It had been a miserable1 party, each of the three believing themselves most miserable. Mrs. Norris, however, as most attached to Maria, was really the greatest sufferer. Maria was her first favourite, the dearest of all; the match had been her own contriving2, as she had been wont3 with such pride of heart to feel and say, and this conclusion of it almost overpowered her.
She was an altered creature, quieted, stupefied, indifferent to everything that passed. The being left with her sister and nephew, and all the house under her care, had been an advantage entirely4 thrown away; she had been unable to direct or dictate5, or even fancy herself useful. When really touched by affliction, her active powers had been all benumbed; and neither Lady Bertram nor Tom had received from her the smallest support or attempt at support. She had done no more for them than they had done for each other. They had been all solitary6, helpless, and forlorn alike; and now the arrival of the others only established her superiority in wretchedness. Her companions were relieved, but there was no good for _her_. Edmund was almost as welcome to his brother as Fanny to her aunt; but Mrs. Norris, instead of having comfort from either, was but the more irritated by the sight of the person whom, in the blindness of her anger, she could have charged as the daemon of the piece. Had Fanny accepted Mr. Crawford this could not have happened.
Susan too was a grievance7. She had not spirits to notice her in more than a few repulsive8 looks, but she felt her as a spy, and an intruder, and an indigent9 niece, and everything most odious10. By her other aunt, Susan was received with quiet kindness. Lady Bertram could not give her much time, or many words, but she felt her, as Fanny's sister, to have a claim at Mansfield, and was ready to kiss and like her; and Susan was more than satisfied, for she came perfectly11 aware that nothing but ill-humour was to be expected from aunt Norris; and was so provided with happiness, so strong in that best of blessings12, an escape from many certain evils, that she could have stood against a great deal more indifference13 than she met with from the others.
She was now left a good deal to herself, to get acquainted with the house and grounds as she could, and spent her days very happily in so doing, while those who might otherwise have attended to her were shut up, or wholly occupied each with the person quite dependent on them, at this time, for everything like comfort; Edmund trying to bury his own feelings in exertions14 for the relief of his brother's, and Fanny devoted15 to her aunt Bertram, returning to every former office with more than former zeal16, and thinking she could never do enough for one who seemed so much to want her.
To talk over the dreadful business with Fanny, talk and lament17, was all Lady Bertram's consolation18. To be listened to and borne with, and hear the voice of kindness and sympathy in return, was everything that could be done for her. To be otherwise comforted was out of the question. The case admitted of no comfort. Lady Bertram did not think deeply, but, guided by Sir Thomas, she thought justly on all important points; and she saw, therefore, in all its enormity, what had happened, and neither endeavoured herself, nor required Fanny to advise her, to think little of guilt19 and infamy20.
Her affections were not acute, nor was her mind tenacious21. After a time, Fanny found it not impossible to direct her thoughts to other subjects, and revive some interest in the usual occupations; but whenever Lady Bertram _was_ fixed22 on the event, she could see it only in one light, as comprehending the loss of a daughter, and a disgrace never to be wiped off.
Fanny learnt from her all the particulars which had yet transpired23. Her aunt was no very methodical narrator, but with the help of some letters to and from Sir Thomas, and what she already knew herself, and could reasonably combine, she was soon able to understand quite as much as she wished of the circumstances attending the story.
Mrs. Rushworth had gone, for the Easter holidays, to Twickenham, with a family whom she had just grown intimate with: a family of lively, agreeable manners, and probably of morals and discretion24 to suit, for to _their_ house Mr. Crawford had constant access at all times. His having been in the same neighbourhood Fanny already knew. Mr. Rushworth had been gone at this time to Bath, to pass a few days with his mother, and bring her back to town, and Maria was with these friends without any restraint, without even Julia; for Julia had removed from Wimpole Street two or three weeks before, on a visit to some relations of Sir Thomas; a removal which her father and mother were now disposed to attribute to some view of convenience on Mr. Yates's account. Very soon after the Rushworths' return to Wimpole Street, Sir Thomas had received a letter from an old and most particular friend in London, who hearing and witnessing a good deal to alarm him in that quarter, wrote to recommend Sir Thomas's coming to London himself, and using his influence with his daughter to put an end to the intimacy25 which was already exposing her to unpleasant remarks, and evidently making Mr. Rushworth uneasy.
Sir Thomas was preparing to act upon this letter, without communicating its contents to any creature at Mansfield, when it was followed by another, sent express from the same friend, to break to him the almost desperate situation in which affairs then stood with the young people. Mrs. Rushworth had left her husband's house: Mr. Rushworth had been in great anger and distress26 to _him_ (Mr. Harding) for his advice; Mr. Harding feared there had been _at_ _least_ very flagrant indiscretion. The maidservant of Mrs. Rushworth, senior, threatened alarmingly. He was doing all in his power to quiet everything, with the hope of Mrs. Rushworth's return, but was so much counteracted28 in Wimpole Street by the influence of Mr. Rushworth's mother, that the worst consequences might be apprehended29.
This dreadful communication could not be kept from the rest of the family. Sir Thomas set off, Edmund would go with him, and the others had been left in a state of wretchedness, inferior only to what followed the receipt of the next letters from London. Everything was by that time public beyond a hope. The servant of Mrs. Rushworth, the mother, had exposure in her power, and supported by her mistress, was not to be silenced. The two ladies, even in the short time they had been together, had disagreed; and the bitterness of the elder against her daughter-in-law might perhaps arise almost as much from the personal disrespect with which she had herself been treated as from sensibility for her son.
However that might be, she was unmanageable. But had she been less obstinate30, or of less weight with her son, who was always guided by the last speaker, by the person who could get hold of and shut him up, the case would still have been hopeless, for Mrs. Rushworth did not appear again, and there was every reason to conclude her to be concealed31 somewhere with Mr. Crawford, who had quitted his uncle's house, as for a journey, on the very day of her absenting herself.
Sir Thomas, however, remained yet a little longer in town, in the hope of discovering and snatching her from farther vice27, though all was lost on the side of character.
_His_ present state Fanny could hardly bear to think of. There was but one of his children who was not at this time a source of misery32 to him. Tom's complaints had been greatly heightened by the shock of his sister's conduct, and his recovery so much thrown back by it, that even Lady Bertram had been struck by the difference, and all her alarms were regularly sent off to her husband; and Julia's elopement, the additional blow which had met him on his arrival in London, though its force had been deadened at the moment, must, she knew, be sorely felt. She saw that it was. His letters expressed how much he deplored33 it. Under any circumstances it would have been an unwelcome alliance; but to have it so clandestinely34 formed, and such a period chosen for its completion, placed Julia's feelings in a most unfavourable light, and severely35 aggravated36 the folly37 of her choice. He called it a bad thing, done in the worst manner, and at the worst time; and though Julia was yet as more pardonable than Maria as folly than vice, he could not but regard the step she had taken as opening the worst probabilities of a conclusion hereafter like her sister's. Such was his opinion of the set into which she had thrown herself.
Fanny felt for him most acutely. He could have no comfort but in Edmund. Every other child must be racking his heart. His displeasure against herself she trusted, reasoning differently from Mrs. Norris, would now be done away. _She_ should be justified38. Mr. Crawford would have fully39 acquitted40 her conduct in refusing him; but this, though most material to herself, would be poor consolation to Sir Thomas. Her uncle's displeasure was terrible to her; but what could her justification41 or her gratitude42 and attachment43 do for him? His stay must be on Edmund alone.
She was mistaken, however, in supposing that Edmund gave his father no present pain. It was of a much less poignant44 nature than what the others excited; but Sir Thomas was considering his happiness as very deeply involved in the offence of his sister and friend; cut off by it, as he must be, from the woman whom he had been pursuing with undoubted attachment and strong probability of success; and who, in everything but this despicable brother, would have been so eligible45 a connexion. He was aware of what Edmund must be suffering on his own behalf, in addition to all the rest, when they were in town: he had seen or conjectured46 his feelings; and, having reason to think that one interview with Miss Crawford had taken place, from which Edmund derived47 only increased distress, had been as anxious on that account as on others to get him out of town, and had engaged him in taking Fanny home to her aunt, with a view to his relief and benefit, no less than theirs. Fanny was not in the secret of her uncle's feelings, Sir Thomas not in the secret of Miss Crawford's character. Had he been privy48 to her conversation with his son, he would not have wished her to belong to him, though her twenty thousand pounds had been forty.
That Edmund must be for ever divided from Miss Crawford did not admit of a doubt with Fanny; and yet, till she knew that he felt the same, her own conviction was insufficient49. She thought he did, but she wanted to be assured of it. If he would now speak to her with the unreserve which had sometimes been too much for her before, it would be most consoling; but _that_ she found was not to be. She seldom saw him: never alone. He probably avoided being alone with her. What was to be inferred? That his judgment50 submitted to all his own peculiar51 and bitter share of this family affliction, but that it was too keenly felt to be a subject of the slightest communication. This must be his state. He yielded, but it was with agonies which did not admit of speech. Long, long would it be ere Miss Crawford's name passed his lips again, or she could hope for a renewal52 of such confidential53 intercourse54 as had been.
It _was_ long. They reached Mansfield on Thursday, and it was not till Sunday evening that Edmund began to talk to her on the subject. Sitting with her on Sunday evening--a wet Sunday evening--the very time of all others when, if a friend is at hand, the heart must be opened, and everything told; no one else in the room, except his mother, who, after hearing an affecting sermon, had cried herself to sleep, it was impossible not to speak; and so, with the usual beginnings, hardly to be traced as to what came first, and the usual declaration that if she would listen to him for a few minutes, he should be very brief, and certainly never tax her kindness in the same way again; she need not fear a repetition; it would be a subject prohibited entirely: he entered upon the luxury of relating circumstances and sensations of the first interest to himself, to one of whose affectionate sympathy he was quite convinced.
How Fanny listened, with what curiosity and concern, what pain and what delight, how the agitation55 of his voice was watched, and how carefully her own eyes were fixed on any object but himself, may be imagined. The opening was alarming. He had seen Miss Crawford. He had been invited to see her. He had received a note from Lady Stornaway to beg him to call; and regarding it as what was meant to be the last, last interview of friendship, and investing her with all the feelings of shame and wretchedness which Crawford's sister ought to have known, he had gone to her in such a state of mind, so softened56, so devoted, as made it for a few moments impossible to Fanny's fears that it should be the last. But as he proceeded in his story, these fears were over. She had met him, he said, with a serious--certainly a serious-- even an agitated57 air; but before he had been able to speak one intelligible58 sentence, she had introduced the subject in a manner which he owned had shocked him. "'I heard you were in town,' said she; 'I wanted to see you. Let us talk over this sad business. What can equal the folly of our two relations?' I could not answer, but I believe my looks spoke59. She felt reproved. Sometimes how quick to feel! With a graver look and voice she then added, 'I do not mean to defend Henry at your sister's expense.' So she began, but how she went on, Fanny, is not fit, is hardly fit to be repeated to you. I cannot recall all her words. I would not dwell upon them if I could. Their substance was great anger at the _folly_ of each. She reprobated her brother's folly in being drawn60 on by a woman whom he had never cared for, to do what must lose him the woman he adored; but still more the folly of poor Maria, in sacrificing such a situation, plunging61 into such difficulties, under the idea of being really loved by a man who had long ago made his indifference clear. Guess what I must have felt. To hear the woman whom-- no harsher name than folly given! So voluntarily, so freely, so coolly to canvass62 it! No reluctance63, no horror, no feminine, shall I say, no modest loathings? This is what the world does. For where, Fanny, shall we find a woman whom nature had so richly endowed? Spoilt, spoilt!"
After a little reflection, he went on with a sort of desperate calmness. "I will tell you everything, and then have done for ever. She saw it only as folly, and that folly stamped only by exposure. The want of common discretion, of caution: his going down to Richmond for the whole time of her being at Twickenham; her putting herself in the power of a servant; it was the detection, in short--oh, Fanny! it was the detection, not the offence, which she reprobated. It was the imprudence which had brought things to extremity64, and obliged her brother to give up every dearer plan in order to fly with her."
He stopt. "And what," said Fanny (believing herself required to speak), "what could you say?"
"Nothing, nothing to be understood. I was like a man stunned65. She went on, began to talk of you; yes, then she began to talk of you, regretting, as well she might, the loss of such a--. There she spoke very rationally. But she has always done justice to you. 'He has thrown away,' said she, 'such a woman as he will never see again. She would have fixed him; she would have made him happy for ever.' My dearest Fanny, I am giving you, I hope, more pleasure than pain by this retrospect66 of what might have been--but what never can be now. You do not wish me to be silent? If you do, give me but a look, a word, and I have done."
No look or word was given.
"Thank God," said he. "We were all disposed to wonder, but it seems to have been the merciful appointment of Providence67 that the heart which knew no guile68 should not suffer. She spoke of you with high praise and warm affection; yet, even here, there was alloy69, a dash of evil; for in the midst of it she could exclaim, 'Why would not she have him? It is all her fault. Simple girl! I shall never forgive her. Had she accepted him as she ought, they might now have been on the point of marriage, and Henry would have been too happy and too busy to want any other object. He would have taken no pains to be on terms with Mrs. Rushworth again. It would have all ended in a regular standing70 flirtation71, in yearly meetings at Sotherton and Everingham.' Could you have believed it possible? But the charm is broken. My eyes are opened."
"Cruel!" said Fanny, "quite cruel. At such a moment to give way to gaiety, to speak with lightness, and to you! Absolute cruelty."
"Cruelty, do you call it? We differ there. No, hers is not a cruel nature. I do not consider her as meaning to wound my feelings. The evil lies yet deeper: in her total ignorance, unsuspiciousness of there being such feelings; in a perversion72 of mind which made it natural to her to treat the subject as she did. She was speaking only as she had been used to hear others speak, as she imagined everybody else would speak. Hers are not faults of temper. She would not voluntarily give unnecessary pain to any one, and though I may deceive myself, I cannot but think that for me, for my feelings, she would-- Hers are faults of principle, Fanny; of blunted delicacy73 and a corrupted74, vitiated mind. Perhaps it is best for me, since it leaves me so little to regret. Not so, however. Gladly would I submit to all the increased pain of losing her, rather than have to think of her as I do. I told her so."
"Did you?"
"Yes; when I left her I told her so."
"How long were you together?"
"Five-and-twenty minutes. Well, she went on to say that what remained now to be done was to bring about a marriage between them. She spoke of it, Fanny, with a steadier voice than I can." He was obliged to pause more than once as he continued. "'We must persuade Henry to marry her,' said she; 'and what with honour, and the certainty of having shut himself out for ever from Fanny, I do not despair of it. Fanny he must give up. I do not think that even _he_ could now hope to succeed with one of her stamp, and therefore I hope we may find no insuperable difficulty. My influence, which is not small shall all go that way; and when once married, and properly supported by her own family, people of respectability as they are, she may recover her footing in society to a certain degree. In some circles, we know, she would never be admitted, but with good dinners, and large parties, there will always be those who will be glad of her acquaintance; and there is, undoubtedly75, more liberality and candour on those points than formerly76. What I advise is, that your father be quiet. Do not let him injure his own cause by interference. Persuade him to let things take their course. If by any officious exertions of his, she is induced to leave Henry's protection, there will be much less chance of his marrying her than if she remain with him. I know how he is likely to be influenced. Let Sir Thomas trust to his honour and compassion77, and it may all end well; but if he get his daughter away, it will be destroying the chief hold.'"
After repeating this, Edmund was so much affected78 that Fanny, watching him with silent, but most tender concern, was almost sorry that the subject had been entered on at all. It was long before he could speak again. At last, "Now, Fanny," said he, "I shall soon have done. I have told you the substance of all that she said. As soon as I could speak, I replied that I had not supposed it possible, coming in such a state of mind into that house as I had done, that anything could occur to make me suffer more, but that she had been inflicting79 deeper wounds in almost every sentence. That though I had, in the course of our acquaintance, been often sensible of some difference in our opinions, on points, too, of some moment, it had not entered my imagination to conceive the difference could be such as she had now proved it. That the manner in which she treated the dreadful crime committed by her brother and my sister (with whom lay the greater seduction I pretended not to say), but the manner in which she spoke of the crime itself, giving it every reproach but the right; considering its ill consequences only as they were to be braved or overborne by a defiance80 of decency81 and impudence82 in wrong; and last of all, and above all, recommending to us a compliance83, a compromise, an acquiescence84 in the continuance of the sin, on the chance of a marriage which, thinking as I now thought of her brother, should rather be prevented than sought; all this together most grievously convinced me that I had never understood her before, and that, as far as related to mind, it had been the creature of my own imagination, not Miss Crawford, that I had been too apt to dwell on for many months past. That, perhaps, it was best for me; I had less to regret in sacrificing a friendship, feelings, hopes which must, at any rate, have been torn from me now. And yet, that I must and would confess that, could I have restored her to what she had appeared to me before, I would infinitely85 prefer any increase of the pain of parting, for the sake of carrying with me the right of tenderness and esteem86. This is what I said, the purport87 of it; but, as you may imagine, not spoken so collectedly or methodically as I have repeated it to you. She was astonished, exceedingly astonished--more than astonished. I saw her change countenance88. She turned extremely red. I imagined I saw a mixture of many feelings: a great, though short struggle; half a wish of yielding to truths, half a sense of shame, but habit, habit carried it. She would have laughed if she could. It was a sort of laugh, as she answered, 'A pretty good lecture, upon my word. Was it part of your last sermon? At this rate you will soon reform everybody at Mansfield and Thornton Lacey; and when I hear of you next, it may be as a celebrated89 preacher in some great society of Methodists, or as a missionary90 into foreign parts.' She tried to speak carelessly, but she was not so careless as she wanted to appear. I only said in reply, that from my heart I wished her well, and earnestly hoped that she might soon learn to think more justly, and not owe the most valuable knowledge we could any of us acquire, the knowledge of ourselves and of our duty, to the lessons of affliction, and immediately left the room. I had gone a few steps, Fanny, when I heard the door open behind me. 'Mr. Bertram,' said she. I looked back. 'Mr. Bertram,' said she, with a smile; but it was a smile ill-suited to the conversation that had passed, a saucy91 playful smile, seeming to invite in order to subdue92 me; at least it appeared so to me. I resisted; it was the impulse of the moment to resist, and still walked on. I have since, sometimes, for a moment, regretted that I did not go back, but I know I was right, and such has been the end of our acquaintance. And what an acquaintance has it been! How have I been deceived! Equally in brother and sister deceived! I thank you for your patience, Fanny. This has been the greatest relief, and now we will have done."
And such was Fanny's dependence93 on his words, that for five minutes she thought they _had_ done. Then, however, it all came on again, or something very like it, and nothing less than Lady Bertram's rousing thoroughly94 up could really close such a conversation. Till that happened, they continued to talk of Miss Crawford alone, and how she had attached him, and how delightful95 nature had made her, and how excellent she would have been, had she fallen into good hands earlier. Fanny, now at liberty to speak openly, felt more than justified in adding to his knowledge of her real character, by some hint of what share his brother's state of health might be supposed to have in her wish for a complete reconciliation96. This was not an agreeable intimation. Nature resisted it for a while. It would have been a vast deal pleasanter to have had her more disinterested97 in her attachment; but his vanity was not of a strength to fight long against reason. He submitted to believe that Tom's illness had influenced her, only reserving for himself this consoling thought, that considering the many counteractions of opposing habits, she had certainly been _more_ attached to him than could have been expected, and for his sake been more near doing right. Fanny thought exactly the same; and they were also quite agreed in their opinion of the lasting98 effect, the indelible impression, which such a disappointment must make on his mind. Time would undoubtedly abate99 somewhat of his sufferings, but still it was a sort of thing which he never could get entirely the better of; and as to his ever meeting with any other woman who could-- it was too impossible to be named but with indignation. Fanny's friendship was all that he had to cling to.
家里那三个人真够可怜的，他们人人都觉得自己最可怜。不过，诺里斯太太由于对玛丽亚感情最深，真正最伤心的还应该是她。她最喜欢玛丽亚，对她也最亲，她一手策划了她的那门亲事，而且总是以此为骄傲，沾沾自喜地向人夸耀。现在出现这样一个结局，简直让她无法承受。
她完全换了个人，少言寡语，稀里糊涂，对周围什么事都漠不关心。由她来照顾妹妹和外甥，掌管整个家务，这本是她难得的机会，现在却完全错失了。她已经不能指挥，不能支使别人，甚至认为自己没有用了。当灾难临头的时候，她就会失去原有的主动性，无论是伯特伦夫人还是汤姆，都丝毫得不到她的帮助，她也压根儿不想去帮助他们。她对他们的帮助，还没有他们之间的互相帮助来得多。他们三人都一样孤寂，一样无奈，一样可怜。现在别人来了，她越发成了最凄惨的人。她的两个同伴减轻了痛苦，而她却没有得到任何好处。伯特伦夫人欢迎范妮，汤姆几乎同样欢迎埃德蒙。可是诺里斯太太，不仅从他们两人身上得不到安慰，而且凭着心中的一团无名怒火，还把其中一人视为制造这起祸端的恶魔，见到她越发感到恼怒。假如范妮早答应了克劳福德先生，也就不会出这样的事。
苏珊也是她的眼中钉，一看见她就反感，觉得她是个密探，是个闯入者，是个穷外甥女，要怎么讨厌就怎么讨厌。但是，苏珊却受到另一个姨妈不声不响的友好接待。伯特伦夫人不能在她身上花很多时间，也不会跟她讲多少话，但她觉得她既是范妮的妹妹，就有权利住到曼斯菲尔德，她还真愿意亲吻她、喜欢她。苏珊感到非常满意，因为她来的时候就完全做好了思想准备，知道诺里斯姨妈不会给她好脸色看。她在这里真觉得快活，也特别幸运，可以避开许多令人不快的事，即使别人对她再冷淡，她也承受得住。
现在她有大量的时间可以自己支配，尽可能地去熟悉大宅和庭园，日子过得非常快活，而那些本可以关照她的人却关在屋内，各自围着那个这时需要他们安慰的人忙碌。埃德蒙在尽力宽慰哥哥，借以抛开自己的痛苦。范妮在悉心伺候伯特伦姨妈，以比以往更大的热情，做起了以往常做的事务，觉得姨妈这么需要她，自己做得再多也是应该的。
跟范妮讲讲那件可怕的事情，讲一讲，伤心一阵，这是伯特伦夫人仅有的一点安慰。她所能得到的全部安慰，就是有人听她说，受得了她，说过之后又能听到体贴同情的声音。并不存在其他的安慰方式。这件事没有安慰的余地。伯特伧夫人虽然考虑问题不往深处想，但是在托马斯爵士的指导下，她对所有的重大问题还是看得准的。因此，她完全明白这件事的严重性，既不想认为这不是什么大不了的罪行和丑事，也不想让范妮来开导她。
她对儿女的感情并不强烈，她的思想也不执拗。过了一段时间之后，范妮发现，把她的思绪往别的问题上引，使她重新唤起对日常事务的兴趣，并非是不可能的。但是，每次伯特伦夫人一把心思撂在这件事上，她只从一个角度看待这件事：觉得自己丢掉了一个女儿，家门的耻辱永远洗刷不掉。
范妮从她那里获悉了业已公诸于世的详情细节。姨妈讲起话来不是很有条理，但是借助她和托马斯爵士的几封来往信件，她自己已经了解的情况，以及合理的分析能力，她便很快如愿掌握了这件事的全部情况。
拉什沃思太太去了特威克纳姆，跟她刚刚熟悉的一家人一起过复活节。这家人性情活泼，风度讨人喜欢，大概在道德和规矩上也彼此相投，克劳福德先生一年四季常到这家来做客。克劳福德先生就在这附近，范妮早已知道。这时，拉什沃思先生去了巴斯，在那里陪他母亲几天，然后把母亲带回伦敦，玛丽亚便不拘形迹地跟那些朋友一起厮混，甚至连朱莉娅都不在场。朱莉娅早在两三个星期之前就离开了温普尔街，到托马斯爵士的一家亲戚那里去了。据她父母现在估计，她所以要去那里，可能为了便于接触耶茨先生。拉什沃思夫妇回到温普尔街之后不久，托马斯爵士便收到一位住在伦敦的特别要好的老朋友的来信。这位老朋友在那里耳闻目睹许多情况，感到大为震惊，便写信建议托马斯爵士亲自到伦敦来，运用他的影响制止女儿与克劳福德先生之间的亲密关系。这种关系已给玛丽亚招来了非议，显然也引起了拉什沃思先生的不安。
托马斯爵士准备接受信中的建议，但却没有向家里任何人透露信中的内容。正在准备动身的时候，他又收到了一封信。这封信是同一位朋友用快递发来的，向他透露说，这两个年轻人的关系已发展到几乎不可救药的地步。拉什沃思太太已经离开了她丈夫的家。拉什沃思先生极为气愤，极为痛苦，来找他（哈丁先生）出主意。哈丁先生担心，至少会有非常严重的不轨行为。拉什沃思老太太的女仆把话说得还要吓人。哈丁先生想尽力掩盖，希望拉什沃思太太还会回来。但是，拉什沃思先生的母亲在温普尔街不断施加影响，非把这事张扬出去，因此要有思想准备，可能会出现极坏的结果。
这一可怕的消息没法瞒住家里的其他人。托马斯爵士动身了。埃德蒙将要和他一起去。留在家里的人个个惶惶不安，后来又收到伦敦的几封来信，弄得他们更加愁苦不堪。这时，事情已经完全张扬开了，毫无挽回的余地了。拉什沃思老太太的女仆掌握了一些情况，而且有女主人为她撑腰，是不会保持沉默的。原来老太太和少奶奶到一起没过几天，便彼此不和。也许，老太太所以如此记恨儿媳妇，差不多一半是气她不尊重她个人，一半是气她瞧不起她儿子。
不管怎么说，谁都奈何不了她。不过，即使她不那么固执，即使她对她那个总是谁最后跟他讲话，谁抓住了他，不让他说话，他就听谁摆布的儿子没有那么大的影响，事情依然毫无希望，因为拉什沃思太太没再出现，而且有充分的理由断定，她和克劳福德先生一起躲到哪里去了。就在她出走的那一天，克劳福德先生借口去旅行，也离开了他叔叔家。
但托马斯爵士还是在伦敦多住了几天。尽管女儿已经名誉扫地，他还是希望找到她，不让她进一步堕落。
他目前的状况，范妮简直不忍去想。他的几个孩子中，眼下只有一个没有成为他痛苦的源泉。汤姆听到妹妹的行为后深受打击，病情大大加重，康复的希望更加渺茫，连伯特伦夫人都明显地看出了他的变化，她把她的惊恐定期写信告诉丈夫。朱莉娅的私奔是伯特伦爵士到了伦敦之后受到的又一打击，虽然打击的力量当时并不觉得那么沉重，但是范妮知道，势必给姨父造成剧烈的痛苦。她看得出来就是这样的。姨父的来信表明他多么为之痛心。在任何情况下，这都不是一桩令人称心的婚事，何况他们又是偷偷摸摸结合的，又选择了这么个时候来完成，这就把朱莉娅置于极为不利的地步，充分显示了她的愚不可及。托马斯爵士把她的行为称做在最糟糕的时刻，以最糟糕的方式，所做的一件糟糕的事情。尽管比起玛丽亚来，朱莉娅相对可以宽恕一些，正如愚蠢较之罪恶可以宽恕一些一样，但是他觉得朱莉娅既然走出了这一步，那她极有可能以后也得到姐姐那样的结局。这就是他对女儿落得这个下场的看法。
范妮极其同情姨父。除了埃德蒙，他没有别的安慰。其他几个孩子要把他的心撕裂。她相信，他和诺里斯太太考虑问题的方法不同，原来对她的不满，这下可要烟消云散了。事实证明她没有错。克劳福德先生的行为表明，她当初拒绝他是完全正确的。不过，这虽然对她来说是至关重要的，但对托马斯爵士来说未必是个安慰。姨父的不满使她深感害怕，可是她被证明是正确的，她对他的感激和情意，对他又有什么意义呢？他肯定是把埃德蒙视为他的唯一安慰。
然而，她认为埃德蒙现在不会给父亲带来痛苦，那是估计错了。他引起的痛苦，只不过没有其他孩子引起的那么激烈罢了。托马斯爵士在为埃德蒙的幸福着想，认为他的幸福深受他妹妹和朋友的行为的影响，他和他一直在追求的那位姑娘的关系势必会因此中断，尽管他无疑很爱那位姑娘，并且极有可能获得成功，如果这位姑娘不是有那么个卑鄙的哥哥，从各方面来看，这桩婚事还很合适。在伦敦的时候，做父亲的就知道埃德蒙除了家入的痛苦之外，还有自身的痛苦。他看出了，或者说猜到了他的心事，有理由断定他和克劳福德小姐见过一次面，这次见面只是进一步增加了埃德蒙的痛苦，做父亲的基于这个考虑，也基于其他考虑，急于想让儿子离开伦敦，叫他接范妮回家照顾姨妈，这不仅对大家有好处，对埃德蒙自己也有好处，能减轻他的痛苦。范妮不知道姨父内心的秘密，托马斯爵士不了解克劳福德小姐的为人。假若他了解她对他儿子都说了些什么，他就不会希望他儿子娶她，尽管她的两万英镑财产已经成了四万英镑。
埃德蒙与克劳福德小姐从此永远一刀两断，范妮觉得这是毋庸置疑的事。然而，在她没有弄清埃德蒙也有同感之前，她还有些信心不足。她认为他有同样看法，但是她需要弄个确切。他以前对她无话不谈，有时使她受不了，他现在若能像以前那样对她推心置腹，那对她将是极大的安慰。但是，她发现这是很难做到的。她很少见到他——一次也没有单独见到他——大概他是在回避和她单独见面。这意味着什么呢？这意味家中不幸，他忍受着一份独特的痛苦，而且创巨痛深，没有心思跟人说话。这还意味深感事情不光彩，不愿向人泄露丝毫。他一定处于这种状况。他接受了命运的安排，但他是怀着难言的痛苦接受的。要让他重提克劳福德小姐的名字，或者范妮想要重新和他推心置腹地交谈，那要等到遥远的将来。
这种状况果然持续了很长时间。他们是星期四到达曼斯菲尔德的，直到星期日晚上埃德蒙才和她谈起这个问题。星期天晚上——一个阴雨的星期天晚上，在这种时刻，谁和朋友在一起，都会敞开心扉，无话不讲——他们坐在屋里，除了母亲之外，再无别人在场，而母亲在听完一段令人感动的布道之后，已经哭着睡着了。在这种情况下，两人不可能一直不言不语。于是，他像平常一样，先来了段开场白，简直搞不清他要先说什么，然后又像平常一样，宣称他的话很短，只求她听儿分钟，以后决不会以同样的方式叨扰她——她不用担心他会旧话重提——那个话题决不能再谈。他欣然谈起了对他来说至关重要的情况与想法，他深信会得到她的真挚同情。
范妮听起来多么好奇，多么关切，带着什么样的痛苦，什么样的喜悦，如何关注他激动的声音，两眼如何小心翼翼地回避他，这一切都是可想而知的。他一开口就让她吃了一惊。他见到了克劳福德小姐。他是应邀去看她的。斯托诺韦夫人给他来信，求他去一趟。心想这是最后一次友好见面，同时想到身为克劳福德的妹妹，她会深感羞愧，不胜可怜，于是他怀着缠绵多情的心去了，范妮顿时觉得这不可能是最后一次。但是，随着他往下讲，她的顾虑打消了。他说她见到他的时候，神情很严肃——的确很严肃——甚至很激动。但是，还没等埃德蒙说完一句话，她就扯起了一个话题，埃德蒙承认为之一惊。“‘我听说你来到了伦敦，’她说，‘我想见到你。让我们谈谈这件令人伤心的事。我们的两个亲人蠢到什么地步啊？’我无以应对，但我相信我的眼神在说话。她感到我对她的话不满。有时候人有多么敏感啊！她以更加严肃的神情和语气说：‘我不想为亨利辩护，把责任推到你妹妹身上。’她是这样开始的，但是下面都说了些什么，范妮，可不便于——简直不便于学给你听。我想不起她的原话，就是想得起来，也不去细说了。她主要是憎恨那两个人愚蠢。她骂她哥哥傻，不该受一个他瞧不上的女人的勾引，去干那样的勾当，结果要失去他爱慕的那个女人。不过，可怜的玛丽亚还要傻，人家早已表明对她无意，她还以为人家真正爱她，放着这样的好光景不要，却陷入了这般的困境。你想想我心里是什么滋味吧。听听那个女人——只是不痛不痒地说了个‘傻’！这么随意，这么轻巧，这么轻描淡写！没有一点羞怯，没有一点惊恐，没有一点女人气——是否可以说？没有一点起码的憎恶感！这是这个世界造成的。范妮，我们到哪里还能找到一个女人有她这样天生的优越条件呀？给带坏了，带坏了啊！”
略加思索之后，他带着一种绝望的冷静继续说道：“我把一切都告诉你，以后就永远不再提了。她只是把那看做一件傻事，而且只是因为暴露了，才称其为傻事。缺乏应有的谨慎，缺乏警惕——她在特威克纳姆的时候，他不该一直住在里士满，她不该让一个佣人操纵自己。总之，是让人发现了。噢！范妮，她责骂的是让人发现了，而不是他们做的坏事。她说这是贸然行事，走上了极端，逼着她哥哥放弃更好的计划，跟她一起逃走。”
他停下来了。“那么，”范妮认为对方需要自己讲话，便问道，“你能怎么说呢？”
“什么也没说的，什么也不清楚。我当时像是被打晕了一样。她继续往下说，说起了你。是的，她接着说起了你，极其惋惜失去了这样一位——她说起你的时候，倒是很有理智。不过，她对你一直是公道的。‘他抛弃了这样一个女人，’她说，‘再也不会碰到第二个了。她会治得住他，会使他一辈子幸福。’最亲爱的范妮，事情都过去了，我还给你讲那本来有希望，可现在永远不可能的事情，是希望使你高兴，而不是使你痛苦。你不想让我闭口无言吧？如果你想让我住口，只需看我一眼，或者说一声，我就再不说了。”
范妮既没看他，也没做声。
“感谢上帝，”埃德蒙说，“我们当初都想不通，但现在看来，这是上帝仁慈的安排，使老实人不吃亏。她对你感情很深，讲起你来赞不绝口。不过，即使这里面也有不纯的成分，夹杂着一点恶毒，因为她讲着讲着就会惊叫道：‘她为什么不肯答应他？这完全是她的错。傻丫头！我永远不会原谅她。她要是理所应当地答应了他，他们现在或许就要结婚了，亨利就会多么幸福、多么忙，根本不会再找别人。他就不会再费劲去和拉什沃思太太恢复来往。以后每年在索瑟顿和埃弗灵厄姆举行舞会的时候，两人只不过调调情而已。’你能想到会有这种事吗？不过，魔力绐戳穿了。我的眼睁开了。”
“冷酷！”范妮说。“真是冷酷！在这种时刻还要寻开心，讲轻佻话，而且是说给你听！冷酷至极。”
“你说这是冷酷吗？在这一点上我跟你看法不同。不，她生性并不冷酷。我认为她并非有意要伤害我的感情。问题的症结隐藏得还要深。她不知道，也没想到我会这样想，出于一种反常的心态，觉得像她这样看待这个问题是理所当然。她所以这样说话，只是由于听惯了别人这样说，由于照她的想象别人都会这样说。她不是性情上有毛病。她不会故意给任何人造成不必要的痛苦。虽说我可能看不准，但我认为她不会故意来伤害我，伤害我的感情。范妮，她的过错是原则上的过错，是不知道体谅人，是思想上的腐蚀堕落。也许对我来说，能这样想最好，因为这样一来，我就不怎么遗憾了。然而，事实并非如此。我宁愿忍受失去她的更大痛苦，也不愿像现在这样把她往坏处想。我对她这样说了。”
“是吗？”
“是的，我离开她的时候对她这样说了。”
“你们在一起待了多长时间？”
“二十五分钟。她接着说，现在要做的是促成他们两个结婚。范妮，她说这话的时候，口气比我还坚定。”他不得不顿了几顿，才接着说下去。“‘我们必须说服亨利和她结婚，’她说，‘为了顾全体面，同时又知道范妮决不会再跟他，我想他是有可能同意的。他必须放弃范妮。我想就连他自己也明白，像这样的姑娘他现在也娶不上了，因此我看不会有什么大不了的困难。我的影响还是不小的，我要全力促成这件事。一旦结了婚，她自己那个体面的家庭再给她适当的支持，她在社会上就可以多少重新站得住脚了。我们知道，有些圈子是永远不会接受她的，但是只要备上好酒好菜，把人请得多一些，总会有人愿意和她结交的。毫无疑问，在这种问题上人们会比以前更能宽容，更加坦率。我的意见是，你父亲要保持沉默。不要让他去干预毁了自己的前程。劝他听其自然。如果他强行干预，引得女儿脱离了亨利的保护，亨利娶她的可能性就大大减少，还不如让她跟着亨利。我知道如何能让他接受劝告。让托马斯爵士相信他还顾惜体面，还有同情心，一切都会有个好的结局。但他若是把女儿拉走，那就把解决问题的主要依托给毁了。”’
埃德蒙说了这席话之后，情绪受到很大影响，范妮一声不响地非常关切地望着他，后悔不该谈起这个话题。埃德蒙很久没再讲话，最后才说：“范妮，我快说完了。我把她说的主要内容都告诉了你。我一得到说话的机会，便对她说我没想到，我以这样的心情走进这座房子，会遇到使我更加痛苦的事情，可是几乎她的每一句话都给我造成了更深的创伤。我还说，虽然在我们认识的过程中，我常常意识到我们有些意见分歧，对某些比较重大的问题也有意见分歧，但我从来没有想到我们的分歧会有这么大。她以那样的态度对待她哥哥和我妹妹所犯的可怕罪行（他们两个究竟谁应负主要责任，我也不妄加评论），可她是怎么谈论这一罪行的，骂来骂去没有一句骂得在理的，她认为对于这一罪行的恶劣后果，只能用不正当的、无耻的办法，或者坚决顶住，或者坚决平息下去。最后，尤其不应该的是，她建议我们委曲求全、妥协、默认，任罪恶继续下去，以求他们能结婚。根据我现在对她哥哥的看法，对这样的婚姻，我们不是要求，而是要制止。这一切使我痛心地意识到，我以前一直不了解她，而就心灵而言，我多少个月来总在眷恋的只是我想象中的一个人，而不是这个克劳福德小姐。这也许对我再好不过。我可以少感到一些遗憾，因为无论如何，我现在肯定失去了对她的友谊、情意和希望，然而，我必须承认，假如我能恢复她原来在我心目中的形象，以便继续保持住对她的爱和敬重，我绝对情愿增加失去她的痛苦。这就是我当时说的话，或者说是我说的话的大意。不过，你可以想象得到，我当时说这些话的时候，不像现在说给你听这样镇定，也没有现在这样有条理。她感到惊讶，万分震惊——还不仅仅是惊讶。我看见她脸色变了。她满脸通红。我想我看出她的心情极其复杂，她在竭力挣扎，不过时间很短，一边想向真理投降，一边又感到羞愧，不过习惯，习惯占了上风。她若是笑得出来，准会大笑一场。她勉强笑了笑，一边答道：‘真是一篇很好的讲演呀。这是你最近一次布道的部分内容吧？照这样发展下去，你很快就会把曼斯菲尔德和桑顿莱西的每个人改造过来。我下一次听你讲的时候，你可能已成为公理会哪个大教区的杰出传教士，要不就是一个派往海外的传教士。’她说这话时尽量装出一副满不在乎的样子，但她心里并不像她外表装的那样满不在乎。我只回答说我衷心地祝她走运，诚挚地希望她不久能学会公正地看问题，不要非得通过惨痛的教训才能学到我们人人都可以学到的最宝贵的知识——了解自己，也了解自己的责任，说完我就走了出去。我刚走了几步，范妮，就听到背后开门的声音。‘伯特伦先生，’她说。我回头望去。‘伯特伦先生，’她笑着说，但是她这笑与刚才的谈话很不协调，是一种轻浮的嬉皮笑脸的笑，似乎在逗引我，为的是制服我，至少我觉得是这样的。我加以抵制，那是一时冲动之下的抵制，只管继续往外走。从那以后——有时候——我会突然一阵子——后悔我当时没有回去。不过我知道，我那样做是对的。我们的交情就这样结束了！这算什么交情啊！我上了多么大的当啊！上了那个哥哥的当，也同样上了那个妹妹的当！我感谢你耐心听我讲，范妮。说出来心里痛快多了，以后再也不讲这件事了。
范妮对他这话深信不疑，以为他们真的再也不讲这件事了。可是刚过了五分钟，又谈起了这件事，或者说几乎又谈起了这件事，直到伯特伦夫人彻底醒来，谈话才终于结束。在此之前，他们一直在谈论克劳福德小姐：她多么让埃德蒙着迷，她生性多么招人喜欢，要是早一点落到好人手里，她该会有多么好。范妮现在可以畅所欲言了，觉得自己义不容辞地要让表哥多了解一下克劳福德小姐的真面目，便向他暗示说：她所以愿意彻底和解，与他哥哥的健康状况有很大关系。这可是个不大容易接受的暗示。感情上难免要抵制一番。若是把克劳福德小姐的感情看得无私一些，那心里会感到惬意多了。但是，埃德蒙的虚荣心并非很强，对理智的抵挡没有坚持多久。他接受了范妮的看法，认为汤姆的病情左右了她态度的转变。他只给自己保留了一个可以聊以自慰的想法：考虑到不同习惯造成的种种矛盾，克劳福德小姐对他的爱确实超出了可以指望的程度，就因为他的缘故，她才没怎么偏离正道。范妮完全同意他的看法。他们还一致认为，这样的打击必然给埃德蒙心里留下不可磨灭的印象，难以消除的影响。时间无疑会减轻他的一些痛苦，但是这种事情要彻底忘却是不可能的。至于说再和哪个别的女人要好，那是完全不可能的，一提就让他生气。他只需要范妮的友谊。
收听单词发音 |
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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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contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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indigent
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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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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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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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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transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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counteracted
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| 对抗，抵消( counteract的过去式 ) | |
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apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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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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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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clandestinely
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| adv.秘密地，暗中地 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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38
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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41
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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42
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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48
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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49
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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50
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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51
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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52
renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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53
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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54
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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55
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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56
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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57
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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59
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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60
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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61
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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62
canvass
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| v.招徕顾客，兜售；游说；详细检查，讨论 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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64
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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66
retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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67
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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68
guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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alloy
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| n.合金，(金属的)成色 | |
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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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71
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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72
perversion
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| n.曲解；堕落；反常 | |
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73
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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74
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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75
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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76
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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77
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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78
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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79
inflicting
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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80
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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81
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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82
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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83
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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84
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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85
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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86
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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87
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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88
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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89
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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90
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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91
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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92
subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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93
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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94
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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95
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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96
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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98
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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