"A cloud?" says Mona. And I think in her inmost heart she is rather glad than otherwise that her lover's people are not on the top rung of the ladder.
"Yes,—in a regular hole, you know," says Mr. Rodney. "It is rather a complicated story, but the truth is, my grandfather hated his eldest3 son—my uncle who went to Australia—like poison, and when dying left all the property—none of which was entailed—to his second son, my father."
"That was a little unfair, wasn't it?" says Mona. "Why didn't he divide it?"
"Well, that's just it," returns he. "But, you see, he didn't. He willed the whole thing to my father. He had a long conversation with my mother the very night before his death, in which he mentioned this will, and where it was locked up, and all about it; yet the curious part of the whole matter is this, that on the morning after his death, when they made search for this will, it was nowhere to be found! Nor have we heard tale or tidings of it ever since Though of the fact that it was duly signed, sealed, and delivered there is no doubt."
"How strange!" says Mona. "But how then did you manage?"
"Well, just then it made little difference to us, as, shortly after my grandfather went off the hooks, we received what we believed to be authenticated4 tidings of my uncle's death."
"Yes?" says Mona, who looks and is, intensely interested.
"But your uncle's death made it all right, didn't it?"
"No, it didn't: it made it all wrong. But for that lie we should not be in the predicament in which we now find ourselves. You will understand me better when I tell you that the other day a young man turned up who declares himself to be my uncle George's son, and heir to his land and title. That was a blow. And, as this wretched will is not forthcoming, I fear he will inherit everything. We are disputing it, of course, and are looking high and low for the missing will that should have been sought for at the first. But it's very shaky the whole affair."
"It is terrible," says Mona, with such exceeding earnestness that he could have hugged her on the spot.
"It is very hard on Nick," he says disconsolately6.
"And he is your cousin, this strange young man?"
"Yes, I suppose so," replies Mr. Rodney, reluctantly. "But he don't look like it. Hang it, you know," exclaims he, vehemently7, "one can stand a good deal, but to have a fellow who wears carbuncle rings, and speaks of his mother as the 'old girl,' call himself your cousin, is more than flesh and blood can put up with: it's—it's worse than the lawsuit8."
"It is very hard on Sir Nicholas," says Mona, who would not call him "Nick" now for the world.
"Harder even than you know. He is engaged to one of the dearest little girls possible, but of course if this affair terminates in favor of—" he hesitates palpably, then says with an effort—"my cousin, the engagement comes to an end."
"But why?" says Mona.
"Well, he won't be exactly a catch after that, you know," says Rodney, sadly. "Poor old Nick! it will be a come-down for him after all these years."
"But do you mean to tell me the girl he loves will give him up just because fortune is frowning on him?" asks Mona, slowly. "Sure she couldn't be so mean as that."
"It won't be her fault; but of course her people will object, which amounts to the same thing. She can't go against her people, you know."
"I don't know," says Mona unconvinced. "I would go against all the people in the world rather than be bad to you. And to forsake9 him, too, at the very time when he will most want sympathy, at the very hour of his great trouble. Oh! that is shameful10! I shall not like her, I think."
"I am sure you will, notwithstanding. She is the gayest, brightest creature imaginable, just such another as yourself. If it be true that 'birds of a feather flock together,' you and she must amalgamate12. You may not get on well with Violet Mansergh, who is somewhat reserved, but I know you will be quite friends with Doatie."
"What is her name?"
"She is Lord Steyne's second daughter. The family name is Darling. Her name is Dorothy."
"A pretty name, too."
"Yes, old-fashioned. She is always called Doatie Darling by her familiars, which sounds funny. She is quite charming, and loved by every one."
"Yet she would renounce13 her love, would betray him for the sake of filthy14 lucre," says Mona, gravely. "I cannot understand that."
"It is the way of her world. There is more in training than one quite knows. Now, you are altogether different. I know that; it is perhaps the reason why you have made my heart your own. Do not think it flattery when I tell you there are very few like you, Mona, in the world; but I would have you be generous. Do not let your excellence15 make you harsh to others. That is a common fault; and all people, darling, are not charactered alike."
"Am I harsh?" says Mona, wistfully.
"No, you are not," says Geoffrey, grieved to the heart that he could have used such a word towards her. "You are nothing that is not sweet and adorable. And, besides all this, you are, I know, sincerity16 itself. I feel (and am thankful for the knowledge) that were fate to 'steep me in poverty to the very lips,' you would still be faithful to me."
"I should be all the more faithful: it is then you would feel your need of me," says Mona, simply. Then, as though puzzled, she goes on with a little sigh, "In time perhaps, I shall understand it all, and how other people feel, and—if it will please you, Geoffrey—I shall try to like the girl you call Doatie."
"I wish Nick didn't like her so much," says Geoffrey, sadly. "It will cut him up more than all the rest, if he has to give her up."
"Geoffrey," says Mona, in a low tone, slipping her hand into his in a half-shamed fashion, "I have five hundred pounds of my own, would it—would it be of any use to Sir Nicholas?"
Rodney is deeply touched.
"No, darling, no; I am afraid not," he says, very gently. But for the poor child's tender earnestness and good faith, he could almost have felt some faint amusement; but this offering of hers is to him a sacred thing, and to treat her words as a jest is a thought far from him. Indeed, to give wilful17 offence to any one, by either word or action, would be very foreign to his nature. For if "he is gentil that doth gentil dedis" be true, Rodney to his finger-tips is gentleman indeed.
It is growing dusk; "the shades of night are falling fast," the cold pale sun, that all day long has cast its chill October beams upon a leafless world, has now sunk behind the distant hill, and the sad silence of the coming night hath set her finger with deep touch upon creation's brow.
"Do you know," says Mona, with a slight shiver, and a little nervous laugh, pressing closer to her side, "I have lost half my courage of late? I seem to be always anticipating evil."
Down from the mountain's top the shadows are creeping stealthily: all around is growing dim, and vague, and mysterious, in the uncertain light.
"Perhaps I feel nervous because of all the unhappy things one hears daily," goes on Mona, in a subdued18 voice. "That murder at Oola, for instance: that was horrible.'
"Well but a murder at Oola isn't a murder here, you know," says Mr. Rodney, airily. "Let us wait to be melancholy19 until it comes home to ourselves,—which indeed, may be at any moment, your countrymen are of such a very playful disposition20. Do you remember what a lively time we had of it the night we ran to Maxwell's assistance, and what an escape he had?"
"Ay! so he had, an escape you will never know," says a hoarse21 voice at this moment, that makes Mona's heart almost cease to beat. An instant later, and two men jump up from the dark ditch in which they have been evidently hiding, and confront Rodney with a look of savage22 satisfaction upon their faces.
At this first glance he recognizes them as being the two men with whom Mona had attempted argument and remonstrance23 on the night elected for Maxwell's murder. They are armed with guns, but wear no disguise, not even the usual band of black crape across the upper half of the face.
Rodney casts a quick glance up the road, but no human creature is in sight; nor, indeed, were they here, would they have been of any use. For who in these lawless days would dare defy or call in question the all-powerful Land League?
"You, Ryan?" says Mona, with an attempt at unconcern, but her tone is absolutely frozen with fear.
"You see me," says the man, sullenly24; "an' ye may guess my errand." He fingers the trigger of his gun in a terribly significant manner as he speaks.
"I do guess it," she answers, slowly. "Well, kill us both, if it must be so." She lays her arms round Rodney's neck as she speaks, even before he can imagine her meaning, and hides her face on his breast.
"Stand back," says Ryan, savagely25. "Stand back, I tell ye, unless ye want a hole in yer own skin, for his last moment is come."
"Let me go, Mona," says Geoffrey, forcing her arms from round him and almost flinging her to one side. It is the first and last time he ever treats a woman with roughness.
"Ha! That's right," says Ryan. "You hold her, Carthy, while I give this English gentleman a lesson that will carry him to the other world. I'll teach him how to balk26 me of my prey27 a second time. D'ye think I didn't know about Maxwell, eh? an' that my life is in yer keepin'! But yours is in mine now," with a villanous leer "an' I wouldn't give a thraneen for it."
Carthy, having caught Mona's arms from behind just a little above the elbow, holds her as in a vice28. There is no escape, no hope! Finding herself powerless, she makes no further effort for freedom, but with dilated29 eyes and parted, bloodless lips, though which her breath comes in quick agonized30 gasps31, waits to see her lover murdered almost at her feet. "Now say a short prayer," says Ryan, levelling his gun; "for yer last hour has come."
"Has it?" says Rodney, fiercely. "Then I'll make the most of it," and before the other can find time to fire he flings himself upon him, and grasps his throat with murderous force.
In an instant they are locked in each other's arms. Ryan wrestles32 violently, but is scarcely a match for Rodney, whose youth and training tell, and who is actually fighting for dear life. In the confusion the gun goes off, and the bullet, passing by Rodney's arm, tears away a piece of the coat with it, and also part of the flesh. But this he hardly knows till later on.
To and fro they sway, and then both men fall heavily to the ground. Presently they are on their feet again, but this time Rodney is master of the unloaded gun.
"Leave the girl alone, and come here," shouts Ryan furiously to Carthy, who is still holding Mona captive. The blood is streaming from a large cut on his forehead received in his fall.
"Coward!" hisses33 Rodney between his teeth. His face is pale as death; his teeth are clenched34; his gray eyes are flaming fire. His hat has fallen off in the struggle, and his coat, which is a good deal torn, betrays a shirt beneath deeply stained with blood. He is standing11 back a little from his opponent, with his head thrown up, and his fair hair lying well back from his brow.
"Come on," he says, with a low furious laugh, that has no mirth in it, but is full of reckless defiance35. "But first," to Ryan, "I'll square accounts with you."
Advancing with the empty gun in his hands, he raises it, and, holding it by the barrel, brings it down with all his might upon his enemy's skull36. Ryan reels, staggers, and once more licks the dust. But the wretched weapon—sold probably at the back of some miserable37 shebeen in Bantry for any price ranging from five-and-six to one guinea—snaps in two at this moment from the force of the blow, so leaving Rodney, spent and weak with loss of blood, at the mercy of his second opponent.
Carthy, having by this time freed himself from Mona's detaining grasp,—who, seeing the turn affairs have taken, has clung to him with all her strength, and so hampered38 his efforts to go to his companion's assistance,—comes to the front.
But a hand-to-hand encounter is not Mr. Carthy's forte39. He prefers being propped40 up by friends and acquaintances, and thinks a duel41 a la mort a poor speculation42. Now, seeing his whilom accomplice43 stretched apparently44 lifeless upon the ground, his courage (what he has of it), like Bob Acres', oozes45 out through his palms, and a curious shaking, that surely can't be fear, takes possession of his knees.
Moreover, he has never before had a gun in his own keeping; and the sensation, though novel, is not so enchanting46 as he had fondly hoped it might have been. He is plainly shy about the managing of it, and in his heart is not quite sure which end of it goes off. However, he lifts it with trembling fingers, and deliberately47 covers Rodney.
Tyro48 as he is, standing at so short a distance from his antagonist49, he could have hardly failed to blow him into bits, and probably would have done so, but for one little accident.
Mona, whose Irish blood by this time is at its hottest, on finding herself powerless to restrain the movements of Carthy any longer, had rushed to the wall near, and, made strong by love and excitement, had torn from its top a heavy stone.
Now, turning back, she aims carefully for Carthy's head, and flings the missile from her. A woman's eye in such cases is seldom sure, and now the stone meant for his head falls short, and, hitting his arm, knocks the gun from his nerveless fingers.
This brings the skirmish to an end. Carthy, seeing all is lost, caves in, and, regardless of the prostrate50 figure of his companion, jumps hurriedly over the low wall, and disappears in the night-mist that is rolling up from the bay.
Rodney, lifting the gun, takes as sure aim as he can at the form of the departing hero; but evidently the bullet misses its mark, as no sound of fear or pain comes to disturb the utter silence of the evening.
Then he turns to Mona.
"You have saved my life," he says, in a tone that trembles for the first time this evening, "my love! my brave girl! But what an ordeal51 for you!"
"I felt nothing, nothing, but the one thing that I was powerless to help you," says Mona, passionately52; "that was bitter."
"What spirit, what courage, you displayed! At first I feared you would faint——"
"While you still lived? While I might be of some use to you? No!" says Mona, her eyes gleaming. "To myself I said, there will be time enough for that later on." Then, with a little dry sob53, "There will be time to die later on."
"Is he dead?" she asks, in a whisper, pointing without looking at their late foe55. Rodney, stooping, lays his hand on the ruffian's heart.
"No, he breathes," he says. "He will live, no doubt. Vermin are hard to kill. And if he does die," bitterly, "what matter? Dog! Let him die there! The road is too good a place for him."
"Come home," says Mona, faintly. Now the actual danger is past, terror creeps over her, rendering56 her a prey to imaginary sights and sounds. "There may be others. Do not delay."
In ignorance of the fact that Geoffrey has been hurt in the fray57, she lays her hand upon the injured arm. Instinctively58 he shrinks from the touch.
"What is it?" she says, fearfully, and then, "Your coat is wet—I feel it. Oh Geoffrey, look at your shirt. It is blood!" Her tone is full of horror. "What have they done to you?" she says, pitifully. "You are hurt, wounded!"
"It can't be much," says Geoffrey, who, to confess the truth, is by this time feeling a little sick and faint. "I never knew I was touched till now. Come, let us get back to the farm."
"I wonder you do not hate me," says Mona, with a brokenhearted sob, "when you remember I am of the same blood as these wretches59."
She is comforted in a small degree by his words, but fear and depression still hold her captive. She insists upon his leaning on her, and he, seeing she is bent61 on being of some service to him, lays his hand lightly on her shoulder, and so they go slowly homeward.
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1
contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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betokens
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的第三人称单数 ) | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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4
authenticated
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| v.证明是真实的、可靠的或有效的( authenticate的过去式和过去分词 )；鉴定，使生效 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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12
amalgamate
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| v.(指业务等)合并，混合 | |
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13
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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15
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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16
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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17
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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18
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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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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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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21
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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23
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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balk
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| n.大方木料；v.妨碍；不愿前进或从事某事 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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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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29
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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31
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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32
wrestles
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的第三人称单数 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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34
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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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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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forte
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| n.长处，擅长；adj.(音乐)强音的 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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42
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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43
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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44
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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45
oozes
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的第三人称单数 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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48
tyro
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| n.初学者；生手 | |
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49
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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50
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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51
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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52
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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53
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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54
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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55
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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56
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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57
fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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58
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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59
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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60
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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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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