Philip Feltram was liked very well — a gentle, kindly1, and very timid creature, and, before he became so heart-broken, a fellow who liked a joke or a pleasant story, and could laugh heartily2. Where will Sir Bale find so unresisting and respectful a butt3 and retainer? and whom will he bully4 now?
Something like remorse5 was worrying Sir Bale’s heart a little; and the more he thought on the strange visit of Hugh Creswell that night, with its unexplained menace, the more uneasy he became.
The storm continued; and even to him there seemed something exaggerated and inhuman6 in the severity of his expulsion on such a night. It was his own doing, it was true; but would people believe that? and would he have thought of leaving Mardykes at all if it had not been for his kinsman’s severity? Nay7, was it not certain that if Sir Bale had done as Hugh Creswell had urged him, and sent for Feltram forthwith, and told him how all had been cleared up, and been a little friendly with him, he would have found him still in the house?— for he had not yet gone for ten minutes after Creswell’s departure, and thus, all that was to follow might have been averted8. But it was too late now, and Sir Bale would let the affair take its own course.
Below him, outside the window at which he stood ruminating9, he heard voices mingling10 with the storm. He could with tolerable certainty perceive, looking into the obscurity, that there were three men passing close under it, carrying some very heavy burden among them.
He did not know what these three black figures in the obscurity were about. He saw them pass round the corner of the building toward the front, and in the lulls11 of the storm could hear their gruff voices talking.
We have all experienced what a presentiment12 is, and we all know with what an intuition the faculty13 of observation is sometimes heightened. It was such an apprehension14 as sometimes gives its peculiar15 horror to a dream — a sort of knowledge that what those people were about was in a dreadful way connected with his own fate.
He watched for a time, thinking that they might return; but they did not. He was in a state of uncomfortable suspense16.
“If they want me, they won’t have much trouble in finding me, nor any scruple17, egad, in plaguing me; they never have.”
Sir Bale returned to his letters, a score of which he was that night getting off his conscience — an arrear18 which would not have troubled him had he not ceased, for two or three days, altogether to employ Philip Feltram, who had been accustomed to take all that sort of drudgery19 off his hands.
All the time he was writing now he had a feeling that the shadows he had seen pass under his window were machinating some trouble for him, and an uneasy suspense made him lift his eyes now and then to the door, fancying sounds and footsteps; and after a resultless wait he would say to himself, “If any one is coming, why the devil don’t he come?” and then he would apply himself again to his letters.
But on a sudden he heard good Mrs. Julaper’s step trotting20 along the lobby, and the tiny ringing of her keys.
Here was news coming; and the Baronet stood up looking at the door, on which presently came a hurried rapping; and before he had answered, in the midst of a long thunder-clap that suddenly broke, rattling21 over the house, the good woman opened the door in great agitation22, and cried with a tremulous uplifting of her hands.
“O, Sir Bale! O, la, sir! here’s poor dear Philip Feltram come home dead!”
Sir Bale stared at her sternly for some seconds.
“Gome, now, do be distinct,” said Sir Bale; “what has happened?”
“He’s lying on the sofer in the old still-room. You never saw — my God!— O, sir — what is life?”
“Damn it, can’t you cry by-and-by, and tell me what’s the matter now?”
“A bit o’ fire there, as luck would have it; but what is hot or cold now? La, sir, they’re all doin’ what they can; he’s drowned, sir, and Tom Warren is on the gallop23 down to Golden Friars for Doctor Torvey.”
“Is he drowned, or is it only a ducking? Come, bring me to the place. Dead men don’t usually want a fire, or consult doctors. I’ll see for myself.”
So Sir Bale Mardykes, pale and grim, accompanied by the light-footed Mrs. Julaper, strode along the passages, and was led by her into the old still-room, which had ceased to be used for its original purpose. All the servants in the house were now collected there, and three men also who lived by the margin24 of the lake; one of them thoroughly25 drenched26, with rivulets27 of water still trickling28 from his sleeves, water along the wrinkles and pockets of his waistcoat and from the feet of his trousers, and pumping and oozing29 from his shoes, and streaming from his hair down the channels of his cheeks like a continuous rain of tears.
The people drew back a little as Sir Bale entered with a quick step and a sharp pallid30 frown on his face. There was a silence as he stooped over Philip Feltram, who lay on a low bed next the wall, dimly lighted by two or three candles here and there about the room.
He laid his hand, for a moment, on his cold wet breast.
Sir Bale knew what should be done in order to give a man in such a case his last chance for life. Everybody was speedily put in motion. Philip’s drenched clothes were removed, hot blankets enveloped31 him, warming-pans and hot bricks lent their aid; he was placed at the prescribed angle, so that the water flowed freely from his mouth. The old expedient32 for inducing artificial breathing was employed, and a lusty pair of bellows33 did duty for his lungs.
But these helps to life, and suggestions to nature, availed not. Forlorn and peaceful lay the features of poor Philip Feltram; cold and dull to the touch; no breath through the blue lips; no sight in the fish-like eyes; pulseless and cold in the midst of all the hot bricks and warming-pans about him.
At length, everything having been tried, Sir Bale, who had been directing, placed his hand within the clothes, and laid it silently on Philip’s shoulder and over his heart; and after a little wait, he shook his head, and looking down on his sunken face, he said,
“I am afraid he’s gone. Yes, he’s gone, poor fellow! And bear you this in mind, all of you; Mrs. Julaper there can tell you more about it. She knows that it was certainly in no compliance34 with my wish that he left the house to-night: it was his own obstinate35 perversity36, and perhaps — I forgive him for it — a wish in his unreasonable37 resentment38 to throw some blame upon this house, as having refused him shelter on such a night; than which imputation39 nothing can be more utterly40 false. Mrs. Julaper there knows how welcome he was to stay the night; but he would not; he had made up his mind, it seems, without telling any person. Had he told you, Mrs. Julaper?”
“No, sir,” sobbed41 Mrs. Julaper from the centre of a pocket-handkerchief in which her face was buried.
“Not a human being: an angry whim42 of his own. Poor Feltram! and here’s the result,” said the Baronet. “We have done our best — done everything. I don’t think the doctor, when he comes, will say that anything has been omitted; but all won’t do. Does any one here know how it happened?”
Two men knew very well — the man who had been ducked, and his companion, a younger man, who was also in the still-room, and had lent a hand in carrying Feltram up to the house.
Tom Marlin had a queer old stone tenement43 by the edge of the lake just under Mardykes Hall. Some people said it was the stump44 of an old tower that had once belonged to Mardykes Castle, of which in the modern building scarcely a relic45 was discoverable.
This Tom Marlin had an ancient right of fishing in the lake, where he caught pike enough for all Golden Friars; and keeping a couple of boats, he made money beside by ferrying passengers over now and then. This fellow, with a furrowed46 face and shaggy eyebrows47, bald at top, but with long grizzled locks falling upon his shoulders, said,
“He wer wi’ me this mornin’, sayin’ he’d want t’ boat to cross the lake in, but he didn’t say what hour; and when it came on to thunder and blow like this, ye guess I did not look to see him to-night. Well, my wife was just lightin’ a pig-tail — tho’ light enough and to spare there was in the lift already — when who should come clatterin’ at the latch-pin in the blow o’ thunder and wind but Philip, poor lad, himself; and an ill hour for him it was. He’s been some time in ill fettle, though he was never frowsy, not he, but always kind and dooce, and canty once, like anither; and he asked me to tak the boat across the lake at once to the Clough o’ Cloostedd at t’other side. The woman took the pet and wodn’t hear o’t; and, ‘Dall me, if I go to-night,’ quoth I. But he would not be put off so, not he; and dingdrive he went to it, cryin’ and putrein’ ye’d a-said, poor fellow, he was wrang i’ his garrets a’most. So at long last I bethought me, there’s nout o’ a sea to the north o’ Snakes Island, so I’ll pull him by that side — for the storm is blowin’ right up by Golden Friars, ye mind — and when we get near the point, thinks I, he’ll see wi’ his een how the lake is, and gie it up. For I liked him, poor lad; and seein’ he’d set his heart on’t, I wouldn’t vex48 nor frump him wi’ a no. So down we three — myself, and Bill there, and Philip Feltram — come to the boat; and we pulled out, keeping Snakes Island atwixt us and the wind. ’Twas smooth water wi’ us, for ’twas a scug there, but white enough was all beyont the point; and passing the finger-stone, not forty fathom49 from the shore o’ the island, Bill and me pullin’ and he sittin’ in the stern, poor lad, up he rises, a bit rabblin’ to himself, wi’ his hands lifted so.
“‘Look a-head!’ says I, thinkin’ something wos comin’ atort us.
“But ‘twasn’t that. The boat was quiet, for while we looked, oo’er our shouthers, oo’er her bows, we didn’t pull, so she lay still; and lookin’ back again on Philip, he was rabblin’ on all the same.
“‘It’s nobbut a prass wi’ himsel”, poor lad,’ thinks I.
“But that wasn’t it neither; for I sid something white come out o’ t’ water, by the gunwale, like a hand. By Jen! and he leans oo’er and tuk it; and he sagged50 like, and so it drew him in, under the mere51, before I cud du nout. There was nout to thraa tu him, and no time; down he went, and I followed; and thrice I dived before I found him, and brought him up by the hair at last; and there he is, poor lad! and all one if he lay at the bottom o’ t’ mere.”
As Tom Marlin ended his narrative52 — often interrupted by the noise of the tempest without, and the peals53 of thunder that echoed awfully54 above, like the chorus of a melancholy55 ballad56 — the sudden clang of the hall-door bell, and a more faintly-heard knocking, announced a new arrival.
[Illustration: “I sid something white come out o’ t’ water, by the gunwale, like a hand.”]
收听单词发音 |
1
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
butt
|
|
| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
bully
|
|
| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
inhuman
|
|
| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
ruminating
|
|
| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
mingling
|
|
| adj.混合的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
lulls
|
|
| n.间歇期（lull的复数形式）vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的第三人称单数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
presentiment
|
|
| n.预感，预觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
faculty
|
|
| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
scruple
|
|
| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
arrear
|
|
| n.欠款 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
drudgery
|
|
| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
trotting
|
|
| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
rattling
|
|
| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
gallop
|
|
| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
margin
|
|
| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
drenched
|
|
| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
rivulets
|
|
| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
trickling
|
|
| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
oozing
|
|
| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
pallid
|
|
| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
enveloped
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
expedient
|
|
| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
bellows
|
|
| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
compliance
|
|
| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
obstinate
|
|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
perversity
|
|
| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
unreasonable
|
|
| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
imputation
|
|
| n.归罪，责难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
sobbed
|
|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
whim
|
|
| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
tenement
|
|
| n.公寓；房屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
stump
|
|
| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
relic
|
|
| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
furrowed
|
|
| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
vex
|
|
| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
fathom
|
|
| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
sagged
|
|
| 下垂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
narrative
|
|
| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
peals
|
|
| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
awfully
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
ballad
|
|
| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |