The Jardines had been gone three days, and there was no change either for good or evil in Brian’s condition. Mr. Fosbroke admitted that he was as ill as he could possibly be — the malady1 must either take a turn for the better, or end fatally within a day or two. The servants all talked of the impending2 funeral as complacently3 as Lady Palliser. The event must happen; and it would be as well to make the best of it. They had not yet gone out of mourning for Sir Reginald; and here was another death at hand to start them again with new suits of black. This was one of the advantages of service in a really good family, where the King of Terrors was treated with proper distinction.
It was eleven o’clock at night, and the house was hushed in silence — save in that suite4 of rooms where the invalid5 and his nurses were hardly ever at rest. One of the men servants slept in his clothes on a truckle bed in the corridor, ready for service in any emergency. Every one else had gone to bed, except Ida, who sat at her window, looking out at the wild windy sky and the forest trees swaying in the gale6.
The day had been rainy and tempestuous7, and the wind was still raging — just such a wind as Ida remembered upon Bessie’s birthday, the day of that terrible storm which had cost so many lives, and had made Reginald Palliser master of Wimperfield.
She sat gazing idly at the sky, in sheer despondency and weariness. Her devotional books, which had been her chief comfort in these dark days and nights, lay unopened on her table. The effort to read any other kind of literature had been abandoned for the last day or two. Her mind refused to understand the words which her eyes mechanically perused8. She could only read such books as spoke9 of comfort to a weary soul, of hope beyond a sinful world.
She had eaten hardly anything for the last few days, living on cups of tea, and semi-transparent slices of bread and butter. Her nights had been almost sleepless10, her brief snatches of slumber11 disturbed by hideous12 dreams. She was thoroughly13 worn out in body and mind, and as she sat by the open window loosely dressed in a tea gown, with a china-crape shawl wrapped round her shoulders, the monotonous14 moaning of the wind in the elms had a soothing15 sound like a lullaby, and hushed her to sleep. She lay back in her low luxurious16 chair, with her head half buried in the comfortable down pillow, and slept as she had not slept for a month. It was the slumber of sheer exhaustion17, deep and sweet, and long — very long; for when she opened her eyes and looked about her, awakened18 by a strange oppression of the chest, there was the livid light of earliest dawn in the room — a light that changed all at once to a bright red glow, vivid as the sky at sundown.
The oppression of her breath increased, she felt suffocated19. The livid dawn, the crimson20 sunset, changed to gray; the atmosphere around her grew thick; there was a smarting sensation in her eyes, a stifling21 sensation in her throat. Mechanically, not knowing what she did, she began to grope her way to the door. But in that thickening atmosphere she did not know which was the door — her outspread arms clasped some heavy piece of furniture — the wardrobe. She leaned against, it exhausted22, helpless stupified by that horrible smoke; and as she leaned there a wild shrill23 shriek24 pealed25 out from below — the cry of ‘Fire!’ Again and again that dreadful cry resounded26, in a woman’s pearcing treble. Then came a hubbub27 of other voices — without, within — she could not tell where, or how near, or how far — but all the sounds seemed distant.
She could just see the open window by which she had been sleeping a few minutes ago — she could distinguish it by the red light outside, which was just visible through the dense28 smoke within, momently thickening.
She made for the window — anything to escape from that suffocating29 atmosphere; but just as she was approaching that red patch of light shining amidst the blackness, a sudden tongue of flame shot up from below, caught the light chintz drapery, and in an instant the window was framed in fire, The flame ran from one curtain to another; fanned by the wind which was still blowing — valence, draperies, all the ornamentation of the three windows were in a blaze. Ida stood helpless, motionless as Lot’s wife, confronting the flames. To rush through them, to leap through the open window although it were to certain death, was her first impulse. Any death must be better than to fall down suffocated on the floor, and to be burned alive.
Then came the thought of her husband — so weak, and mad, and helpless — of her stepmother. Were they, too, in danger of instant death? Or was she on this upper floor the only victim?
The thin chintz curtains flamed and blazed into nothingness while she was looking at them. The wood-work round the windows crackled and blistered30, but the flame died out into ashes. Only the intolerable smoke remained, and the ever-increasing glow of the fire below, more vivid with every moment. She made one mad rush for the balcony. Great Heaven, what a scene greeted her eyes as she looked downwards31! Masses of flame, mingled32 with black smoke clouds, were being vomited33 out of the lower-windows. There was a little crowd of men below — gardeners, stablemen, who lived close at hand. Some of these were making feeble efforts with garden engines, sending out little jets of water which seemed only to feed the flames as if the water had been oil, while others were trying to adjust a fire escape, deposited in the stables years ago, in the reign34 of Sir Reginald’s father, and out of working order from long disuse. Three or four grooms35 were rushing to and fro with buckets, and splashing water against the stone walls, with an utter absence of any effect whatever.
Ida stood in the balcony, leaning against the iron-work, waiting for rescue or death. The atmosphere was a little less stifling here, but every now and then a dense cloud of smoke rolled over her and almost suffocated her before the wind drove it upward. The sky was alight with reflected fire. The burning pyre of Dido or Sardanapalus could hardly have made a grander effect — and far away in the east, against the dark undulations of wooded hills there was another light — the tender roseate flush of summer dawn, full of promise and peace.
Ida stood with clasped hands, and lips moving dumbly in prayer. She gave her soul back to her Creator; she prayed for pardon for her sins; she closed her eyes waiting meekly36 for death.
Suddenly, as she prayed, full of resignation, the balcony creaked under a footstep — a strong arm was wound round her waist — she was lifted bodily over the iron rail and carried carefully, firmly, easily down a ladder, amidst a shout of rapture38 from the little crowd below.
Every Englishman is not heroic, but every Englishman knows how to admire heroism39 in his fellow-man.
Before the bearer of his burden reached the lowest rung of the ladder, Ida was unconscious. She lay lifeless and helpless in her preserver’s arms. When they were on the solid ground, he bent40 his bare head over hers, which rested on his shoulder, and kissed her on the forehead.
The crowd saw and did not condemn41 the action.
‘It might be a liberty,’ said the head gardener, ‘but he’d earned the right to do it. None of us could have done what he did.’
When Ida awakened to consciousness she was lying in the lodge42-keeper’s little bedroom at the Park gates, and her stepmother was seated at the bedside ready to offer her the usual remedy for all feminine woes43 — a cup of tea.
‘Thank God, you are safe!’ said Ida, the memory of that terrible dawn quickly recurring44 to her mind, a little bewildered at the first moment by her strange surroundings. ‘Where is Brian?’
Fanny Palliser burst into tears.
‘Oh, Ida, it was Brian set the house on fire, in one of his mad fits — hunting for some horrible thing behind his bed-curtains; and poor Towler and the nurse were both asleep when it happened — at least, Towler, who was sitting up with him had fallen into a doze45, and heard Brian talk about looking for serpents in the curtains, and then about flames and fire — but didn’t take any notice, or so much as open his eyes — for his talk had been so often of fire and flames — poor creature! — and when he woke the whole room was in a blaze, and the fire had spread through the open door to the window curtains in the next room. Towler and the nurse, and Rogers, all did their uttermost, and risked their lives trying to get Brian away; but he wouldn’t leave the burning rooms. He got wilder and wilder; and then, just as they were calling a couple of the stablemen to help them, meaning to get him away by main force, he rushed to the window and threw himself out.’
‘And he was killed!’ cried Ida.
‘Yes; the shock killed him. But you know, dear, there’s no use in fretting46. Mr. Fosbroke says that he could not have lived till the end of the week. His constitution was quite gone. It was a happy release.’
‘Not such a death,’ murmured Ida, tears streaming down her wan47 cheeks; ‘such a death could not be a happy release.’
Lady Palliser shook her head, and sighed plaintively48. Perhaps she had been inclined to take the survivor’s view of the question. Euthanasia to Fanny Palliser’s mind meant a death which relieves the family of the deceased from the burden of a long illness.
‘He did not suffer at all, dearest,’ she said, soothingly49.
‘Mr. Fosbroke said the shock killed him. There were no bones broken. He fell on the grass in front of the library windows. And oh, Ida, what a blessing50 that everything at Wimperfield is fully37 insured! The house is completely gutted51!’
Ida could not feel sorry about Wimperfield. The place had been to her of late the abode52 of horror. If she could be glad of anything in her present frame of mind, it would have been to know that Wimperfield House was razed53 to the ground.
‘The portico54 and the walls are standing,’ pursued Lady Palliser; ‘and no doubt a clever architect will be able to build the house up again in the old style.’
‘But, mamma, it was an ugly, uninteresting house — not a hundred years old.’
‘Exactly so. If it had been really an old house, one would be glad to get rid of it; but it was all as good as new, and so thoroughly substantial! and how you can call it ugly, with such a portico, I can’t imagine. I wonder you have not more classical taste. I love anything Grecian. The only thing I ever felt proud of at Les Fontaines was the plaster urns55 with scarlet56 geraniums in them!’
‘Mamma, how was I saved? Who was it saved me?’ asked Ida, presently, when she had taken her cup of tea, and the Swiss clock over the chimney-piece had struck nine.
The sun was shining through the open lattice and upon the roses and the lilies in the little lodge garden. Everything wore a glad and cheerful aspect in the summer morning.
‘Ah, my dear, that is a story!’ exclaimed Lady Palliser, nodding her head with intense significance, and pleased at being able to divert Ida’s thoughts from her husband’s miserable57 end; ‘I never did! You will be surprised! Oh, my dear, I thought it was all over with you! All the gardeners and stablemen were there — and Rogers — and John and William — and Henry — half dressed and in slippers58, poor creatures; and I begged and implored59 of them to save you — to get to your room somehow — inside or out. But the staircase to the second floor was choked with smoke and flame, and falling timbers; one of the men tried to go up, but he came back and said he must wait for the firemen — nobody but a fireman could do it. And then they got ladders, but the first ladder wasn’t long enough, and nobody seemed to be in their proper senses. Thomas rode off to Petersfield for the engine directly the fire broke out, but that’s eight miles off, as you know, and it all seemed hopeless. I was running about among them all like a mad woman, in my dressing-gown and slippers; and as for Jane Dyson, she sat on the lowest step of the portico, and went out of one fit of hysterics into another, just as she did when the Archbishop’s wife died; and I thought all hope was over, when a man rushed in among us, snatched the longest ladder from the men who were bringing it from the walled garden, and put it up against the balcony. He went up it just like a sailor, and before I could hardly breathe he was coming down again with you in his arms, safe and sound. And who do you think the man was?’
‘The fire-brigade man, I suppose.’
‘Not a bit of it. The man who saved you was Vernie’s friend, Cheap Jack60.’
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1
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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perused
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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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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sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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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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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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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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vomited
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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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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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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50
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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51
gutted
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| adj.容易消化的v.毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的过去式和过去分词 )；取出…的内脏 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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razed
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| v.彻底摧毁，将…夷为平地( raze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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urns
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| n.壶( urn的名词复数 )；瓮；缸；骨灰瓮 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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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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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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