As it was still day-light some of the ladies walked to the gardens, others strolled about near the doors; Lady Susan disappeared without speaking to any one; Frances went to seek her; Julia flung herself on a sofa in the great drawing-room, which she found quite deserted1. She lay so much absorbed by her own meditations2, as to be unconscious of the lapse3 of time. It became quite dark. Every thing was still about her. At length she heard a[120] very soft step approaching through the ante-room, and a figure in black appeared within the door, which was half open. It held in its hand a long white wand tipped with flame: it glided4 on with a step, now that it was on the deep Turkey carpet of the drawing-room, quite noiseless: it touched branches and candelabras with its magic wand, and left floods of light behind it: it proceeded through the glass doors of a green-house, at the further end of this spacious5 apartment, and continued crowning with radiance lustres that hung, at certain intervals7, over the centre walk, till the whole long perspective became a dazzling maze8 of real and reflected illumination. Julia’s eyes admired and, mechanically, followed what they beheld9 long before her comprehension was aroused to any understanding of what was going forward: at length she smiled as she[121] recollected11 that such had been her abstraction, that, for the first few moments after the entrance of the figure, she had viewed it and its operations with as much of almost superstitious12 astonishment13 as if she had never before seen a decent old butler, who was too well-bred to wear creaking shoes, light up a drawing-room.
She arose from the sofa, passed the man on his return through the great room, entered the greenhouse, proceeded along the centre walk between rows of orange trees, and in a blaze of light, till the white marble footway, branching off in two directions, led round on both sides towards a kind of arbour of sweets, which was screened from the entrance and principal walk by the intervention14 of an immense circular stand, crowded from the marble[122] floor to the glazed15 roof with numberless exotics. Here she seated herself.
The artificial day that reigned16 around, the excess of brilliancy resembling enchantment17, the very intensity18 of light, seemed, if not literally19 shelter, at least security from sudden intrusion, by giving proof at once that none were near, and certainty that none could approach unseen.
“I wonder,” mentally ejaculated Julia, who by this time had renewed her meditations, “why she did not look happy!” She paused, and a tear or two fell. “Is it possible that he can love a stranger better than those he has loved all his life?” she thought, and a feeling of something like reproach passed through her mind. Then came a series of kindly20 recollections, making it very difficult to believe that this could be the case. Then she called to[123] mind, how Edmund always used to say, he never would marry; and how she, too, had determined21 never to marry. She reflected on this subject for some time; then asked herself a question, but very vaguely22 indeed; for she did not venture to give it the form of words, even in thought: the purport23, however, was as follows:—if Edmund had ever said, that to be married to her was absolutely necessary to his happiness—what would have been her reply? A deep blush was all the answer she gave herself. She sat, unconscious of outward objects, till she felt her hand softly taken. She started, and looked up: Edmund stood before her. “Dearest Julia!” he said, “there has so evidently been some anxiety on your mind, some depression on your spirits, all this day, that I cannot resist taking, perhaps, an unwarrantable liberty, and entreating24 you to tell me what[124] it is that thus distresses25 you?” She kept her eyes fixed26 on the ground, and made no reply. “Did you not promise,” he continued, “to permit me to call myself your friend, your brother? and is not confidence the privilege of friendship?” And he seated himself beside her, still retaining the hand he had taken.
“I don’t wish, Edmund,” she said, her face averted27, “to hear you talk like a stranger about taking the liberty, and all that kind of thing: it only makes me more unhappy.” “More unhappy!” he repeated.
“But, you know,” she continued, “when you wished so very much for my friendship, Edmund, it was when you first came home; now—you will probably—be—everyday—making so many new friends—that—perhaps—” “New friends!” cried Edmund.—Then, quite thrown off his guard, he added passionately;[125] “what are all the new friends—nay, all the friends the world contains—what the whole world itself to me, in comparison of you, Julia! My earliest, my kindest friend?” he added hastily, fearful he had gone too far.
The assurance of a friendship so exclusive, so much in unison28 with her own ideas on the subject, and still more the tender and agitated29 tone in which words so kind were uttered, banished30 every thought of Lady Susan, and in one moment restored Julia to perfect happiness. For reply, she only lifted her eyes to his. Their expression seemed to him, at the moment, to justify31 him in pressing her hand to his lips, though afterwards he thought he had done very wrong. So much accustomed was Julia, however, to consider the establishment of perfect confidence between herself and Edmund, as quite necessary and right, that in all this[126] she saw but the kind reconciliation32 of friends, and never dreamed of being surprised, as some more experienced ladies might have been, that no fuller or tenderer declaration followed, neither apology, for having approached so near to such.
She now felt quite certain that Edmund still loved her better than any one else in the world; and, therefore, she was happy. He thought his secret still safe, because he saw he had not given offence: indeed he saw more! Suspicions, delightful33 suspicions fluttered at his heart. He watched the brightening of her features: yes, he could not refuse to admit the flattering, the intoxicating34 conviction, that the more his love betrayed itself, the happier Julia evidently was! Thoughts like these ought to have filled him with sorrow and repentance35; but they did not—they caused a joy that no[127] words can paint! and this was not a moment to resist its influence. He was gazing upon the countenance36 of Julia, she had just looked up to express kindness and confidence, tears of pleasure had started into her eyes, and now she was looking down again perhaps to hide them; but they were stealing into view over cheeks that glowed with an animating37, a beautifying confusion, which could not be termed a mere38 blush, for it visibly betrayed conscious happiness as well as bashfulness.
Words that, while possessed39 of reason, he had determined never to utter, literally trembled on his lips. But honour, gratitude40, principle, flew to his aid, and rescued him from the eternal remorse41, which, in a mind like his, must have followed an avowal42 of sentiments, it was so much his duty to conceal43. He was enabled to be silent—but to withdraw his eyes from the[128] contemplation of the lovely being before him, to close his heart against the dangerous bliss44 that contemplation afforded, was impossible!
Music now struck up in the great room; and at the same instant several persons entered the greenhouse. The next moment they were approaching along the centre walk, and calling Julia. Our heroine answered and made her appearance. Edmund, still trembling from the late agitation45 of his feelings, followed in silence. But when he saw the gay group gathering46 round Julia, he was struck with the sudden apprehension47 of her dancing with some one of them; and, at this time, he could not view such an event, without a degree of horror, very disproportionate to the importance of the subject. He hastened therefore to her side, offered her his arm, and whispered something, probably a request to dance with him, as they immediately[129] accompanied those who had come in search of them, into the drawing-room, where quadrilles were forming.
Thus was Edmund preserved from further risk of an imprudence, which, in addition to the endless repentance it would have cost him, might have taught even the inexperienced Julia the necessity of treating him with more reserve. Hitherto, her affectionate heart, in its enthusiasm, had ever been ready to reproach her with estrangement49 and unkindness, when she experienced but the natural timidity inseparable from the feelings which were hourly growing upon her; so that the very parts of her conduct, which most strongly proved those feelings to be more than friendship, were by her, not unfrequently, considered as deficiencies in the frankness and confidence due to a friend, the companion of childhood; one, too, so delicately[130] situated50, who thought himself so much obliged; who might mistake a reserve, very proper towards strangers, (by whom Julia meant, all the world, except her grandmamma, Frances, Edmund, and Mr. Jackson,) for pride, for haughtiness51, for a reminding him of his situation—No! that thought was not to be endured! At the present moment, however, her heart having been just lightened of an inexpressible load of sorrow; of the first doubt it had ever known of Edmund’s affection, she waited not to define its movements, but joined the dance, feeling as if she moved on air, though in an unusual flutter of spirits. Whilst he, as he led her to her place among those who stood in all the pride of rank and title, birth and fortune, felt his heart sink within him; and, as he gazed upon her thus removed, as it were, to an incalculable distance, from the nameless[131] dependant52 on the bounty53 of her own very family, he wondered at the mad presumption54 that, but the moment before, had possessed him!
Yet as from time to time she smiled and spoke55 to him, joy stole again into his bosom56, and he experienced an undefined species of happiness during the remainder of the quadrille. As soon as it was over, however, and before Julia had taken her partner’s arm to leave the set, Henry came up to her, and asked her to dance the next with him. She could not well refuse, and the moment she consented he drew her arm over his, and led her away to a vacant end of the room, where, as they walked up and down, he suddenly broke silence, saying, in a rude sort of half whisper, “You don’t suppose, Julia, that Lord L. will consent to your marrying this picked up fellow! this Edmund! and I can tell you, the[132] manner in which you are behaving, will end in his being forbid my aunt’s house, and indeed the houses of all your friends and relatives.” If ever Julia’s colour mounted, now it flew to cheek and brow; yet, indignant as she felt, such was her terror lest Edmund should chance to hear one of those shocking words, that she caught Henry’s hand, and entreated57 him to lower his voice. At the same moment she looked involuntarily towards Edmund, and saw that he observed her; while Henry, grasping the hand that she herself had laid on his, carried it to his lips. She dreaded58 to provoke him by withdrawing it either as quickly or as angrily as she felt inclined to do; and he held it fast, with the most malicious60 satisfaction in her dilemma61, which he perfectly62 understood; while, as if to mortify63 her the more, he kept up, by countenance and manner,[133] a sort of dumb show of tender solicitude64. She, however, forced back her presence of mind, and, in an under tone of suppressed vexation, trying at the same time to look dignified65 and as angry as her youth and natural gentleness would permit, said, “do not for a moment imagine, Henry, that I dread59 your rude, impertinent remarks on my own account, but take care you do not let one word be heard, which can wound the feelings of Edmund. As for the motive66 of my anxiety on this point, if you are not capable of understanding it, remain in ignorance of it, or judge it what you please! It is to my father, not to you, sir, that I shall give an account of my actions.”
“Mighty fine!” he replied; “but, Julia, if my anxiety for you proceeds from my own attachment67, and, I suppose I may presume[134] where Edmund does, you cannot be surprised that I should not wish to see you throw yourself away; but I believe,” he added, with a sneer68, provoked at the evident scorn depicted69 on Julia’s countenance at the mention of his own attachment, “you are tolerably safe, as the gallant70 Captain Montgomery happens not to be at leisure to accept your ladyship’s proffered71 affections, being otherwise engaged.”
It is wonderful how many times in the course of the evening Julia repeated over to herself the two words, “otherwise engaged.”
“The world is come to a pretty pass,” continued Henry, “when two titled ladies are pulling caps for a fellow without a name!” Julia’s bosom was swelling72 with indignation, pride, and anger; she was dying to give them utterance73, but she felt that, now, she dare not trust herself to speak, while her fingers, in[135] despite of her utmost efforts, being still held, as in a vice74, she could not disengage herself without a publicity75 she wished to avoid. Indeed, Henry seemed careless how roughly he treated the delicate little hand thus imprisoned76 in his; for now, as at all times, for reasons best known to himself, he was more intent on persuading others that he was well with his cousin, than on really making her believe that he loved her.
At this moment Sir Archibald, who had been standing10 with his arms folded at a little distance, came hastily forward, and seized Henry by the collar, crying out—“Villain77! villain! villain! have I found you at last?” Henry disengaged himself, and turned on his assailant, with a look of pale rage so horrible that, had time and place agreed, no less than a mortal struggle seemed likely to ensue.
[136]
Julia uttered a scream of terror: all was in a moment confusion and consternation78. Lord Arandale, however, interfered79, and finally prevailed on his nephew to leave the room for the evening; explaining to him in hasty whispers, as he almost forcibly led him aside, that Sir Archibald, from the bewildered state of his mind, was evidently unconscious of the lapse of time, and must in consequence have mistaken him for his unfortunate father, against whom he had but too just cause of complaint, and to whose memory a discussion of the subject would be by no means creditable.
Julia stood trembling, and, for a moment, alone; the next, Edmund was at her side. He saw that there were tears in her eyes. He offered his arm to lead her to a seat. She took it with a heavy sigh, but avoided his look of enquiry. He felt much less happy than he had[137] been. Why had she caught Henry’s hand? Why had she suffered him to press hers to his lips—and retain it, too, so long? Why had she looked so deeply interested in what he said? And what was the cause of her present emotion?
Every one had of course been much alarmed; several of the young ladies had fled into the greenhouse, whence they now peeped through the glass door. Lady Morven was near fainting, and Mr. Graham was unable to assist her.
Some one proposed music as the most likely thing to calm Sir Archibald’s excited nerves, he was so fond of it. One of the Miss Morvens was prevailed upon to return to the drawing-room and play an air on the pianoforte—it had no effect. Lady Arandale requested Julia to sing; she at first wished much to decline, but Lady Arandale pressed her request,[138] and Julia felt that it was necessary to consent. Sir Archibald was still walking up and down with hasty and uneven80 strides, leaning on the arm of Lord Arandale; Julia’s song commenced. Sir Archibald’s violent gesticulations gradually became less frequent; his step, as she proceeded, became slower, his countenance less furiously agitated. By insensible degrees he approached, and, at length stood with folded arms, immediately before our heroine.
Julia exerted, on this occasion, but a small share of the power of voice which she possessed; yet, every one was delighted with the magical effect the then state of her own feelings gave to a pathetic air. By the time the song came to its conclusion, Sir Archibald was standing almost directly beneath the great centre lustre6, just so far removed from its[139] immediate48 perpendicular81, as to admit of its strong flood of light streaming full on his face and figure. His attitude was still the fixed one in which he had hitherto listened, but now he seemed unconscious of the presence of any one. His perfectly white hair was made more remarkable82 by the brightness that shone upon it; his countenance was calm, every passion being stilled, every effort laid aside, while an expression of woe83, of hopelessness, such as can proceed only from the utterly84 broken heart, had settled on every thus relaxed feature, and large tears, which glittered in the strong light, were silently rolling over his cheeks.
An absolute stillness reigned throughout the apartment for some moments, when, supper being announced, it was agreed, almost in[140] whispers, that they should retire quietly to the eating room without disturbing Sir Archibald; leaving a servant at the drawing-room door to observe his movements.
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1
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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2
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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3
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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4
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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7
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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8
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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10
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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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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13
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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14
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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15
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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16
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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17
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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20
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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21
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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22
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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23
purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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24
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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25
distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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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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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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30
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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34
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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35
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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36
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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37
animating
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| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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38
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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39
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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40
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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41
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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42
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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43
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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44
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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45
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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46
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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47
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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48
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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49
estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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50
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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51
haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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52
dependant
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| n.依靠的，依赖的，依赖他人生活者 | |
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53
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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54
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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55
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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56
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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57
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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59
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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60
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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61
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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62
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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63
mortify
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| v.克制，禁欲，使受辱 | |
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64
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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65
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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66
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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67
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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68
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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69
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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70
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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71
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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73
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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74
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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75
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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76
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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78
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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79
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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80
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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81
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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82
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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83
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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84
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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