Doth it roll along, when it carries with it
All our joys?”
A few days more brought a letter from Edmund, addressed to Mrs. Montgomery; now it was hoped all would be explained; Mrs. Montgomery broke the seal, laid the letter open on her knee, took out her spectacles, wiped them, and put them on. But soon tears dimmed the glasses, and the old lady’s head shook a little, as on occasions of[86] deep emotion. “What can he mean?” she said, as she gave the letter to Julia, desiring her to read it aloud. Julia, on receiving it, turned extremely pale. As soon as her eyes ran over the first few lines, she trembled visibly, and cast a beseeching1 look at her sister.
Frances took the letter from her, saying, that she could read Edmund’s hand particularly well. She began, like the rest, by looking over the letter to herself. Soon tears were seen stealing over her cheeks, as she read on, while from time to time she exclaimed, “What can he mean? What can have happened?”
“Read aloud, my dear! Do pray read aloud!” said Mrs. Montgomery. And Frances, endeavouring to keep down the choking sensation that arose in her throat, commenced as follows:—
[87]
“I must, for a time at least, bid farewell to all; yes, even to her, who sheltered my infant head; who protected my infant years; who was my friend when I was friendless; who gave me bread when I was destitute2. But I cannot—no—I cannot see Lodore again! Lodore, that home of happy childhood!
“At such a crisis of my fate, there is much I ought to say to one so dear—one so generously interested in the wretched Edmund; but, at present, I am incapable3 of a rational recital4.
“At a future time, perhaps—but I wander—you have doubtless seen all, ere this, in the public prints. Yet, surely they were not the proper medium—Pardon me; I know not what I write—the blow has indeed been severe!
“Perhaps I deserve it all; to have hoped was madness! treachery! Yet, I did hope![88] Yes—or why my present despair? Yet was it a hope so mingled5 with fear and with remorse6, that it was torture! Yet it was hope!—Heavens! must I believe it? Was it all a dream! a delirium7! Was there nothing real? Or is friendship, then, so like love? No! within my own breast, how wide the wild distinction!
“Why then was I deceived? Oh, farewell! I go, I know not where.—But I leave England—perhaps, for ever! Yet, think me not ungrateful! Think not, that the fondest affections of my blighted8 heart, withered9 and worthless though they be, shall not for ever cling to the remembrance of the dear, dear friends, the ever to be beloved, respected, and revered10 benefactress of my infant years. Your unhappy Edmund.”
The letter bore no further signature; as[89] was habitual11 with our hero, from a painful consciousness that his second name was but borrowed.
The exclamations12 and interruptions had, of course, been many. The subject was now discussed by Mrs. Montgomery and Frances. Also by Mr. Jackson; for he generally came in soon after the post hour. Julia did not venture a word. Lady Susan’s marriage was agreed upon by all as, of course, the principal cause of Edmund’s “ridiculously violent despair,” as Frances pettishly13 called it.
Mr. Jackson, with evident mortification14, was obliged to confess that he had certainly expected more sense from Edmund. He hoped, however, he added, that feelings of such boyish violence would exhaust themselves in a proportionately short time, and leave his young friend a more reasonable man for the[90] rest of his life. There might, however, Mr. Jackson suggested, be some unpleasant circumstances respecting this business which had made so much noise in the papers, in which Edmund, even without fault of his own, might find himself involved. His feelings, his name, might be painfully implicated15. There might be particulars, which delicacy16 towards his friend rendered it difficult to explain to the public. He thought it impossible that Edmund could talk of leaving England for ever, merely on account of his disappointment about Lady Susan; that would be too irrational17: though from his despairing expressions on the subject of love, it was evidently the one on which he felt most bitterly just at present.
The result of the conversation was, a determination on the part of Mr. Jackson, to[91] go up to town immediately. His assistance, or at least his advice, might be useful to his young friend.
“And give me my desk,” said Mrs. Montgomery, “I will write to him. He shall come to me, foolish boy, before he takes any rash step.”
Henry had left Lodore some days since, or he would doubtless have favoured the family party with some good natured observations. He had, however, to confirm opinions of still more consequence to his plans, in another quarter—a quarter, which he had lately, by no very honourable18 means, discovered to have become more dangerous than ever. Had he been present, he could have resolved every mystery, and shewn all to be simple that seemed extraordinary: not that he would have done so.
Julia and Frances had been just going to[92] take a walk, when the letter was brought in; they now pursued their original intention, with an additional motive20; the wish to converse21 together uninterruptedly. As they went out, Frances pressed her sister’s hand without speaking.
They happened to turn their steps towards the fall of Lodore. The spot is curiously22 sequestered23, and the space on which the water precipitates24 itself, from an immense perpendicular25 height, does not appear larger, than the dimensions of a small room. The steep and rugged26 rock rises on three sides till roofed by the sky; the central side of the hollow square, is that over which, broken at various elevations27 by black projections28 of flinty stone, the torrent29 rushes; from both the other sides, mountain ash and various sort of trees, rooted in every crevice30, stretch their branches across, between[93] the eye of the spectator, and the white sheet of descending31 foam32. The fourth side, or ground facing the fall, is a steep sloping bank, thickly covered with large trees, beneath the shade of which, a narrow path leads down to the edge of the water. Here a seat is placed, on which two persons may find accommodation; and if disposed to tell each other very profound secrets, feel quite secure from the danger of being overheard; for the fall, which is exactly opposite, plunges33 at their very feet, with a din19 so tremendous, that the most attentive34 listener, standing35 at but a few yards distance, though he should see their lips in motion, could distinguish no sound of their voices, and would be tempted36 to fancy, they conversed37 but in dumb show.
Julia and Frances descended38 this path, and took possession of this seat. Julia instantly[94] turned, and throwing her arms round her sister’s neck, murmured in a slow whisper, “Oh! Frances, why did you say it was me he loved?”
It is a curious fact, that, in this situation, persons quite close to each other, can hear whispers more distinctly than they could the voice in its natural key. It would seem that the open tones were more prone39 to assimilate with the loud sounds abroad, and so become confounded with them.
“I thought so, Julia,” answered Frances, who also whispered, “and I should think so still, even by the very wording of that letter; but that I know, you have not said or done any thing of late, to change, so suddenly, any hopes he may ever have ventured to entertain, into all this mighty40 despair! Yet, who else has shown him a friendship that could be mistaken[95] for love? as he seems to infer. With whom else has he had time or opportunity to indulge in this ‘dream, this delirium of unreal bliss;’ of which he talks so wildly?”
Julia thought of her late parting with Edmund, and paused a few seconds: then sighed, and said,
“No! no! there has nothing passed of late to change whatever may have been the usual tenor41 of his feelings towards me. It must be Lady Susan he means. The expressions you speak of, Frances, must allude42 to the time spent in her society, both here, and at Arandale. You know, whatever intimacy43 there was, commenced the very first evening he danced with her; and very soon afterwards, you know, she herself told you, that he wanted her to marry him; and that she intended to do so, if Lord and Lady Arandale would give their[96] consent. Now, it is evident, that they have not consented, and that it is Lady Susan’s having married the Marquis after all, that Edmund thinks such a dreadful disappointment, such a blow, as he calls it.”
“It must be so,” said her sister.
“Yet, Frances,” recommenced Julia, “I had, some how, lost sight of the possibility of his preferring one, still, as I thought, a comparative stranger. I had contrived44 to persuade myself, that the whole business about Lady Susan, was either some mistake, as you once suggested, or a momentary45 fancy; perhaps, a feeling of gratitude46 for her preference; and I had dwelt with delight on the praises bestowed47 on him by all the world, and Mr. Jackson in particular, who is so sensible. I had thought, that I too might highly esteem—might—might—regard—with even—a great[97] share of—affection, one, whom every one seemed to admire, and whom, I knew, that you and grandmamma loved so much. And, oh, Frances! when, in the midst of the congratulations of his friends, and the high compliments paid him by every one, I have seen an expression of melancholy48 mix itself with his smile; and then thought, (I don’t know why, but I did think so,) that it was in my power to make him quite happy—with what feelings have I said—he shall be happy! Frances, in such moments, I have resolved to—to—be his, (that is, some time or other. And now—I, who did so resolve, am as nothing in his eyes! My friendship for that at least he knew he possessed,) is cast away, because the love of a stranger is denied. Nay49, my very existence seems to be forgotten! He is going away, he says, perhaps, for ever, and he makes not the slightest mention[98] of being sorry to part, either from you, or me.”
And she stopped, vainly attempting to check the tremor50 of her lip, while tears, that it was useless to try to hide, were rolling silently down her cheeks. After a long pause, she added:—
“Were he happy, Frances, I might strive to forget a folly51, which has existed, it would appear, only in my own thoughts; but while he is miserable52, as he says he is, I know I shall never be able to feel towards him, as now I see I ought.”
This was not a spot, where warning footsteps could be heard; and Lord L. stood before his daughters, ere they were aware of his approach. He took his children in his arms. They had not beheld53 him since their infancy54, but nature found means to make herself understood[99] without words, ere Mrs. Montgomery, who had accompanied him, had time to say, “Girls, your father.”
In the course of the evening, the newspaper account of young Fitz-Ullin having shot himself, became the topic of conversation. Lord L. treated the subject with gravity, and some degree of reserve. He said, however, that he feared there must be some foundation for a report, which was spoken of so universally, and with so much confidence. “Fitz-Ullin’s father,” he added, “they were all aware, had been his most particular friend; he very naturally, therefore, felt interested.”
When Mrs. Montgomery had left the room for the night, which she generally did a little before the rest of the party; Lord L. said to his daughters, “I do not wish to alarm your[100] grandmother, unnecessarily, by mentioning the circumstance before her, as it may not be true; but,” and he lowered his voice, “it is now reported, in town, that it was not Fitz-Ullin, but our young friend, Montgomery, who shot himself.”
Frances, fearing for Julia’s presence of mind, interposed quickly, exclaiming, “Impossible! The account of Lord Fitz-Ullin having shot himself, has been in the papers this fortnight, and grandmamma has this very day had a letter from Edmund.”
“I am really glad to hear it,” said Lord L., standing up as he spoke55. “Montgomery bears a very high character; and your grandmother has, I know, a strong affection for him; for reasons,” he added, with a suppressed sigh, “which ought to weigh, at least, as much with me.” After a short pause, he continued,[101] “It is impossible to place any dependance on reports. On this very subject there are half a dozen differing in every essential point. One is, as you have heard, that Fitz-Ullin had shot himself; another says, that he was shot by his friend; and another, that he had shot his friend; while there is yet a fourth version, as I have just told you, purporting56 that Montgomery had shot himself. They all agree in one thing only, that a lady has been the cause of whatever mischief57 has taken place. I was but one day in town myself; but being very anxious about both young men, in consequence of all those reports, I called at Fitz-Ullin’s house. On demanding of the servants if Lord Fitz-Ullin was at home, and, (with an air of doubt, I believe,) how he was, they answered, as much to my surprise as relief, that he was quite well; but added, that his Lordship could[102] not see any one at present. I did not, therefore, send up my name; for, satisfied that he was well, it was quite time enough for me to see him on my return to town. I enquired58 of the servants, however, if they could give me any information respecting Captain Montgomery; (for I had not even his address, you know.) They looked at each other, rather strangely, I thought; and an elderly man, after some little hesitation59, came forward and replied, that he had not yet received orders from his Lordship, to speak on this subject. This sounded rather strange; and, at first, made me stare at the fellow: but it immediately occurred to me, that the young men had been engaged in some foolish affair, which it was the wish of both parties, to hush60 up as much as possible. I therefore, as you may suppose, asked no further questions of servants.”
This was the sum of Lord L.’s information; and after many comments on the incomprehensibility of the whole affair, the family party separated for the night.
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1
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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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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3
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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4
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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5
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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6
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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7
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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8
blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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9
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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10
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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12
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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13
pettishly
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14
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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15
implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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16
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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17
irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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18
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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19
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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20
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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21
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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22
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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23
sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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24
precipitates
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的第三人称单数 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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25
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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26
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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27
elevations
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| （水平或数量）提高( elevation的名词复数 )； 高地； 海拔； 提升 | |
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28
projections
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| 预测( projection的名词复数 )； 投影； 投掷； 突起物 | |
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29
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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30
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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31
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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32
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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33
plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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34
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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35
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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36
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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37
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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38
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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39
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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40
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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41
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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42
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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43
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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44
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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45
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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46
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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47
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
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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49
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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50
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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51
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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52
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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53
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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54
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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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
purporting
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| v.声称是…，（装得）像是…的样子( purport的现在分词 ) | |
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57
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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58
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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59
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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60
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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