MR. Tyrold was soon, by urgent claims, forced to leave them; and Camilla, with strong secret anxiety to know if Edgar had caused this blest meeting, led to a general explanation upon past events.
And now, to her utter amazement1, she found that her letter sent by the labourer had never been received.
Mrs. Tyrold related, that she had no sooner read the first letter addressed to her through Lavinia, than, softened2 and affected3, she wrote an answer of the utmost kindness to Belfont; desiring Camilla to continue with her sister till called for by Miss Margland, in her return home from Mrs. Macdersey. The visit, meanwhile to Cleves, had transpired4 through Jacob, and, much touched by, yet much blaming her travelling thus alone, she wrote to her a second time, charging her to remove no more from Belfont without Miss Margland. But, on the preceding morning, the first letter had been returned with a note from Eugenia, that her sister had set out two days before for Etherington.
The moment of this intelligence, was the most dreadful to Mr. Tyrold and herself of their lives. Every species of conjecture5 was horrible. He set out instantly for Belfont, determining to make enquiries at every inn, house, and cottage, by the way; but by taking, unfortunately, the road through Alton, he had missed the half-way-house. In the evening, while, with apprehensions6 surpassing all description, she was waiting some news, a chaise drove up to the door. She flew out, but saw in it... alone, cold, trembling, and scarce in her senses, Eugenia. Instantly imagining she came with tidings of fatal tendency concerning Camilla, she started back, exclaiming, ‘All, then, is over?’ The chaise-door had been opened; but Eugenia, shaking too violently to get out; only, and faintly, answered, ‘Yes! my Mother... all is over!–’ The mistake was almost instantaneous death to her-though the next words of Eugenia cleared it up, and led to her own dreadful narrative7.
Bellamy, as soon as Camilla had left Belfont, had made a peremptory8 demand that his wife should claim, as if for some purpose of her own, a large sum of Sir Hugh. Her steady resistance sent him from the house in a rage; and she saw no more of him till that day at noon, when he returned in deeper, blacker wrath9 than she had ever yet seen; and vowed10 that nothing less than her going in person to her uncle with his request, should induce him ever to forgive her. When he found her resolute11 in refusal, he ordered a chaise, and made her get into it, without saying for what purpose. She saw they were travelling towards Cleves, but he did not once speak, except where they changed horses, till they came upon the cross-road, leading to the half-way-house. Suddenly then, bidding the postillion stop at the end of a lane, he told him he was going to look at a little farm, and, ordering him to wait, made her alight and walk down it till they were out of sight of the man and the carriage. Fiercely, then stopping short, ‘Will you give me,’ he cried, ‘your promise, upon oath, that you will ask your Uncle for the money?’ ‘Indeed, Mr. Bellamy, I cannot!’ she answered. ‘Enough!’ he cried, and took from his pocket a pistol. ‘Good Heaven,’ she said, ‘you will not murder me?’–‘I cannot live without the money myself,’ he answered, ‘and why should I let you?’ He then felt in his waistcoat pocket, whence he took two bullets, telling her, she should have the pleasure of seeing him load the pistol; and that when one bullet had dispatched her, the other should disappoint the executioner. Horrour now conquered her, and she solemnly promised to ask whatever he dictated12. ‘I must hold the pistol to your ear,’ cried he, ‘while you take your oath. See! ’tis loaded–This is no child’s play.’ He then lifted it up; but, at the same moment, a distant voice exclaimed, ‘Hold, villain13! or you are a dead man!’ Starting, and meaning to hide it within his waistcoat, his hand shook-the pistol went off-it shot him through the body, and he dropt down dead. Without sense or motion, she fell by his side; and, upon recovering, found herself again in the chaise. The postillion, who knew her, had carried her thither14, and brought her on to Etherington. She then conjured15 that proper persons might go back with the driver, and that her Father would have the benevolence16 to superintend all that could be done that would be most respectfully decent.
The postillion acknowledged that it was himself who had cried, Hold, villain! A suspicion of some mischief17 had occurred to him, from seeing the end of a pistol jerk from the pocket of the gentleman, as he got out of the chaise; and begging a man, who accidentally passed while he waited, to watch his horses, he ran down a field by the side of the lane, whence he heard the words: ‘The pistol is loaded, and for no child’s play!’ upon which, seeing it raised, and the young Lady shrink, he called out. Yet Eugenia protested herself convinced that Bellamy had no real design against either his own life or her’s , though terrour, at the moment, had conquered her: he had meant but to affright her into consent, knowing well her word once given, with whatever violence torn from her, would be held sacred. The rest was dreadful accident, or Providence18 in that form playing upon himself his own toils19. The pious20 young Widow was so miserable21 at this shocking exit, and the shocking manner in which the remains22 were left exposed, that her Mother had set out herself to give orders in person, from the half-way-house, for bringing thither the body, till Mr. Tyrold could give his own directions. She found, however, that business already done. The man called by the postillion had been joined by a party of labourers, just leaving off work; those had gathered others; they had procured23 some broad planks24 which served for a bier, and had humanely25 conveyed the body to the inn, where the landlord was assured the postillion would come back with some account of him, though little Peggy had only learnt in general that he had been found murdered near a wood.
‘Eugenia is just now,’ said Mrs. Tyrold, in conclusion, ‘plunged into an abyss of ideas, frightful26 to her humanity, and oppressive to the tenderness of her heart. Her nature is too noble to rejoice in a release to herself, worked by means so horrible, and big with notions of retribution for the wretched culprit, at which even vengeance27 the most implacable might shudder28. Nevertheless, all will imperceptibly pass away, save the pity inherent in all good minds for vice29 and its penalties. To know his abrupt30 punishment, and not to be shocked, would be inhuman31; but to grieve with any regard for a man of such principles and conduct, would be an outrage32 to all that they have injured and offended.’
This view of the transaction, by better reconciling Camilla to the ultimate lot of her sister, brought her back to reflect upon her own. Still she had not gathered with precision how she had been discovered. To pronounce the name of Edgar was impossible; but after a long pause, which Mrs. Tyrold had hoped was given again to repose33, she ventured to say, ‘I have not yet heard, my dearest Mother, to what benign34 chance I immediately owe my present unspeakable, unmerited happiness?’
Mrs. Tyrold looked at her a moment in silence, as if to read what her question offered beyond its mere35 words: but she saw her eye hastily withdrawn36 from the examination, and her cheeks suddenly enveloped37 with the bed cloaths.
Quietly, and without turning towards her again, she resumed her narrative.
‘I engaged the worthy38 postillion of my poor Eugenia to drive me, purposing to send Ambrose on with him, while I waited at the half-way-house: but, about two miles off, Ambrose, who rode before, was stopt by a gentleman, whom he met in a post chaise; when I came up to him, I stopt also. It was Mr. Mandlebert.’
Camilla, who had looked up, now again hastily drew back, and Mrs. Tyrold, after a short pause, went on.
‘His intelligence, of course, finished my search. My first idea was to convey you instantly home; but the particulars I gathered made me fear removing you. When I entered your room, you were asleep;–I dreaded39 to surprise yet could not refrain taking a view of you, and while I looked, you suddenly awoke.’
Ah! thought Camilla, ’tis to Edgar, then, that ultimately I owe this blest moment!
‘But my Father,’ she cried, ‘my dearest Mother,-how came my dear Father to know where you had found me?’
‘At Belfont he learnt the way you had set out, and that Eugenia and Bellamy were from home; and, without loss of time... regardless of the night and of fasting,... he returned by a route through which he traced you at every inn where you had changed horses. He, also, entered as you were sleeping-and we watched together by your side.’
Again filial gratitude40 silenced all but itself, and sleep, the softest she had known for many months, soon gave to oblivion every care in Camilla.
The changeful tide of mental spirits from misery41 to enjoyment42, is not more rapid than the transition from personal danger to safety, in the elastic43 period of youth. ’Tis the epoch44 of extremes; and moderation, by which alone we learn the true use of our blessings45, is a wisdom we are frequently only taught to appreciate when redundance no longer requires its practice.
Camilla, from sorrow the most desolate46, bounded to joy that refused a solicitude47; and from an illness that held her suspended between delirium48 and dissolution, to ease that had no complaint. The sufferings which had deprived her of the benefit of rest and nourishment49 were no sooner removed, than she appeared to be at once restored to health; though to repair the wastes of strength some time yet was necessary.
Mrs. Tyrold determined50 to carry her this afternoon to Etherington. The remains of the wretched Bellamy, in a coffin51 and hearse brought from Winchester, had been sent to Belfont in the morning: and Mr. Tyrold had followed, to give every direction that he should be buried as the master of the house; without reference to the conduct which had forfeited52 all such respect.
Though the evil committed by the non-deliverance of Camilla’s letter was now past all remedy, Mrs. Tyrold thought it every way right to endeavour to discover where the blame: and by the two usual modes of menace and promises, she learnt that the countryman, when he stopt to drink by the way, had, in lighting53 his pipe, let the letter take fire; and fearing to lose the recompense he had expected, had set his conscience apart for a crown, and returned with the eventful falsehood, which had made Camilla think herself abandoned, and her friends deplore54 her as lost.
For the benefit of those with whom, in future, he might have to deal, Mrs. Tyrold took some pains to represent to him the cruel evils his dishonesty had produced; but, stupid rather than wicked, what he had done had been without weighing right from wrong, and what he heard was without understanding it.
Camilla found, with extreme satisfaction, that Mrs. Tyrold, notwithstanding the strictness of the present family oeconomy, meant liberally to recompense Mrs. Marl, for the trouble and patience with which she had attended to a guest so little profitable: while Peggy, to whose grateful remembrance she owed the consideration she had met with in her deserted55 condition, was rewarded by a much larger sum than she had ever before possessed56. Camilla was obliged to confess she had parted with two pledges for future payment: the watch was reclaimed57 without difficulty; but she shewed so much distress58 in naming the locket, that Mrs. Tyrold, though she looked anxiously surprised, demanded it without enquiring59 into its history.
The excess of delight to Camilla in preparing to return to Etherington, rendered her insensible to all fatigue60, till she was descending61 the stairs; when the recollection of the shock she had received from the corpse62 of Bellamy, made her tremble so exceedingly, that she could scarce walk past the door of the room in which it had been laid. ‘Ah, my dearest Mother,’ she cried, ‘this house must give me always the most penetrating63 sensations: I have experienced in it the deepest grief, and the most heart-soothing enjoyment that ever, perhaps, gave place one to the other in so short a time!’
* * *
Ambrose had announced their intended arrival, and at the door of the house, the timid, but affectionate Lavinia was waiting to receive them; and as Camilla, in alighting, met her tender embraces, a well-known voice reached her ears, calling out in hurried accents, ‘Where is she? Is she come indeed? Are you quite sure?’ And Sir Hugh, hobbling rather than walking into the hall, folded her in his feeble arms, sobbing64 over her: ‘I can’t believe it for joy! Poor sinner that I am, and the cause of all our bad doings! how can I have deserved such a thing as this, to have my own little Girl come back to me? which could not have made my heart gladder, if I had had no share in all this bad mischief! which, God knows I’ve had enough, owing to my poor head doing always for the worst, for all my being the oldest of us all; which is a thing I’ve often thought remarkable65 enough, in the point of my knowing no better; which however, I hope my dear little Darling will excuse for the sake of my love, which is never happy but in seeing her.’
The heart of Camilla bounded with grateful joy at sight of this dear Uncle, and at so tender a reception: and while with equal emotion, and equal weakness, they were unable to support either each other or themselves, the worthy old Jacob, his eyes running over, came to help his Master back to the parlour, and Mrs. Tyrold and Lavinia conveyed thither Camilla: who was but just placed upon a sofa, by the side of her fond Uncle, when the door of an inner apartment was softly opened, and pale, wan66, and meagre, Eugenia appeared at it, saying, as faintly, yet with open arms, she advanced to Camilla: ‘Let me too-your poor harassed67, and but half-alive Eugenia, make one in this precious scene! Let me see the joy of my kind Uncle-the revival68 of my honoured Mother, the happiness of my dear Lavinia-and feel even my own heart beat once more with delight in the bosom69 of its darling Sister!... my so mourned-but now for ever, I trust, restored to me, most dear Camilla!’
Camilla, thus encircled in her Mother’s , Uncle’s, Sister’s, arms at once, gasped70, sighed, smiled, and shed tears in the same grateful minute, while fondly she strove to articulate, ‘Am I again at Etherington and at Cleves in one? And thus indulgently received? thus more than forgiven? My heart wants room for its joy! my Mother! my Sisters! if you knew what despair has been my portion! I feared even the sight of my dear Uncle himself, lest the sorrows and the errours of a creature he so kindly71 loved, should have demolished72 his generous heart!’
‘Mine, my dearest little Girl?’ cried the Baronet, ‘why what would that have signified, in comparison to such a young one as yours, that ought to know no sorrow yet a while? God knows, it being time enough to begin: for it is but melancholy73 at best, the cares of the world; which if you can’t keep off now, will be overtaking you at every turn.’
Mrs. Tyrold entreated74 Camilla might be spared further conversation. Eugenia had already glided75 back to her chamber76, and begged, this one solacing77 interview over, to be dispensed78 with from joining the family at present; Camilla was removed also to her chamber; and the tender Mother divided her time and her cares between these two recovered treasures of her fondest affection.
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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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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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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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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conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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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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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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toils
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| 网 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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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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planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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humanely
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| adv.仁慈地；人道地；富人情地；慈悲地 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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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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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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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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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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52
forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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reclaimed
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| adj.再生的；翻造的；收复的；回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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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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enquiring
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| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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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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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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71
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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72
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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73
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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74
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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76
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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77
solacing
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| v.安慰，慰藉( solace的现在分词 ) | |
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78
dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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