeling of her heart towards Edgar, she turned to him, and said, ‘Do you think it would be wrong to go?’
‘Wrong,’ repeated he, surprised though gratified, ‘is perhaps too hard a word; but, I fear, at an itinerant22 show, such as this, a young lady would run some chance of finding herself in a neighbourhood that might seem rather strange to her.’
‘Most certainly then,’ cried she, with quickness, ‘I will not go!’
The astonished Edgar looked at her with earnestness, and saw the simplicity23 of sincerity24 on her countenance25. He looked then at the Major; who, accustomed to frequent failures in his solicitations, exhibited no change of features. Again he looked at Camilla, and her eyes met his with a sweetness of expression that passed straight to his heart.
Mrs. Arlbery now led the way to the coach; the forwardness of the Major, though in her own despight, procured26 him the hand of Camilla; but she had left upon Edgar an impression renovating27 to all his esteem28. She is still, he thought, the same; candid29, open, flexible; still, therefore, let me follow her, with such counsel as I am able to give. She has accused me of unkindness;–She was right! I retreated from her service at the moment when, in honour, I was bound to continue in it. How selfish was such conduct! how like such common love as seeks only its own gratification, not the happiness or welfare of its object! Could she, though but lately so dear to me, that all the felicity of my life seemed to hang upon her, become as nothing, because destined30 to another? No! Her father has been my father, and so long as she retains his respected name, I will watch by her unceasingly.
* * *
In their way home, one of the horses tired, and could not be made to drag the carriage up to Mount Pleasant. They were therefore obliged to alight and walk. Mrs. Arlbery took the arm of Mr. Dennel, which she did not spare, and his daughter, almost crying with sleep and fatigue31, made the same use of Camilla’s . She protested she had never been so long upon her feet in her life as that very morning in Knowle Park, and, though she leant upon her companion with as little scruple32 as upon a walking stick, she frequently stopt short, and declared she should stay upon the road all night, for she could not move another step: and they were still far from the summit, when she insisted upon sitting down, saying fretfully, ‘I am sure I wish I was married! Nobody minds me. I am sure if I was, I would not be served so. I’m resolved I’ll always have two coaches, one to come after me, and one to ride in; for I’m determined I won’t marry a man that has not a great fortune. I’m sure papa could afford it too, if he’d a mind; only he won’t. Every body vexes33 me. I’m sure I’m ready to cry!’
Mr. Dennel and Mrs. Arlbery, who neither of them, at any time, took the smallest notice of what she said, passed on, and left the whole weight both of her person and her complaints to Camilla. The latter, however, now reached the ears of a fat, tidy, neat looking elderly woman, who, in a large black bonnet34, and a blue checked apron35, was going their way; she approached them, and in a good-humoured voice, said: ‘What! poor dear! why you seem tired to death? come, get up, my dear; be of good heart, and you shall hold by my arm; for that t’other poor thing’s almost hauled to pieces.’
Miss Dennel accepted both the pity and the proposal; and the substantial arm of her new friend, gave her far superior aid to the slight one of Camilla.
‘Well, and how did you like the play, my dears?’ cried the woman.
‘La!’ said Miss Dennel, ‘how should you know we were at the play?’
‘O, I have a little bird,’ answered she, sagaciously nodding, ‘that tells me everything! you sat in the stage box?’
‘Dear! so we did! How can you tell that? Was you in the gallery?’
‘No, my dear, nor yet in the pit neither. And you had three gentlemen behind you, besides that gentleman that’s going up the Mount?’
‘Dear! So we had! But how do you know? did you peep at us behind the scenes?’
‘No my dear; I never went behind the scenes. But come, I hope you’ll do now, for you ha’n’t much further to go.’
‘Dear! how do you know that?’
‘Because you live at that pretty house, there, up Mount Pleasant, that’s got the little closet window.’
‘La, yes! I who told you so?’
‘And there’s a pretty cat belonging to the house, all streaked36 brown and black?’
‘O, la!’ exclaimed Miss Dennel, half screaming, and letting go her arm, ‘I dare say you’re a fortune-teller! Pray, don’t speak to me till we get to the light!’
She now hung back, so terrified that neither Camilla could encourage, nor the woman appease37 her; and she was going to run down the hill, forgetting all her weariness, to seek refuge from the servants, when the woman said, ‘Why what’s here to do? Why see, my dear, if I must let you into the secret-you must know-but don’t tell it to the world!–I’m a gentlewoman!’ She then removed her checked apron, and shewed a white muslin one, embroidered38 and flounced.
Miss Dennel was now struck with a surprise, of which Camilla bore an equal share. Their new acquaintance appeared herself in some confusion, but having exacted a promise not to be discovered to the world, she told them, she lodged39 at a house upon Mount Pleasant, just by their’s , whence she often saw them; that, having a ticket given her, by a friend, for the play, she dressed herself and went into a box, with some very genteel company, who kept their coach, and who sat her down afterwards at another friend’s , where she pretended she should be fetched: ‘But I do my own way,’ continued she, ‘and nobody knows a word of the matter: for I keep a large bonnet, and cloak, and a checked apron, and a pair of clogs40, or pattens, always at this friend’s ; and then when I have put them on, people take me for a mere41 common person, and I walk on, ever so late, and nobody speaks to me; and so by that means I get my pleasure, and save my money; and yet always appear like a gentlewoman when I’m known.’
She then again charged them to be discreet42, saying that if this were spread to the world, she should be quite undone43, for many ladies that took her about with them, would notice her no more. At the same time, as she wished to make acquaintance with such pretty young ladies, she proposed that they should all three meet in a walk before the house, the next morning, and talk together as if for the first time.
Camilla, who detested44 all tricks, declined entering into this engagement; but Miss Dennel, charmed with the ingenuity45 of her new acquaintance, accepted the appointment.
* * *
Camilla had, however, her own new friend for the opening of the next day. ‘Ah! my sweet protectress!’ cried she, throwing her arms about her neck, ‘what am I not destined to owe you? The very sight of that man is horror to me. Amiable46, generous creature! what a sight was yours, when turning round, I met your eyes, and beheld47 him no more!’
‘Your alarm, at which I cannot wonder,’ said Camilla, ‘Prevented your seeing your safety; for Lord Newford was with a large party.’
‘O, he is obnoxious48 to my view! wherever I may see him, in public or in private, I shall fly him. He would have torn from me the loved characters of my heart’s best correspondent!–’
Camilla now felt a little shocked, and colouring and interrupting her, said: ‘Is it possible, Mrs. Berlinton–’ and stopt not knowing how to go on.
‘Ah! you know me, then! You know my connexions and my situation!’ cried she, hiding her face on Camilla’s bosom49: ‘tell me, at least, tell me, you do not therefore contemn50 and abhor51 me?’
‘Heaven forbid!’ said Camilla, terrified at such a preparation; ‘what can I hear that can give you so cruel an idea?’
‘Alas52! know you not I have prophaned at the altar my plighted53 vows54 to the most odious55 of men? That I have formed an alliance I despise? and that I bear a name I think of with disgust, and hate ever to own?’
Camilla, thunderstruck, answered; ‘No, indeed! I know nothing of all this!’
‘Ah! guard yourself, then, well,’ cried she, bursting into tears, ‘from a similar fate! My friends are kind and good, but the temptation of seeing me rich beguiled56 them. I was disinterested57 and contented58 myself, but young and inexperienced; and I yielded to their pleadings, unaware59 of their consequences. Alas! I was utterly60 ignorant both of myself and the world! I knew not how essential to my own peace was an amiable companion; and I knew not, then,-that the world contained one just formed to make me happy!’
She now hung down her head, weeping and desponding. Camilla sought to sooth her, but was so amazed, so fearful, and so perplext, she scarce knew what either to say or to think.
The fair mourner, at length, a little recovering, added: ‘Let me not agitate61 your gentle bosom with my sorrows. I regard you as an angel sent to console them; but it must be by mitigating62, not partaking of them.’
Camilla was sensibly touched; and though strangely at a loss what to judge, felt her affections deeply interested.
‘I dreaded63,’ she continued, ‘to tell you my name, for I dreaded to sink myself into your contempt, by your knowledge of an alliance you must deem so mercenary. ’Twas folly64 to hope you would not hear it; yet I wished first to obtain, at least, your good will. The dear lost name of Melmond is all I love to pronounce! That name, I believe, is known to you; so may be, also, perhaps, my brother’s unhappy story?’
Melmond, she then said, believing Miss Lynmere betrothed65 to Mr. Mandlebert, had quitted Hampshire in misery66, to finish his vacation in Wales, with their mutual67 friends. There he heard that the rumour68 was false; and would instantly have returned and thrown himself at the feet of the young lady, by whose cousin, Mr. Lionel Tyrold, he had been told she was to inherit a large fortune; when this second report, also, was contradicted, and he learnt that Miss Lynmere had almost nothing; ‘My brother,’ added she, ‘with the true spirit of true sentiment, was but the more urgent to pursue her; but our relations interfered-and he, like me, is doomed69 to endless anguish70!’
The accident, she said, of the preceding morning, was owing to her being engaged in reading Rowe’s letters from the dead to the living; which had so infinitely71 enchanted72 her, that, desiring to peruse73 them without interruption, yet fearing to again wander in search of a rural retreat, she had driven to Knowle; where, hearing the noble family was absent, she had asked leave to view the park, and there had taken out her delicious book, which she was enjoying in the highest luxury of solitude74 and sweet air, when Lord Newford broke in upon her.
Camilla enquired75 if she feared any bad consequences, by telling Mr. Berlinton of his impertinence.
‘Heaven forbid,’ she answered, ‘that I should be condemned76 to speak to Mr. Berlinton of anything that concerns or befalls me! I see him as little as I am able, and speak to him as seldom.’
Camilla heard this with grief, but durst not further press a subject so delicate. They continued together till noon, and then reluctantly parted, upon a message from Mrs. Arlbery that the carriages were waiting. Mrs. Berlinton declined being introduce to that lady, which would only, she said, occasion interruptions to their future tête-à-tête.
Neither the thoughtlessness of the disposition77, nor the gaiety of the imagination of Camilla, could disguise from her understanding the glaring eccentricity78 of this conduct and character: but she saw them with more of interest than blame; the various attractions with which they were mixed, blending in her opinion something between pity and admiration79, more captivating, though more dangerous, to the fond fancy of youth, than the most solid respect, and best founded esteem.
收听单词发音 |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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soliciting
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| v.恳求( solicit的现在分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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4
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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5
chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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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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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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naturalists
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| n.博物学家( naturalist的名词复数 )；（文学艺术的）自然主义者 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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renovating
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| 翻新，修复，整修( renovate的现在分词 ) | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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vexes
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| v.使烦恼( vex的第三人称单数 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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appease
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| v.安抚，缓和，平息，满足 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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clogs
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| 木屐； 木底鞋，木屐( clog的名词复数 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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44
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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47
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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50
contemn
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| v.蔑视 | |
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51
abhor
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| v.憎恶；痛恨 | |
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52
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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53
plighted
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| vt.保证，约定（plight的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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54
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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56
beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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58
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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agitate
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| vi.(for,against)煽动，鼓动；vt.搅动 | |
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62
mitigating
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的现在分词 ) | |
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63
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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64
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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65
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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66
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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67
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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68
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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69
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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70
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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71
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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72
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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73
peruse
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| v.细读，精读 | |
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74
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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75
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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76
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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77
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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78
eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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79
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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