When Maggie came, however, she could not help looking with growing interest at the new schoolfellow, although he was the son of that wicked Lawyer Wakem, who made her father so angry. She had arrived in the middle of school-hours, and had sat by while Philip went through his lessons with Mr. Stelling. Tom, some weeks ago, had sent her word that Philip knew no end of stories — not stupid stories like hers; and she was convinced now from her own observation that he must be very clever; she hoped he would think her rather clever too, when she came to talk to him. Maggie, moreover, had rather a tenderness for deformed20 things; she preferred the wry-necked lambs, because it seemed to her that the lambs which were quite strong and well made wouldn’t mind so much about being petted; and she was especially fond of petting objects that would think it very delightful21 to be petted by her. She loved Tom very dearly, but she often wished that he cared more about her loving him.
“I think Philip Wakem seems a nice boy, Tom,” she said, when they went out of the study together into the garden, to pass the interval22 before dinner. “He couldn’t choose his father, you know; and I’ve read of very bad men who had good sons, as well as good parents who had bad children. And if Philip is good, I think we ought to be the more sorry for him because his father is not a good man. You like him, don’t you?”
“Oh, he’s a queer fellow,” said Tom, curtly23, “and he’s as sulky as can be with me, because I told him his father was a rogue. And I’d a right to tell him so, for it was true; and he began it, with calling me names. But you stop here by yourself a bit, Maggie, will you? I’ve got something I want to do upstairs.”
“Can’t I go too?” said Maggie, who in this first day of meeting again loved Tom’s shadow.
“No, it’s something I’ll tell you about by-and-by, not yet,” said Tom, skipping away.
In the afternoon the boys were at their books in the study, preparing the morrow’s lesson’s that they might have a holiday in the evening in honor of Maggie’s arrival. Tom was hanging over his Latin grammar, moving his lips inaudibly like a strict but impatient Catholic repeating his tale of paternosters; and Philip, at the other end of the room, was busy with two volumes, with a look of contented24 diligence that excited Maggie’s curiosity; he did not look at all as if he were learning a lesson. She sat on a low stool at nearly a right angle with the two boys, watching first one and then the other; and Philip, looking off his book once toward the fire-place, caught the pair of questioning dark eyes fixed25 upon him. He thought this sister of Tulliver’s seemed a nice little thing, quite unlike her brother; he wished he had a little sister. What was it, he wondered, that made Maggie’s dark eyes remind him of the stories about princesses being turned into animals? I think it was that her eyes were full of unsatisfied intelligence, and unsatisfied beseeching26 affection.
“I say, Magsie,” said Tom at last, shutting his books and putting them away with the energy and decision of a perfect master in the art of leaving off, “I’ve done my lessons now. Come upstairs with me.”
“What is it?” said Maggie, when they were outside the door, a slight suspicion crossing her mind as she remembered Tom’s preliminary visit upstairs. “It isn’t a trick you’re going to play me, now?”
“No, no, Maggie,” said Tom, in his most coaxing27 tone; “It’s something you’ll like ever so.”
He put his arm round her neck, and she put hers round his waist, and twined together in this way, they went upstairs.
“I say, Magsie, you must not tell anybody, you know,” said Tom, “else I shall get fifty lines.”
“Is it alive?” said Maggie, whose imagination had settled for the moment on the idea that Tom kept a ferret clandestinely28.
“Oh, I sha’n’t tell you,” said he. “Now you go into that corner and hide your face, while I reach it out,” he added, as he locked the bedroom door behind them. I’ll tell you when to turn round. You mustn’t squeal29 out, you know.”
“Oh, but if you frighten me, I shall,” said Maggie, beginning to look rather serious.
“You won’t be frightened, you silly thing,” said Tom. “Go and hide your face, and mind you don’t peep.”
“Of course I sha’n’t peep,” said Maggie, disdainfully; and she buried her face in the pillow like a person of strict honor.
But Tom looked round warily30 as he walked to the closet; then he stepped into the narrow space, and almost closed the door. Maggie kept her face buried without the aid of principle, for in that dream-suggestive attitude she had soon forgotten where she was, and her thoughts were busy with the poor deformed boy, who was so clever, when Tom called out, “Now then, Magsie!”
Nothing but long meditation31 and preconcerted arrangement of effects would have enabled Tom to present so striking a figure as he did to Maggie when she looked up. Dissatisfied with the pacific aspect of a face which had no more than the faintest hint of flaxen eyebrow32, together with a pair of amiable33 blue-gray eyes and round pink cheeks that refused to look formidable, let him frown as he would before the looking-glass (Philip had once told him of a man who had a horseshoe frown, and Tom had tried with all his frowning might to make a horseshoe on his forehead), he had had recourse to that unfailing source of the terrible, burnt cork34, and had made himself a pair of black eyebrows35 that met in a satisfactory manner over his nose, and were matched by a less carefully adjusted blackness about the chin. He had wound a red handkerchief round his cloth cap to give it the air of a turban, and his red comforter across his breast as a scarf — an amount of red which, with the tremendous frown on his brow, and the decision with which he grasped the sword, as he held it with its point resting on the ground, would suffice to convey an approximate idea of his fierce and bloodthirsty disposition.
Maggie looked bewildered for a moment, and Tom enjoyed that moment keenly; but in the next she laughed, clapped her hands together, and said, “Oh, Tom, you’ve made yourself like Bluebeard at the show.”
It was clear she had not been struck with the presence of the sword — it was not unsheathed. Her frivolous36 mind required a more direct appeal to its sense of the terrible, and Tom prepared for his master-stroke. Frowning with a double amount of intention, if not of corrugation, he (carefully) drew the sword from its sheath, and pointed37 it at Maggie.
“Oh, Tom, please don’t!” exclaimed Maggie, in a tone of suppressed dread38, shrinking away from him into the opposite corner. “I shall scream — I’m sure I shall! Oh, don’t I wish I’d never come upstairs!”
The corners of Tom’s mouth showed an inclination39 to a smile of complacency that was immediately checked as inconsistent with the severity of a great warrior40. Slowly he let down the scabbard on the floor, lest it should make too much noise, and then said sternly —
“I’m the Duke of Wellington! March!” stamping forward with the right leg a little bent41, and the sword still pointing toward Maggie, who, trembling, and with tear-filled eyes, got upon the bed, as the only means of widening the space between them.
Tom, happy in this spectator of his military performances, even though the spectator was only Maggie, proceeded, with the utmost exertion42 of his force, to such an exhibition of the cut and thrust as would necessarily be expected of the Duke of Wellington.
“Tom, I will not bear it, I will scream,” said Maggie, at the first movement of the sword. “You’ll hurt yourself; you’ll cut your head off!”
“One — two,” said Tom, resolutely43, though at “two” his wrist trembled a little. “Three” came more slowly, and with it the sword swung downward, and Maggie gave a loud shriek44. The sword had fallen, with its edge on Tom’s foot, and in a moment after he had fallen too. Maggie leaped from the bed, still shrieking45, and immediately there was a rush of footsteps toward the room. Mr. Stelling, from his upstairs study, was the first to enter. He found both the children on the floor. Tom had fainted, and Maggie was shaking him by the collar of his jacket, screaming, with wild eyes. She thought he was dead, poor child! and yet she shook him, as if that would bring him back to life. In another minute she was sobbing46 with joy because Tom opened his eyes. She couldn’t sorrow yet that he had hurt his foot; it seemed as if all happiness lay in his being alive.
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1
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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2
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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3
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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6
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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7
malignity
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| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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8
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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9
bovine
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| adj.牛的；n.牛 | |
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10
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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12
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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13
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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14
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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15
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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16
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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17
amity
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| n.友好关系 | |
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18
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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19
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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20
deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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21
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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22
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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23
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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24
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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25
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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26
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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27
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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28
clandestinely
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| adv.秘密地，暗中地 | |
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29
squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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30
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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31
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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32
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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33
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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34
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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35
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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36
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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37
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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38
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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39
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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40
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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41
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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42
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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43
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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44
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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45
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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46
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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