In his blood on Lena:—Why did they tell me
That he fell? I might have hoped, a little
While, his return—I might have thought I saw him
On the far heath—A tree might have deceived me
For his form—The wind of the hill sounded
As his shield in mine ear.”
The grief of all at Lodore was so great, that Julia’s overwhelming share of it did not cause any suspicion as to the nature of her sentiments. The feeling of every one, down to the lowest servant in the house, was the same, as[40] if Edmund had really been the son or grandson of Mrs. Montgomery. Every one’s heart was full, no one had time to be sagacious.
Frances alone, though without any formal confidence, had for some time understood the secret of her sister’s heart. As soon, therefore, as Mr. Jackson had gone, and Mrs. Montgomery retired1, she dismissed all attendants, and through a long and dreadful night continued to whisper to an ear, which yet seemed not to hear: “The account is not official, Julia, and Mr. Jackson does not believe it. Julia! Julia! Mr. Jackson does not believe it.” This, however, was a sort of pious2 fraud; for Frances, who had seen Henry’s letter, and the supplement to the paper, had herself no such hope, as her words were meant to inspire. Julia did not speak in reply; but, from time to time, by a scarcely perceptible pressure of[41] her sister’s hand, she showed there was a consciousness of the kindly3 efforts to offer comfort. After the lapse4 of some hours spent thus, she betrayed, by a slight movement, that she was watching for the day-light. As soon as it dawned, she quietly and silently left her bed. Frances, without asking any questions, folded a wrapper carefully round her sister. Julia seated herself, and became again motionless. Frances knelt beside her, put her arms about her, and watched her countenance5. For a long time all was still; nothing was heard but Julia’s heavy sighs, following each other at regular intervals6, and the gentle, and but occasional soothings of Frances’ voice.
At length the servants began to move about. At each slightest noise, Julia started, listened, and the throbbing7 of her heart became audible, increased till it shook her frame, and then, as[42] the sounds that had caused it, died away, subsided8 gradually, till a footstep, or an opening door, being again heard; it would again leap up, and run on with a tumultuous rapidity that scarcely left her power to breathe. This fearful state lasted some hours, when, at length, the postman’s well known knock on a door already open, was heard. Julia had disappeared before Frances had time to comprehend the nature of the sudden movement with which she had started from her seat. Frances followed, and found her in the hall, endeavouring, with fingers as powerless as those of a new born babe, to open a letter. Frances assisted to break the seal. It was from Edmund himself, addressed to Mrs. Montgomery. He was alive! He was well! When Julia, by Frances’s good management and a few hours passed quietly in her own apartment,[43] was enabled to assume something like self command, the joyful9 tidings were spread throughout the house. The letter, and a paper which came by the same post, were then read with eager delight by all.
Edmund, in his letter, expressed a hope of seeing them soon, if it were but for an hour; and much kind solicitude10 respecting their feelings, should the false report of his death reach them before this precautionary epistle. The sum of the contents of the paper, which accompanied this letter, was as follows:—
The last statement, it may be remembered, left Fitz-Ullin crossing the space between the two ships. While getting on board the Euphrasia he beheld11 the figure of an officer, who was busily engaged on the quarter deck, and whose proportions and air instantly riveted[44] his whole attention. The officer turned round; the countenance was Edmund’s. He was giving hasty orders for taking advantage of the tide, which was now beginning to flow. Occasionally he passed his hand across his forehead, or held it a moment before his eyes, while his officers were collected round him, earnestly recommending a few moments repose12.
“I am quite well now,” he replied, “if we do not get her off this tide she will go to pieces before the next. When there is time to think of it, I shall lose a little blood,” he added, in answer to a strong remonstrance13 from the surgeon.
Fitz-Ullin, at the moment, rushed through the circle into the arms of his friend.
“The exertions14 of Captain Montgomery,” continued the paper, “to get his ship afloat, were ably seconded by Lord Fitz-Ullin and the[45] officers and crews of both vessels15, and finally crowned with success.”
After which, the next object became to secure the numerous captures made in the course of that brilliant day. This was effected with much labour, by literally16 towing them out from under their own silenced batteries.
And when, at length, the two detached ships were seen returning from their victorious17 expedition, and approaching the fleet with their little squadron of prizes in tow, the hearty18 and general cheering with which they were received was such as baffles all description; still less would it be possible to convey any adequate idea of the enthusiasm with which that cheering was doubled and redoubled, when Captain Montgomery, who, from the accounts brought to the fleet by the cutter, was believed to have fallen, was discerned standing19 on his quarter[46] deck, waving his hat, and bowing, in return for the congratulations of all.
On joining the fleet, our hero learnt, for the first time, the report which had prevailed of his death, and that it had been carried to England. In consequence, he dispatched the letter to Mrs. Montgomery, which we have seen Julia and Frances, as soon as they perceived Edmund’s writing on the cover, so unceremoniously tearing open.
The paper, as might be expected, expatiated20 at great length on the gratified feelings with which they found themselves enabled to contradict the report of Captain Montgomery’s death. The subject, in short, engrossed21 every column of every public print of the day. There was scarcely room for an advertisement! Wherever you cast your eye, Captain Montgomery, in large letters, appeared before you.[47] Every figure of newspaper rhetoric22 was set forth23: the pathetic, the heroic, the sublime24, but above all, the triumphant25.
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1
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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2
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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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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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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5
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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6
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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7
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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8
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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9
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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10
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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11
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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12
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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14
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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15
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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16
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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17
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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18
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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19
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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expatiated
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| v.详述，细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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22
rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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23
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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24
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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25
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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