Shortly after this, there arrived at the George and Dragon a stranger. He was a man somewhat past forty, embrowned by distant travel, and, his years considered, wonderfully good-looking. He had good eyes; his dark-brown hair had no sprinkling of gray in it; and his kindly1 smile showed very white and even teeth. He made inquiries2 about neighbours, especially respecting Mardykes Hall; and the answers seemed to interest him profoundly. He inquired after Philip Feltram, and shed tears when he heard that he was no longer at Mardykes Hall, and that Trebeck or other friends could give him no tidings of him.
And then he asked Richard Turnbull to show him to a quiet room; and so, taking the honest fellow by the hand, he said,
“Mr. Turnbull, don’t you know me?”
“No, sir,” said the host of the George and Dragon, after a puzzled stare, “I can’t say I do, sir.”
The stranger smiled a little sadly, and shook his head: and with a gentle laugh, still holding his hand in a very friendly way, he said, “I should have known you anywhere, Mr. Turnbull — anywhere on earth or water. Had you turned up on the Himalayas, or in a junk on the Canton river, or as a dervish in the mosque3 of St. Sophia, I should have recognised my old friend, and asked what news from Golden Friars. But of course I’m changed. You were a little my senior; and one advantage among many you have over your juniors is that you don’t change as we do. I have played many a game of hand-ball in the inn-yard of the George, Mr. Turnbull. You often wagered4 a pot of ale on my play; you used to say I’d make the best player of fives, and the best singer of a song, within ten miles round the meer. You used to have me behind the bar when I was a boy, with more of an appetite than I have now. I was then at Mardykes Hall, and used to go back in old Marlin’s boat. Is old Marlin still alive?”
“Ay, that — he — is,” said Turnbull slowly, as he eyed the stranger again carefully. “I don’t know who you can be, sir, unless you are — the boy — William Feltram. La! he was seven or eight years younger than Philip. But, lawk!— Well — By Jen, and be you Willie Feltram? But no, you can’t!”
“Ay, Mr. Turnbull, that very boy — Willie Feltram — even he, and no other; and now you’ll shake hands with me, not so formally, but like an old friend.”
“Ay, that I will,” said honest Richard Turnbull, with a great smile, and a hearty5 grasp of his guest’s hand; and they both laughed together, and the younger man’s eyes, for he was an affectionate fool, filled up with tears.
“And I want you to tell me this,” said William, after they had talked a little quietly, “now that there is no one to interrupt us, what has become of my brother Philip? I heard from a friend an account of his health that has caused me unspeakable anxiety.”
“His health was not bad; no, he was a hardy6 lad, and liked a walk over the fells, or a pull on the lake; but he was a bit daft, every one said, and a changed man; and, in troth, they say the air o’ Mardykes don’t agree with every one, no more than him. But that’s a tale that’s neither here nor there.”
“Yes,” said William, “that was what they told me — his mind affected7. God help and guard us! I have been unhappy ever since; and if I only knew it was well with poor Philip, I think I should be too happy. And where is Philip now?”
“He crossed the lake one night, having took leave of Sir Bale. They thought he was going to old Trebeck’s up the Fells. He likes the Feltrams, and likes the folk at Mardykes Hall — though those two families was not always o’er kind to one another. But Trebeck seed nowt o’ him, nor no one else; and what has gone wi’ him no one can tell.”
“I heard that also,” said William with a deep sigh. “But I hoped it had been cleared up by now, and something happier been known of the poor fellow by this time. I’d give a great deal to know — I don’t know what I would not give to know — I’m so unhappy about him. And now, my good old friend, tell your people to get me a chaise, for I must go to Mardykes Hall; and, first, let me have a room to dress in.”
At Mardykes Hall a pale and pretty lady was looking out, alone, from the stone-shafted drawing-room window across the courtyard and the balustrade, on which stood many a great stone cup with flowers, whose leaves were half shed and gone with the winds — emblem9 of her hopes. The solemn melancholy10 of the towering fells, the ripple11 of the lonely lake, deepened her sadness.
The unwonted sound of carriage-wheels awoke her from her reverie.
Before the chaise reached the steps, a hand from its window had seized the handle, the door was thrown open, and William Feltram jumped out.
She was in the hall, she knew not how; and, with a wild scream and a sob12, she threw herself into his arms.
Here at last was an end of the long waiting, the dejection which had reached almost the point of despair. And like two rescued from shipwreck13, they clung together in an agony of happiness.
William had come back with no very splendid fortune. It was enough, and only enough, to enable them to marry. Prudent14 people would have thought it, very likely, too little. But he was now home in England, with health unimpaired by his long sojourn15 in the East, and with intelligence and energies improved by the discipline of his arduous16 struggle with fortune. He reckoned, therefore, upon one way or other adding something to their income; and he knew that a few hundreds a year would make them happier than hundreds of thousand could other people.
It was five years since they had parted in France, where a journey of importance to the Indian firm, whose right hand he was, had brought him.
The refined tastes that are supposed to accompany gentle blood, his love of art, his talent for music and drawing, had accidentally attracted the attention of the little travelling-party which old Lady Harbottle chaperoned. Miss Janet, now Lady Mardykes, learning that his name was Feltram, made inquiry17 through a common friend, and learned what interested her still more about him. It ended in an acquaintance, which his manly18 and gentle nature and his entertaining qualities soon improved into an intimacy19.
Feltram had chosen to work his own way, being proud, and also prosperous enough to prevent his pride, in this respect, from being placed under too severe a pressure of temptation. He heard not from but of his brother, through a friend in London, and more lately from Gertrude, whose account of him was sad and even alarming.
When Lady Mardykes came in, her delight knew no bounds. She had already formed a plan for their future, and was not to be put off — William Feltram was to take the great grazing farm that belonged to the Mardykes estate; or, if he preferred it, to farm it for her, sharing the profits. She wanted something to interest her, and this was just the thing. It was hardly half-a-mile away, up the lake, and there was such a comfortable house and garden, and she and Gertrude could be as much together as ever almost; and, in fact, Gertrude and her husband could be nearly always at Mardykes Hall.
So eager and entreating20 was she, that there was no escape. The plan was adopted immediately on their marriage, and no happier neighbours for a time were ever known.
But was Lady Mardykes content? was she even exempt21 from the heartache which each mortal thinks he has all to himself? The longing22 of her life was for children; and again and again had her hopes been disappointed.
One tiny pretty little baby indeed was born, and lived for two years, and then died; and none had come to supply its place and break the childless silence in the great old nursery. That was her sorrow; a greater one than men can understand.
Another source of grief was this: that Sir Bale Mardykes conceived a dislike to William Feltram that was unaccountable. At first suppressed, it betrayed itself negatively only; but with time it increased; and in the end the Baronet made little secret of his wish to get rid of him. Many and ingenious were the annoyances23 he contrived24; and at last he told his wife plainly that he wished William Feltram to find some other abode25 for himself.
Lady Mardykes pleaded earnestly, and even with tears; for if Gertrude were to leave the neighbourhood, she well knew how utterly27 solitary28 her own life would become.
Sir Bale at last vouchsafed29 some little light as to his motives30. There was an old story, he told her, that his estate would go to a Feltram. He had an instinctive31 distrust of that family. It was a feeling not given him for nothing; it might be the means of defeating their plotting and strategy. Old Trebeck, he fancied, had a finger in it. Philip Feltram had told him that Mardykes was to pass away to a Feltram. Well, they might conspire32; but he would take what care he could that the estate should not be stolen from his family. He did not want his wife stript of her jointure, or his children, if he had any, left without bread.
All this sounded very like madness; but the idea was propounded33 by Philip Feltram. His own jealousy34 was at bottom founded on superstition35 which he would not avow36 and could hardly define. He bitterly blamed himself for having permitted William Feltram to place himself where he was.
In the midst of these annoyances William Feltram was seriously thinking of throwing up the farm, and seeking similar occupation somewhere else.
One day, walking alone in the thick wood that skirts the lake near his farm, he was discussing this problem with himself; and every now and then he repeated his question, “Shall I throw it up, and give him the lease back if he likes?” On a sudden he heard a voice near him say:
“Hold it, you fool!— hold hard, you fool!— hold it, you fool!”
The situation being lonely, he was utterly puzzled to account for the interruption, until on a sudden a huge parrot, green, crimson37, and yellow, plunged38 from among the boughs39 over his head to the ground, and partly flying, and partly hopping40 and tumbling along, got lamely41, but swiftly, out of sight among the thick underwood; and he could neither start it nor hear it any more. The interruption reminded him of that which befel Robinson Crusoe. It was more singular, however; for he owned no such bird; and its strangeness impressed the omen42 all the more.
He related it when he got home to his wife; and as people when living a solitary life, and also suffering, are prone43 to superstition, she did not laugh at the adventure, as in a healthier state of spirits, I suppose, she would.
They continued, however, to discuss the question together; and all the more industriously45 as a farm of the same kind, only some fifteen miles away, was now offered to all bidders46, under another landlord. Gertrude, who felt Sir Bale’s unkindness all the more that she was a distant cousin of his, as it had proved on comparing notes, was very strong in favour of the change, and had been urging it with true feminine ingenuity47 and persistence48 upon her husband. A very singular dream rather damped her ardour, however, and it appeared thus:
She had gone to her bed full of this subject; and she thought, although she could not remember having done so, had fallen asleep. She was still thinking, as she had been all the day, about leaving the farm. It seemed to her that she was quite awake, and a candle burning all the time in the room, awaiting the return of her husband, who was away at the fair near Haworth; she saw the interior of the room distinctly. It was a sultry night, and a little bit of the window was raised. A very slight sound in that direction attracted her attention; and to her surprise she saw a jay hop8 upon the window-sill, and into the room.
Up sat Gertrude, surprised and a little startled at the visit of so large a bird, without presence of mind for the moment even to frighten it away, and staring at it, as they say, with all her eyes. A sofa stood at the foot of the bed; and under this the bird swiftly hopped49. She extended her hand now to take the bell-rope at the left side of the bed, and in doing so displaced the curtains, which were open only at the foot. She was amazed there to see a lady dressed entirely50 in black, and with the old-fashioned hood26 over her head. She was young and pretty, and looked kindly at her, but with now and then a slight contraction51 of lips and eyebrows52 that indicates pain. This little twitching53 was momentary54, and recurred55, it seemed, about once or twice in a minute.
How it was that she was not frightened on seeing this lady, standing56 like an old friend at her bedside, she could not afterwards understand. Some influence besides the kindness of her look prevented any sensation of terror at the time. With a very white hand the young lady in black held a white handkerchief pressed to her bosom57 at the top of her bodice.
“Who are you?” asked Gertrude.
“I am a kinswoman, although you don’t know me; and I have come to tell you that you must not leave Faxwell” (the name of the place) “or Janet. If you go, I will go with you; and I can make you fear me.”
Her voice was very distinct, but also very faint, with something undulatory in it, that seemed to enter Gertrude’s head rather than her ear.
Saying this she smiled horribly, and, lifting her handkerchief, disclosed for a moment a great wound in her breast, deep in which Gertrude saw darkly the head of a snake writhing58.
Hereupon she uttered a wild scream of terror, and, diving under the bed-clothes, remained more dead than alive there, until her maid, alarmed by her cry, came in, and having searched the room, and shut the window at her desire, did all in her power to comfort her.
If this was a nightmare and embodied59 only by a form of expression which in some states belongs to the imagination, a leading idea in the controversy60 in which her mind had long been employed, it had at least the effect of deciding her against leaving Faxwell. And so that point was settled; and unpleasant relations continued between the tenants61 of the farm and the master of Mardykes Hall.
To Lady Mardykes all this was very painful, although Sir Bale did not insist upon making a separation between his wife and her cousin. But to Mardykes Hall that cousin came no more. Even Lady Mardykes thought it better to see her at Faxwell than to risk a meeting in the temper in which Sir Bale then was. And thus several years passed.
No tidings of Philip Feltram were heard; and, in fact, none ever reached that part of the world; and if it had not been highly improbable that he could have drowned himself in the lake without his body sooner or later having risen to the surface, it would have been concluded that he had either accidentally or by design made away with himself in its waters.
Over Mardykes Hall there was a gloom — no sound of children’s voices was heard there, and even the hope of that merry advent44 had died out.
This disappointment had no doubt helped to fix in Sir Bale’s mind the idea of the insecurity of his property, and the morbid62 fancy that William Feltram and old Trebeck were conspiring63 to seize it; than which, I need hardly say, no imagination more insane could have fixed64 itself in his mind.
In other things, however, Sir Bale was shrewd and sharp, a clear and rapid man of business, and although this was a strange whim65, it was not so unnatural66 in a man who was by nature so prone to suspicion as Sir Bale Mardykes.
During the years, now seven, that had elapsed since the marriage of Sir Bale and Miss Janet Feltram, there had happened but one event, except the death of their only child, to place them in mourning. That was the decease of Sir William Walsingham, the husband of Lady Mardykes’ sister. She now lived in a handsome old dower-house at Islington, and being wealthy, made now and then an excursion to Mardykes Hall, in which she was sometimes accompanied by her sister Lady Haworth. Sir Oliver being a Parliament-man was much in London and deep in politics and intrigue67, and subject, as convivial68 rogues69 are, to occasional hard hits from gout.
But change and separation had made no alteration70 in these ladies’ mutual71 affections, and no three sisters were ever more attached.
Was Lady Mardykes happy with her lord? A woman so gentle and loving as she, is a happy wife with any husband who is not an absolute brute72. There must have been, I suppose, some good about Sir Bale. His wife was certainly deeply attached to him. She admired his wisdom, and feared his inflexible73 will, and altogether made of him a domestic idol74. To acquire this enviable position, I suspect there must be something not essentially75 disagreeable about a man. At all events, what her neighbours good-naturedly termed her infatuation continued, and indeed rather improved by time.
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
inquiries
|
|
| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
mosque
|
|
| n.清真寺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
wagered
|
|
| v.在（某物）上赌钱，打赌( wager的过去式和过去分词 )；保证，担保 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
hearty
|
|
| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
hardy
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
hop
|
|
| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
emblem
|
|
| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
ripple
|
|
| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
shipwreck
|
|
| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
prudent
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
sojourn
|
|
| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
arduous
|
|
| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
entreating
|
|
| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
exempt
|
|
| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
annoyances
|
|
| n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 )；烦恼；打扰；使人烦恼的事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
abode
|
|
| n.住处，住所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
hood
|
|
| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
vouchsafed
|
|
| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
instinctive
|
|
| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
conspire
|
|
| v.密谋，（事件等）巧合，共同导致 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
propounded
|
|
| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
superstition
|
|
| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
avow
|
|
| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
crimson
|
|
| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
boughs
|
|
| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
hopping
|
|
| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
lamely
|
|
| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
omen
|
|
| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
prone
|
|
| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
advent
|
|
| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
industriously
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
bidders
|
|
| n.出价者，投标人( bidder的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
ingenuity
|
|
| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
persistence
|
|
| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
hopped
|
|
| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
contraction
|
|
| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
twitching
|
|
| n.颤搐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
recurred
|
|
| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
writhing
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
embodied
|
|
| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
controversy
|
|
| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
tenants
|
|
| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
morbid
|
|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
conspiring
|
|
| 密谋( conspire的现在分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
whim
|
|
| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
intrigue
|
|
| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
convivial
|
|
| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
rogues
|
|
| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
alteration
|
|
| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
mutual
|
|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
brute
|
|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
inflexible
|
|
| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
idol
|
|
| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
essentially
|
|
| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |