It is the morning after Lady Chetwoode's ball. Every one has got down to breakfast. Every one is in excellent spirits, in spite of the fact that the rain is racing7 down the window-panes in torrents8, and that the post is late.
As a rule it always is late, except when it is preternaturally early; sometimes it comes at half-past ten, sometimes with the hot water. There is a blessed uncertainty9 about its advent10 that keeps every one on the tiptoe of expectation, and probably benefits circulation.
The postman himself is an institution in the village, being of an unknown age, in fact, the real and original oldest inhabitant, and still with no signs of coming dissolution about him, thereby11 carrying out Dicken's theory that a dead post-boy or a dead donkey is a thing yet to be seen. He is a hoary-headed old person, decrepit12 and garrulous13, with only one leg worth speaking about, and an ear trumpet14. This last is merely for show, as once old Jacob is set fairly talking, no human power could get in a word from any one else.
"I am always so glad when the post doesn't arrive in time for breakfast," Doatie is saying gayly. "Once those horrid16 papers come, every one gets stupid and engrossed17, and thinks it a positive injury to have to say even 'yes' or 'no' to a civil question. Now see how sociable18 we have been this morning, because that dear Jacob is late again. Ah! I spoke19 too soon," as the door opens and a servant enters with a most imposing20 pile of letters and papers.
"Late again, Jermyn," says Sir Nicholas, lazily.
"Yes, Sir Nicholas,—just an hour and a half. He desired me to say he had had another 'dart21' in his rheumatic knee this morning, so hoped you would excuse him."
"Poor old soul!" says Sir Nicholas.
"Jolly old bore!" says Captain Rodney, though not unkindly.
"Don't throw me over that blue envelope, Nick," says Nolly: "I don't seem to care about it. I know it, I think it seems familiar. You may have it, with my love. Mrs. Geoffrey, be so good as to tear it in two."
Jack23 is laughing over a letter written by one of the fellows in India; all are deep in their own correspondence.
Sir Nicholas, having gone leisurely25 through two of his letters, opens a third, and begins to peruse26 it rather carelessly. But hardly has he gone half-way down the first page when his face changes; involuntarily his fingers tighten27 over the luckless letter, crimping it out of all shape. By a supreme28 effort he suppresses an exclamation29. It is all over in a moment. Then he raises his head, and the color comes back to his lips. He smiles faintly, and, saying something about having many things to do this morning, and that therefore he hopes they will forgive his running away from them in such a hurry he rises and walks slowly from the room.
Nobody has noticed that anything is wrong. Only Doatie turns very pale, and glances nervously30 at Geoffrey, who answers her frightened look with a perplexed31 one of his own.
Then, as breakfast was virtually over before the letters came, they all rise, and disperse32 themselves as fancy dictates33. But Geoffrey goes alone to where he knows he shall find Nicholas in his own den24.
An hour later, coming out of it again, feeling harassed34 and anxious, he finds Dorothy walking restlessly up and down the corridor outside, as though listening for some sound she pines to hear. Her pretty face, usually so bright and debonnaire, is pale and sad. Her lips are trembling.
"May I not see Nicholas, if only for a moment?" she says, plaintively35, gazing with entreaty37 at Geoffrey. At which Nicholas, hearing from within the voice that rings its changes on his heart from morn till eve, calls aloud to her,—
"Come in, Dorothy. I want to speak to you."
So she goes in, and Geoffrey, closing the door behind her, leaves them together.
She would have gone to him then, and tried to console him in her own pretty fashion, but he motions her to stay where she is.
"Do not come any nearer," he says, hastily, "I can tell it all to you better, more easily, when I cannot see you."
So Doatie, nervous and miserable38, and with unshed tears in her eyes, stands where he tells her, with her hand resting on the back of an arm-chair, while he, going over to the window, deliberately39 turns his face from hers. Yet even now he seems to find a difficulty in beginning. There is a long pause; and then——
"They—they have found that fellow,—old Elspeth's nephew," he says in a husky tone.
"Where?" asks Doatie, eagerly.
"In Sydney. In Paul Rodney's employ. In his very house."
"Ah!" says Doatie, clasping her hands. "And——"
"He says he knows nothing about any will."
Another pause, longer than the last.
"He denies all knowledge of it. I suppose he has been bought up by the other side. And now what remains40 for us to do? That was our last chance, and a splendid one, as there are many reasons for believing that old Elspeth either burned or hid the will drawn41 up by my grandfather on the night of his death; but it has failed us. Yet I cannot but think this man Warden42 must know something of it. How did he discover Paul Rodney's home? It has been proved, that old Elspeth was always in communication with my uncle up to the hour of her death; she must have sent Warden to Australia then, probably with this very will she had been so carefully hiding for years. If so, it is beyond all doubt burned or otherwise destroyed by this time. Parkins writes to me in despair."
"This is dreadful!" says Doatie. "But"—brightening—"surely it is not so bad as death or disgrace, is it?"
"It means death to me," replies he, in a low tone. "It means that I shall lose you."
"Nicholas," cries she, a little sharply, "what is it you would say?"
"Nay43, hear me," exclaims he, turning for the first time to comfort her; and, as he does, she notices the ravages44 that the last hour of anxiety and trouble have wrought45 upon his face. He is looking thin and haggard, and rather tired. All her heart goes out to him, and it is with difficulty she restrains her desire to run to him and encircle him with her soft arms. But something in his expression prevents her.
"Hear me," he says, passionately46: "if I am worsted in this fight—and I see no ray of hope anywhere—I am a ruined man. I shall then have literally47 only five hundred a year that I can call my own. No home; no title. And such an income as that, to people bred as you and I have been, means simply penury48. All must be at an end between us, Dorothy. We must try to forget that we have ever been more than ordinary friends."
This tirade49 has hardly the effect upon Dorothy that might be desired. She still stands firm, utterly50 unshaken by the storm that has just swept over her (frail child though she is), and, except for a slight touch of indignation that is fast growing within her eyes, appears unmoved.
"You may try just as hard as ever you like," she says, with dignity: "I sha'n't!"
"So you think now; but by and by you will find the pressure too great, and you will go with the tide. If I were to work for years and years, I could scarcely at the end achieve a position fit to offer you. And I am thirty-two, remember,—not a boy beginning life, with all the world and time before him,—and you are only twenty. By what right should I sacrifice your youth, your prospects51? Some other man, some one more fortunate, may perhaps——"
Here he breaks down ignominiously52, considering the amount of sternness he had summoned to his aid when commencing, and, walking to the mantelpiece, lays his arm on it, and his head upon his arms.
"You insult me," says Dorothy, growing even whiter than she was before, "when you speak to me of—of——"
Then she, too, breaks down, and, going to him, deliberately lifts one of his arms and lays it round her neck; after which she places both hers gently round his, and so, having comfortably arranged herself, proceeds to indulge in a hearty53 burst of tears. This is, without exception, the very wisest course she could have taken, as it frightens the life out of Nicholas, and brings him to a more proper frame of mind in no time.
"Oh, Dorothy, don't do that! Don't, my dearest, my pet!" he entreats54. "I won't say another word, not one, if you will only stop."
"You have said too much already, and there sha'n't be an end of it, as you declared just now," protests Doatie, vehemently55, who declines to be comforted just yet, and is perhaps finding some sorrowful enjoyment56 in the situation. "I'll take very good care there sha'n't! And I won't let you give me up. I don't care how poor you are. And I must say I think it is very rude and heartless of you, Nicholas, to want to hand me over to 'some other man,' as if I was a book or a parcel! 'Some other man,' indeed!" winds up Miss Darling, with a final sob57 and a heavy increase of righteous wrath58.
"But what is to be done?" asks Nicholas, distractedly, though inexpressibly cheered by these professions of loyalty59 and devotion. "Your people won't hear of it."
"Oh, yes, they will," returns Doatie, emphatically, "They will probably hear a great deal of it! I shall speak of it morning, noon, and night, until out of sheer vexation of spirit they will come in a body and entreat36 you to remove me. Ah!" regretfully, "if only I had a fortune now, how sweet it would be! I never missed it before. We are really very unfortunate."
"We are, indeed. But I think your having a fortune would only make matters worse." Then he grows despairing once more. "Dorothy, it is madness to think of it. I am speaking only wisdom, though you are angry with me for it. Why encourage hope where there is none?"
"Because 'the miserable hath no other medicine but only hope,'" quotes she, very sadly.
"Yet what does Feltham say? 'He that hopes too much shall deceive himself at last' Your medicine is dangerous, darling. It will kill you in the end. Just think, Dorothy, how could you live on five hundred a year!"
"Other people have done it,—do it every day," says Dorothy, stoutly60. She has dried her eyes, and is looking almost as pretty as ever. "We might find a dear nice little house somewhere, Nicholas," this rather vaguely61, "might we not? with some furniture in Queen Anne's style. Queen Anne, or what looks like her, is not so very expensive now, is she?"
"No," says Nicholas, "she isn't; though I should consider her dear at any price." He is a depraved young man who declines to see beauty in ebony and gloom. "But," with a sigh, "I don't think you quite understand, darling."
"Oh, yes, I do," says Dorothy, with a wise shake of her blonde head; "you mean that probably we shall not be able to order any furniture at all. Well, even if it comes to sitting on one horrid kitchen deal chair with you, Nicholas, I sha'n't mind it a scrap62." She smiles divinely, and with the utmost cheerfulness, as she says this. But then she has never tried to sit on a deal chair, and it is a simple matter to conjure63 up a smile when woes64 are imaginary.
"You are an angel," says Nicholas. And, indeed, considering all things, it is the least he could have said. "If we weather this storm, Dorothy," he goes on, earnestly,—"if, by any chance, Fate should reinstate me once more firmly in the position I have always held,—it shall be my proudest remembrance that in my adversity you were faithful to me, and were content to share my fortune, evil though it showed itself to be."
They are both silent for a little while, and then Dorothy says, softly,—
"Perhaps it will all come right at last. Oh! if some kind good fairy would but come to our aid and help us to confound our enemies!"
"I am afraid there is only one fairy on earth just now, and that is you," says Nicholas, with a faint smile, smoothing back her pretty hair with loving fingers, and gazing fondly into the blue eyes that have grown so big and earnest during their discussion.
"I mean a real fairy," says Dorothy, shaking her head "If she were to come now this moment and say, 'Dorothy'——"
"Dorothy," says a voice outside at this very instant, so exactly as Doatie pauses that both she and Nicholas start simultaneously65.
"That is Mona's voice," says Doatie. "I must go. Finish your letters, and come for me then, and we can go into the garden and talk it all over again. Come in, Mona; I am here."
She opens the door, and runs almost into Mona's arms, who is evidently searching for her everywhere.
"Ah! now, I have disturbed you," says Mrs. Geoffrey, pathetically, to whom lovers are a rare delight and a sacred study. "How stupid of me! Sure you needn't have come out, when you knew it was only me. And of course he wants you, poor dear fellow. I thought you were in the small drawing-room, or I shouldn't have called you at all."
"It doesn't matter. Come upstairs with me, Mona. I want to tell you all about it," says Doatie. The reaction has set in, and she is again tearful, and reduced almost to despair.
"Alas66! Geoffrey has told me everything," says Mona, "That is why I am now seeking for you. I thought, I knew, you were unhappy, and I wanted to tell you how I suffer with you."
By this time they have reached Dorothy's room, and now, sitting down, gaze mournfully at each other. Mona is so truly grieved that any one might well imagine this misfortune, that is rendering67 the very air heavy, in her own, rather than another's. And this wholesale68 sympathy, this surrendering of her body and mind to a grief that does not touch herself, is inexpressibly sweet to her poor little friend.
Kneeling down by her, Dorothy lays her head upon Mona's knee, and bursts out crying afresh.
"Don't now," says Mona, in a low, soothing69 tone folding her in a close embrace; "this is wrong, foolish. And when things come to the worst they mend."
"Not always," sobs70 Doatie. "I know how it will be. We shall be separated,—torn asunder71, and then after a while they will make me marry somebody else; and in a weak moment I shall do it! And then I shall be utterly wretched for ever and ever."
"You malign72 yourself," says Mona. "It is all impossible. You will have no such weak moment, or I do not know you. You will be faithful always, until he can marry you, and, if he never can, why, then you can be faithful too, and go to your grave with his image only in your heart That is not so bad a thought, is it?"
"N—ot very," says Doatie, dolefully.
"And, besides, you can always see him, you know," goes on Mona, cheerfully. "It is not as if death had stolen him from you. He will be always somewhere; and you can look into his eyes, and read how his love for you has survived everything. And perhaps, after some time, he may distinguish himself in some way and gain a position far grander than mere15 money or rank can afford, because you know he is wonderfully clever."
"And perhaps, too, the law may be on his side: there is plenty of time yet for a missing will or a—a—useful witness to turn up. That will," says Mona, musingly74, "must be somewhere. I cannot tell you why I think so, but I am quite sure it is still in existence, that no harm has come to it. It may be discovered yet."
She looks so full of belief in her own fancy that she inspires Doatie on the spot with a similar faith.
"Mona! There is no one so sweet or comforting as you are," she cries, giving her a grateful hug. "I really think I do feel a little better now."
"That's right, then," says Mona, quite pleased at her success.
Violet, coming in a few moments later, finds them still discussing the all-important theme.
"It is unfortunate for every one," says Violet, disconsolately75, sinking in a low chair. "Such a dear house, and to have it broken up and given into the possession of such a creature as that." She shrugs76 her shoulders with genuine disgust.
"You mean the Australian?" says Dorothy. "Oh, as for him, he is perfectly77 utter!—such a man to follow in Nicholas's footsteps!"
"I don't suppose any one will take the slightest notice of him," says Violet: "that is one comfort."
"I don't know that: Lilian Chetwoode made him welcome in her house last night," says Doatie, a little bitterly.
"That is because Nicholas will insist on proving to every one he bears him no malice78, and speaks of him persistently79 as his cousin. Well, he may be his cousin; but there is a limit to everything," says Violet, with a slight frown.
"That is just what is so noble about Nicholas," returns Doatie, quickly. "He supports him, simply because it is his own quarrel. After all, it matters to nobody but Nicholas himself: no one else will suffer if that odious80 black man conquers."
"Yes, many will. Lady Rodney,—and—and Jack too. He also must lose by it," says Violet, with suppressed warmth.
"He may; but how little in comparison! Nobody need be thought of but my poor Nicholas," persists Doatie, who has not read between the lines, and fails therefore in putting a proper construction upon the faint delicate blush that is warming Violet's cheek.
But Mona has read, and understands perfectly.
"I think every one is to be pitied; and Jack more than most,—after dear Nicholas," she says, gently, with such a kindly22 glance at Violet as goes straight to that young woman's heart, and grows and blossoms there forever after.
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收听单词发音
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1
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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persistency
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| n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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fin
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| n.鳍；(飞机的)安定翼 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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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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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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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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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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peruse
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| v.细读，精读 | |
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tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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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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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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penury
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| n.贫穷，拮据 | |
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tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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entreats
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的第三人称单数 ) | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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57
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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64
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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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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66
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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67
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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68
wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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69
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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70
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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71
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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72
malign
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| adj.有害的；恶性的；恶意的；v.诽谤，诬蔑 | |
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73
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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74
musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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75
disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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76
shrugs
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| n.耸肩（以表示冷淡，怀疑等）( shrug的名词复数 ) | |
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77
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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78
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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80
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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