The marriage of Adriana was not an event calculated to calm the uneasy and dissatisfied temperament2 of Endymion. The past rendered it impossible that this announcement should not in some degree affect him. Then the silence of his sister on such a subject was too significant; the silence even of Waldershare. Somehow or other, it seemed that all these once dear and devoted3 friends stood in different relations to him and to each other from what they once filled. They had become more near and intimate together, but he seemed without the pale; he, that Endymion, who once seemed the prime object, if not the centre, of all their thoughts and sentiment. And why was this? What was the influence that had swayed him to a line contrary to what was once their hopes and affections? Had he an evil genius? And was it she? Horrible thought!
The interview with Lady Montfort had been deeply interesting—had for a moment restored him to himself. Had it not been for this news, he might have returned home, soothed4, gratified, even again indulging in dreams. But this news had made him ponder; had made him feel what he had lost, and forced him to ask himself what he had gained.
There was one thing he had gained, and that was the privilege of calling on Lady Montfort the next day. That was a fact that sometimes dissipated all the shadows. Under the immediate5 influence of her presence, he became spell-bound as of yore, and in the intoxication6 of her beauty, the brightness of her mind, and her ineffable7 attraction, he felt he would be content with any lot, provided he might retain her kind thoughts and pass much of his life in her society.
She was only staying three or four days in town, and was much engaged in the mornings; but Endymion called on her every afternoon, and sate8 talking with her till dinner-time, and they both dined very late. As he really on personal and domestic affairs never could have any reserve with her, he told her, in that complete confidence in which they always indulged, of the extraordinary revelation which his sister had made to him about the parliamentary qualification. Lady Montfort was deeply interested in this; she was even agitated9, and looked very grave.
“I am sorry,” she said, “we know this. Things cannot remain now as they are. You cannot return the money, that would be churlish; besides, you cannot return all the advantages which it gained for you, and they must certainly be considered part of the gift, and the most precious; and then, too, it would betray what your sister rightly called a ‘sacred confidence.’ And yet something must be done—you must let me think. Do not mention it again.” And then they talked a little of public affairs. Lady Montfort saw no one, and heard from no one now; but judging from the journals, she thought the position of the government feeble. “There cannot be a Protectionist government,” she said; “and yet that is the only parliamentary party of importance. Things will go on till some blow, and perhaps a slight one, will upset you all. And then who is to succeed? I think some queer melange10 got up perhaps by Mr. Bertie Tremaine.”
The last day came. She parted from Endymion with kindness, but not with tenderness. He was choking with emotion, and tried to imitate her calmness.
“Am I to write to you?” he asked in a faltering11 voice.
“Of course you are,” she said, “every day, and tell me all the news.”
The Hainaults, and the Beaumaris, and Waldershare, did not return to England until some time after Easter. The marriage was to take place in June—Endymion was to be Waldershare’s best man. There were many festivities, and he was looked upon as an indispensable guest in all. Adriana received his congratulations with animation12, but with affection. She thanked him for a bracelet13 which he had presented to her; “I value it more,” she said, “than all my other presents together, except what dear Waldershare has given to me.” Even with that exception, the estimate was high, for never a bride in any land ever received the number of splendid offerings which crowded the tables of Lord Hainault’s new palace, which he had just built in Park Lane. There was not a Neuchatel in existence, and they flourished in every community, who did not send her, at least, a riviere of brilliants. King Florestan and his queen sent offerings worthy14 of their resplendent throne and their invaluable15 friendship. But nothing surpassed, nothing approached, the contents of a casket, which, a day before the wedding, arrived at Hainault House. It came from a foreign land, and Waldershare superintended the opening of the case, and the appearance of a casket of crimson16 velvet17, with genuine excitement. But when it was opened! There was a coronet of brilliants; a necklace of brilliants and emeralds, and all the stones more than precious; gems18 of Golconda no longer obtainable, and lustrous19 companions which only could have been created in the hot earth of Asia. From whom? Not a glimpse of meaning. All that was written, in a foreign handwriting on a sheet of notepaper, was, “For the Lady Viscountess Waldershare.”
“When the revolution comes,” said Lord Hainault, “Lord Waldershare and my daughter must turn jewellers. Their stock in trade is ready.”
The correspondence between Lady Montfort and Endymion had resumed its ancient habit. They wrote to each other every day, and one day she told him that she had purchased a house, and that she must come up to town to examine and to furnish it. She probably should be a month in London, and remaining there until the end of the season, in whose amusements and business, of course, she could not share. She should “be at papa’s,” though he and his family were in town; but that was no reason why Endymion should not call on her. And he came, and called every day. Lady Montfort was full of her new house; it was in Carlton Gardens, the house she always wished, always intended to have. There is nothing like will; everybody can do exactly what they like in this world, provided they really like it. Sometimes they think they do, but in general, it is a mistake. Lady Montfort, it seemed, was a woman who always could do what she liked. She could do what she liked with Endymion Ferrars; that was quite certain. Supposed by men to have a strong will and a calm judgment20, he was a nose of wax with this woman. He was fascinated by her, and he had been fascinated now for nearly ten years. What would be the result of this irresistible21 influence upon him? Would it make or mar1 those fortunes that once seemed so promising22? The philosophers of White’s and the Coventry were generally of opinion that he had no chance.
Lady Montfort was busy every morning with her new house, but she never asked Endymion to accompany her, though it seemed natural to do so. But he saw her every day, and “papa,” who was a most kind and courtly gentleman, would often ask him, “if he had nothing better to do,” to dine there, and he dined there frequently; and if he were engaged, he was always of opinion that he had nothing better to do.
At last, however, the season was over; the world had gone to Goodwood, and Lady Montfort was about to depart to Princedown. It was a dreary23 prospect24 for Endymion, and he could not conceal25 his feelings. He could not help saying one day, “Do you know, now that you are going I almost wish to die.”
Alas26! she only laughed. But he looked grave. “I am very unhappy,” he sighed rather than uttered.
She looked at him with seriousness. “I do not think our separation need be very long. Papa and all my family are coming to me in September to pay me a very long visit. I really do not see why you should not come too.”
Endymion’s countenance27 mantled28 with rapture29. “If I might come, I think I should be the happiest of men!”
The month that was to elapse before his visit, Endymion was really, as he said, the happiest of men; at least, the world thought him so. He seemed to walk upon tip-toe. Parliament was prorogued30, office was consigned31 to permanent secretaries, and our youthful statesman seemed only to live to enjoy, and add to, the revelry of existence. Now at Cowes, now stalking in the Highlands, dancing at balls in the wilderness32, and running races of fantastic feats33, full of health, and frolic, and charm; he was the delight of society, while, the whole time, he had only one thought, and that was the sacred day when he should again see the being whom he adored, and that in her beautiful home, which her presence made more lovely.
Yes! he was again at Princedown, in the bosom34 of her family; none others there; treated like one of themselves. The courtly father pressed his hand; the amiable35 and refined mother smiled upon him; the daughters, pretty, and natural as the air, treated him as if they were sisters, and even the eldest36 son, who generally hates you, after a little stiffness, announced in a tone never questioned under the family roof, that “Ferrars was a first-rate shot.”
And so a month rolled on; immensely happy, as any man who has loved, and loved in a beautiful scene, alone can understand. One morning Lady Montfort said to him, “I must go up to London about my house. I want to go and return the same day. Do you know, I think you had better come with me? You shall give me a luncheon37 in Hill Street, and we shall be back by the last train. It will be late, but we shall wake in the morning in the country, and that I always think a great thing.”
And so it happened; they rose early and arrived in town in time to give them a tolerably long morning. She took him to her house in Carlton Gardens, and showed to him exactly how it was all she wanted; accommodation for a first-rate establishment; and then the reception rooms, few houses in London could compare with them; a gallery and three saloons. Then they descended38 to the dining-room. “It is a dining-room, not a banqueting hall,” she said, “which we had at Montfort House, but still it is much larger than most dining-rooms in London. But, I think this room, at least I hope you do, quite charming,” and she took him to a room almost as large as the dining-room, and looking into the garden. It was fitted up with exquisite39 taste; calm subdued40 colouring, with choice marble busts41 of statesmen, ancient and of our times, but the shelves were empty.
“They are empty,” she said, “but the volumes to fill them are already collected. Yes,” she added in a tremulous voice, and slightly pressing the arm on which she leant. “If you will deign42 to accept it, this is the chamber43 I have prepared for you.”
“Dearest of women!” and he took her hand.
“Yes,” she murmured, “help me to realise the dream of my life;” and she touched his forehead with her lips.
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1
mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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melange
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| n.混合物；大杂烩 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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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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bracelet
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| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
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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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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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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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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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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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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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mantled
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| 披着斗篷的，覆盖着的 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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prorogued
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| v.使（议会）休会( prorogue的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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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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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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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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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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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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