THE next morning, as Camilla had accompanied Mrs. Arlbery, in earnest discourse1, from her chamber2 to the hall, she heard the postman say Miss Tyrold as he gave in a letter. She seized it, saw the hand-writing of Lionel, and ran eagerly into the parlour, which was empty, to read it, in some hopes it would at least contain an acknowledgment of the draft, that might be shewn to Sir Sedley, and relieve her from the pain of continuing the principal in such an affair.
The letter, however, was merely a sportive rhapsody, beginning; My dear Lady Clarendel; desiring her favour and protection, and telling her he had done what he could for her honour, by adding two trophies4 to the victorious5 car of Hymen, driven by the happy Baronet.
Wholly at a loss how to act, she sat ruminating6 over this letter, till Mrs. Arlbery opened the door. Having no time to fold it, and dreading7 her seeing the first words, she threw her handkerchief, which was then in her hand, over it, upon the table, hoping presently to draw it away unperceived.
‘My dear friend,’ said Mrs. Arlbery, ‘I am glad to see you a moment alone. Do you know any thing of Mandlebert?’
‘No!’ answered she affrighted, lest any evil had happened.
‘Did he not take leave of you at the Rooms the other night?’
‘Leave of me? is he gone any where?’
‘He has left Tunbridge.’
Camilla remained stupified.
‘Left it,’ she continued, ‘without the poor civility of a call, to ask if you had any letters or messages for Hampshire.’
Camilla coloured high; she felt to her heart this evident coldness, and she knew it to be still more marked than Mrs. Arlbery could divine; for he was aware she wished particularly to speak with him; and though she had failed in her appointment, he had not inquired why.
‘And this is the man for whom you would relinquish9 all mankind? this is the grateful character who is to render you insensible to every body?’
The disturbed mind of Camilla needed not this speech; her debt to Sir Sedley, cast wholly upon herself by the thoughtless Lionel; her inability to pay it, the impressive lines the Baronet had addressed to her, and the cruel and pointed10 indifference11 of Edgar, all forcibly united to make her wish, at this moment, her heart at her own disposal.
In a few minutes, the voice of Sir Sedley, gaily12 singing, caught her ear. He was entering the hall, the street door being open. She started up; Mrs. Arlbery would have detained her, but she could not endure to encounter him, and without returning his salutation, or listening to his address, crossed him in the hall, and flew up stairs.
There, however, she had scarcely taken breath, when she recollected13 the letter which she had left upon the table, and which the afflicting14 intelligence that Edgar had quitted Tunbridge, had made her forget she had received. In a terror immeasurable, lest her handkerchief should be drawn15 aside, and betray the first line, she re-descended the stairs, and hastily entered the room. Her shock was then inexpressible. The handkerchief, which her own quick motion in retiring had displaced, was upon the floor, the letter was in full view; the eyes of Sir Sedley were fixed16 upon his own name, with a look indefinable between pleasure and impertinence, and Mrs. Arlbery was laughing with all her might.
She seized the letter, and was running away with it, when Mrs. Arlbery slipt out of the room, and Sir Sedley, shutting the door, half archly, half tenderly repeated, from the letter, ‘My dear Lady Clarendel!’
In a perfect agony, she hid her face, exclaiming: ‘O Lionel! my foolish... cruel brother!’
‘Not foolish, not cruel, I think him,’ cried Sir Sedley, taking her hand, ‘but amiable17... he has done honour to my name, and he will use it, I hope, henceforth, as his own.’
‘Forget, forget his flippancy,’ cried she, withdrawing impatiently her hand; ‘and pardon his sister’s breach19 of engagement for this morning. I hope soon, very soon, to repair it, and I hope...’
She did not know what to add; she stopt, stammered20, and then endeavoured to make her retreat.
‘Do not go,’ cried he, gently detaining her; ‘incomparable Camilla! I have a thousand things to say to you. Will you not hear them?’
‘No!’ cried she, disengaging herself; ‘no, no, no! I can hear nothing!...’
‘Do you fascinate then,’ said he, half reproachfully, ‘like the rattlesnake, only to destroy?’
Camilla conceived this as alluding22 to her recent encouragement, and stood trembling with expectation it would be followed by a claim upon her justice.
But Sir Sedley, who was far from any meaning so pointed, lightly added; ‘What thus agitates23 the fairest of creatures? can she fear a poor captive entangled24 in the witchery of her loveliness, and only the more enslaved the more he struggles to get free?’
‘Let me go,’ cried she, eager to stop him; ‘I beseech25 you, Sir Sedley!’
‘All beauteous Camilla!’ said he, retreating yet still so as to intercept26 her passage; ‘I am bound to submit; but when may I see you again?’
‘At any time,’ replied she hastily; ‘only let me pass now!’
‘At any time! adorable Camilla! be it then to-night! be it this evening!... be it at noon!... be it...’
‘No, no, no, no!’ cried she, panting with shame and alarm; ‘I do not mean at any time! I spoke27 without thought... I mean...’
‘Speak so ever and anon,’ cried he, ‘if thought is my enemy! This evening then...’
He stopt, as if irresolute28 how to finish his phrase, but soon added: ‘Adieu, till this evening, adieu!’ and opened the door for her to pass.
Triumph sat in his eye; exultation29 spoke in every feature; yet his voice betrayed constraint30, and seemed checked, as if from fear of entrusting31 it with his sentiments. The fear, however, was palpably not of diffidence with respect to Camilla, but of indecision with regard to himself.
Camilla, almost sinking with shame now hung back, from a dread8 of leaving him in this dangerous delusion32. She sat down, and in a faltering33 voice, said: ‘Sir Sedley! hear me, I beg!...’
‘Hear you?’ cried he, gallantly34 casting himself at her feet; ‘yes! from the fervid35 rays of the sun, to the mild lustre36 of the moon!... from...’
A loud knock at the street door, and a ringing at the same time at the bell, made him rise, meaning to shut again the door of the parlour, but he was prevented by the entrance of a man into the hall, calling out, in a voice that reached to every part of the house, ‘An express for Miss Camilla Tyrold.’
Camilla started up, concluding it some strange intelligence concerning Edgar. But a letter was put into her hand, and she saw it was the writing of Lavinia.
It was short, but most affectionate. It told her that news was just arrived from the Continent, which gave reason for hourly expectation of their cousin Lynmere at Cleves, in consequence of which Sir Hugh was assembling all the family to receive him. She was then, with her father, going thither37 from Etherington, where the restored health of her uncle had, for a week past, enabled them to reside, and she was ordered to send off in express to Tunbridge, to beg Camilla would prepare immediately for the post-chaise of Sir Hugh, which would be sent for her, with the Cleves housekeeper38, and reach Mount Pleasant within a few hours after this notice.
A hundred questions assailed39 Camilla when she had run over this letter, the noise of the express having brought Mrs. Arlbery and the Dennels into the parlour.
She produced the letter, and putting it in the hands of Mrs. Arlbery, relieved her painful confusion, by quitting the room with out again meeting the eyes of Sir Sedley.
She could make no preparation, however, for her journey, from mingled40 desire and fear of an explanation with the Baronet before her departure.
Again, therefore, in a few minutes she went down; gathering41 courage from the horror of a mistake that might lead to so much mischief42.
She found only Mrs. Arlbery in the parlour.
Involuntarily staring, ‘Where,’ she cried, ‘is Sir Sedley?’
‘He is gone,’ answered Mrs. Arlbery, laughing at her earnestness; ‘but no doubt you will soon see him at Cleves.’
‘Then I am undone43!’ cried she, bursting into tears, and running back to her chamber.
Mrs. Arlbery instantly followed, and kindly44 inquired what disturbed her.
‘O Mrs. Arlbery!’ she cried, ‘lend me, I beseech you, some aid, and spare me, in pity, your raillery! Sir Sedley, I fear, greatly mistakes me; set him right, I conjure45 you...’
‘Me, my dear? and do you think if some happy fatality46 is at work at this moment to force you to your good, I will come forth18, like your evil genius, to counteract47 its operations?’
‘I must write, then... yet, in this haste, this confusion, I fear to involve rather than extricate48 myself!’
‘Ay, write by all means; there is nothing so prettily49 forwards these affairs, as a correspondence between the parties undertaken to put an end to them.’
She went, laughing, out of the chamber, and Camilla, who had seized a pen, distressfully flung it from her.
What indeed could she say? he had made no direct declaration; she could give, therefore, no direct repulse50; and though, through her brother’s cruel want of all consideration, she was so deeply in his debt, she durst no longer promise its discharge; for the strange departure of Edgar robbed her of all courage to make to him her meditated51 application.
Yet to leave Sir Sedley in this errour was every way terrible. If, which still seemed very possible, from his manner and behaviour he should check his partiality, and make the whole of what had passed end in mere3 public-place gallantry, she must always have the mortification52 to know he had considered her as ready to accept him: If, on the contrary, encouraging what he felt for her, from the belief she returned his best opinion, he should seriously demand her hand... how could she justify53 the apparent attention she once paid him? and how assert, while so hopelessly his debtor54, the independence to reject one who so many ways seemed to hold himself secure?
* * *
She was broken in upon by Mrs. Mittin, who entered fun of lamentation55 at the intelligence she had just heard from Miss Dennel of her sudden departure; which she ended with, ‘But as you are going in such haste, my dear, you must have fifty things to do, so pray now, let me help you, Come, what shall I pack up for you? Where’s all your things?’
Camilla, incapable56 of doing any business for herself, accepted the offer.
‘Well then, now where’s your gowns? Bless me! what a one is here? why it’s been in the dew, and then in the dust, and then in the dew again, till all the bottom must be cut off; why you can never shew it amongst your friends; it will quite bring a disgrace upon poor Tunbridge; come, I think you must give it to me; I’ve got a piece of muslin just like it, and I can piece it so that it won’t appear-but it will never do for you again.’
Camilla was surprised; but her mind was filled with other matters, and the gown was put apart.
‘What! are those all your neck handkerchiefs? why, my dear Miss Tyrold, that’s a thing you want very bad indeed; why here’s one you can never wear again; it wants more darning than it’s worth.’
Camilla said she should have very good time to mend it at home.
‘But then, my dear, you don’t consider what a bad look that will have amongst your friends; what will they think of poor Tunbridge, that you should have let it go so far? why, may be they’ll never let you come again; the best way will be not to let them see it; suppose I take it off your hands? I dare say they don’t know your count.’
At any other time, Camilla would either have resisted these seizures57, or have been diverted by the pretence58 that they were made only for her own benefit; but she was now glad at any rate to get rid of the care of the package.
When this was over, and Mrs. Mittin had pretty well paid herself for her trouble: ‘Well, my dear,’ she cried, ‘and what can I do for you next? Have you paid Mrs. Tilldin, and Mr. Doust, and Mr. Tent?’
These were questions that indeed roused Camilla from her reverie; she had not once thought of what she owed to the milliner, to her shoemaker, nor to her haberdasher; from all of whom she had now, through the hands of Mrs. Mittin, had various articles. She thanked her for reminding her of so necessary an attention, and said she would immediately send for the bills.
‘I’ll run and pay ’em for you myself,’ said Mrs. Mittin; ‘for they always take that kind; and as I recommended them all to you, I have a right they should know how I stand their friend; for there’s many an odd service they may do me in return; so I’ll go for you with all my heart; only give me the money.’
Camilla took out her purse, in which, from her debt to Sir Sedley, and perpetually current expences, there now remained but fifteen shillings of her borrowed five guineas; though latterly, she had wholly denied herself whatever did not seem an expence unavoidable. What to do she now knew not; for though all she had ordered had been trifling59, she was sure it must amount to four or five guineas. She had repeatedly refused to borrow anything more of Mrs. Arlbery, always hoping every call for money would be the last; but she was too inexperienced to know, that in gay circles, and public places, the demands for wealth are endless and countless60; and that oeconomy itself, which is always local, is there lavish61 and extravagant62, compared with its character, in private scenes and retired63 life.
Yet was this the last moment to apply to Mrs. Arlbery upon such a subject, since it would be endowing her with fresh arms to fight the cause of Sir Sedley. She sat still, and ruminating till Mrs. Mittin, who without scruple64 had taken a full inventory65 of the contents of the purse, exclaimed: ‘La! my dear, why sure I hope that i’n’t all you’ve got left?’
Camilla was fain to confess she had nothing more at Tunbridge.
‘Well, don’t be uneasy, my dear,’ cried she, ‘and I’ll go to ’em all, and be caution for you, till you get the money.’
Camilla thanked her very sincerely, and again resumed her first opinion of her real good nature, and kindness of heart. She took her direction in London, whither she was soon to return, and promised, in a short time, to transmit the money for her to distribute, as every one of the shopkeepers went to the metropolis66 in the winter.
Delighted both with the praise and the commission, Mrs. Mittin took leave; and Camilla determined67 to employ her next quarter’s allowance in paying these debts, and frankly68 to beg from her uncle the five guineas that were due to Mrs. Arlbery.
She then wrote an affectionate adieu to Mrs. Berlinton, intreating to hear from her at Etherington; and, while she was sealing it, Mrs. Arlbery came to embrace her, as the carriage was at the door.
Camilla, in making her acknowledgments for the kindness she had received, intermingled a petition, that at least, she would not augment69, if she refused to clear the mistake of Sir Sedley.
‘I believe he may safely,’ she answered, ‘be left to himself; though it is plain that, at this moment, he is in a difficulty as great as your own; for marriage he still resists, though he finds you resistless. I wish you mutually to be parted till... pardon me, my fair friend... your understandings are mutually cleared, and he is divested70 of what is too factitious, and you of what is too artless. Your situation is, indeed, rather whimsical; for the two mortals with whom you have to deal require treatment diametrically opposite; yet, humour them a little adroitly71, and you presently gain them both. He that is proud, must be distanced; he that is vain, must be flattered. This is paying them with their own coin; but they hold no other to be current. Pride, if not humbled72, degenerates73 into contempt; vanity, if not indulged, dissolves into indifference.’
Camilla disclaimed74 taking any measures with respect to either; but Mrs. Arlbery insisted the field would be won by Sir Sedley, ‘who is already,’ she cried, ‘persuaded you have for some time encouraged him, and that now you are fully21 propitious75....’
Camilla hastily interrupted her: ‘O, Mrs. Arlbery!’ she cried, ‘I cannot endure this! add not to my disturbance76 by making it my own work!’
She then embraced her; took leave of the Dennels, and with the housekeeper of Sir Hugh set out from Tunbridge for Cleves.
收听单词发音 |
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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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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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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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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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afflicting
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| 痛苦的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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agitates
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| 搅动( agitate的第三人称单数 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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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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irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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entrusting
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的现在分词 ) | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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fervid
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| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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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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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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debtor
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| n.借方，债务人 | |
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lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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seizures
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| n.起获( seizure的名词复数 )；没收；充公；起获的赃物 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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inventory
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| n.详细目录，存货清单 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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augment
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| vt.(使)增大，增加，增长，扩张 | |
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divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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degenerates
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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disclaimed
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| v.否认( disclaim的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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