For a moment he could do nothing but gaze at the ring, busy with his urgent thoughts. He could not yet wonder how the ring had come there, upon p. 184this lonely road from dale to dale. Behind him the road was white, narrowing through the heather, unshadowed by any tree. To right and left of him the moor stretched in purple masses until it darkened at the sky line. In front, the road began already to decline for the steep descent into Wensleydale. The grass could be seen ahead of him; and beyond it, far in the burning mist of the late afternoon, he saw gleaming, like quicksilver, a sheet of water. The wind came at that great height in powerful gusts8, freshening the air, pressing warmly against his face and hands as pleasantly as water presses against the swimmer. No other person was in sight upon the moor: he was alone, with Evelyn’s ring in his hand, and poignant9 memories assailing10 him.
Calderon’s love for his wife had been as intense and as true as any love could be. Her love for him, more capricious, more ardent11, had been as great. Yet in the fifth year of their marriage, such was the conflict of two strong personalities12, they had quarreled vehemently13, and had parted. Both had independent means, and both had many activities. Calderon had been working very hard for two years since the quarrel, and they had not met. The two or three letters exchanged early in their estrangement14 had never suggested a continued correspondence; and although he knew that his wife had been living in the eastern counties, Calderon had now no idea at all of her whereabouts. How strange that he should find upon this lonely road that precious ring! Engraved15 within it he read: “Evelyn: Maurice”—the inscription16 she had desired. Calderon sighed, slipping the ring into his pocket, and thoughtfully continuing upon p. 185his way. Was Evelyn before him, or behind him? Who could tell? They had never been together to Yorkshire. He most go as a blind man.
Then the question came to him: if they met, what had he to say to her? He knew no more of his journey down into Wensleydale, for the passionate17 unreasonings that overwhelmed him.
And then, when he was arrived in the little village to which the road over the moor leads, he again hesitated. So much depended upon his action. He must find Evelyn this evening, for his return to London was urgent. Already the shadows were growing long, and the evening was heavy. Which way should he go? Upon his choice might depend the whole course of his future life. For a few moments he halted, irresolute18. Then he went slowly forward to the first inn he saw, his fingers playing in his waistcoat pocket with the little ring that had suddenly plunged19 him into the past. He thought it certain that the loss of it was accidental. She would not have kept the ring for so long, and she could not have brought it with her to Yorkshire, if she had intended to throw it away forever. And yet how came it upon the moorland road?
Calderon stopped outside the comfortable inn. It attracted him; but, as though he had put some kind of reliance upon telepathy, he felt sure that Evelyn was not there. Should he enter, make inquiry20? No; he knew she was not there. His steps led him forward. As if he were trying to follow some invisible thread, he went onward21, pausing no more, through the village, over to the other side of the dale, marveling at the heavy outline of Mount Caburn, silhouetted22 against the sky. He p. 186found himself upon a good road, with hedges on both sides. It was an adventure. He was following the bidding of his instinct. He did not really believe in it, Calderon told himself; it was too silly. There would be a disappointment, a sense of having been “sold”; and the morning would find him unsatisfied, with his single opportunity gone. Yet even while his thoughts poured doubt upon his action he was pursuing his way at a regular pace. How curious it was! It was as though there were two Calderons—one brain, the other overmastering instinct.
“You’ll see,” he warned himself. “Nothing will happen. You’ll have an uncomfortable night, and a trudge23 back in the morning. It’s no good. No good!”
Yet he continued upon his way beside the silent hedges, his knapsack upon his shoulder, his arms swinging, and the silver ring hidden in his waistcoat pocket.
It was quite dark when he reached Bainbridge. He knew well the aspect of the open common, because he had passed through it a dozen years before, and the place is unforgettable. There was a large green, he remembered, and the houses hedged the green, as they did at East Witton. He smiled at the memory and at the comparison. Yorkshire held such variety of scene, from east to west, that he could pick from among old associations a pleasant thought of every part of it. And here at Bainbridge he knew there was an old inn, quiet and spacious24, where he might find Evelyn. She was not one to seek the smaller inns such as he would himself have chosen: she would endure the discomforts25 of loquacious26 companionship rather p. 187than those of primitive27 bathing arrangements. Had it not, then, been instinct which had led him here? Had it perhaps been a subconscious28 guessing at her inclinations29? Calderon could not discuss that now. He was here; it was too late to go farther; he must endure whatever disappointment might be in store for him.
A bedroom was available; he was supplied with hot water, and he groomed30 himself as well as his small store of belongings31 allowed. Whimsically he foresaw a number of women in semi-evening dress, one or two men in suitably dark clothes, himself the only palpable “tourist.” There would be a solitary32 meal, as dinner time was past; and he would then seek among the company the owner of the silver ring. Calderon found himself laughing rather excitedly, even trembling slightly. Well, he would see what happened. He ventured down the stairs, nervously33 grinning at the thought that Evelyn might appear from any one of the doors along that silent passage.
When he reached the foot of the stairs he went instinctively34 to the door, to watch the two or three faint, sudden lights that started across the green out of a general blackness. It was a very dark night; clouds had come swiftly from the southwest, and the sky was entirely35 hidden. There was a wind, and he thought that as soon as it dropped the rain might begin to patter.
And then, while he was thus prophesying36 the weather, Calderon was held to the spot by a new sensation. Within, from some room which he had not entered, came an unknown voice, singing. The voice was sweet, but he did not listen; only the air that was sung made him follow the voice, words p. 188forming in his mind, as though he were himself singing:
“The little silver ring that once you gave to me
Keeps in its narrow band every promise of ours. . . . ”
Surely he was dreaming! He could not move. The clouds hurried; the darkness enwrapped him. He could not smile at a coincidence, because he could not believe that the song was really being sung. It was too much for him to take in. If Evelyn were there, what could she be feeling, thinking? Calderon was a very honest man, and was considered generally a very cool, unsentimental one; but he was easily moved by the one love of his life. Evelyn was the only woman for him; they were parted; he had found a ring which held just such associations, “memories of the past,” as the song pictured. The ring was more than a ring. It was not merely an ornament37; it was the material sign of their love. Calderon was deeply stirred.
Even as he stood there, not daring to move, he felt that he was not alone. Another figure, a woman’s, stood in the doorway38. He could see her light dress, the whiteness of her neck; and he found himself breathless, suffocated39 by the sudden dénouement to his dream.
“Evelyn!” he whispered, moving at last.
There was a quick recoil40. For a moment it seemed to Calderon that everything was lost, and that he was alone. Then the woman in the doorway stood quite still, breathing quickly, half hidden from him by the doorpost, her face wholly invisible in the murk of the night.
“I didn’t see anybody,” she said unsteadily. p. 189“Who are you?” It seemed an unfamiliar41 voice, rather strangled and more than a little scared.
“Ah! You’re not Evelyn!” Calderon cried. Still he could not see her: only the whiteness glimmered42 before him. “I’m— My name’s Calderon. I beg your pardon. I thought it was my wife.”
“Calderon!” said the voice; and it seemed to him that it was suddenly filled with a new warmth, as of gayety. Then: “How funny!” said the unknown. He seemed to see her head quickly lowered and averted43. Was she smiling? Who could have told, in that foglike darkness? It was as much as he could do to see that she was still before him. But funny? What did that mean?
“Funny?” he exclaimed eagerly. “Is—” He pulled himself up. Here was a complication! If he asked any question, might he not make a new difficulty? He could not ask whether Evelyn was here. He could guess how quickly a story would run through a mischievous44 party of tourists, unrestrained by any real understanding of the situation, and bent45 upon canvassing46 among themselves, merely to beguile47 gaps in a mealtime conversation, the history of an unhappy marriage. He could not expose Evelyn to such a company. So he went no further with his speech.
“Perhaps you’ve heard—” said the voice. “Perhaps you’ve heard of Alice Bradshaw.” She was quite recovered from her shock, and was ready, it appeared to Calderon, to hold him flirtatiously in the doorway. “I’ve known Evelyn for some time—two years.”
“I’ve got an idea—” hesitated Calderon, racking his brains and lying. It was getting worse and worse! How could he go on without showing how p. 190little he knew about Evelyn’s recent movements? He frowned, and smiled nervously on the darkness. He was rather glad of the darkness. “I—it’s possible—”
“But not probable!” said the laughing voice. “Don’t pretend to remember me, if you don’t!”
“Well, I don’t!” admitted Calderon. “And that’s quite true.”
“Honest man!” said the voice. Something made him move forward quickly. The figure disappeared. Calderon, putting his hand instinctively forward to stop her, allowed the little ring to jerk from it.
“Oh!” he cried. “Here, I say!”
He was down upon his knees, fumbling48 on the ground. A match flickered49 on his fingers. He looked quickly up, hoping to see the unknown’s face; but the match was blown out instantly by the strong wind that was pressing and fluttering about him as he knelt.
“What have you dropped?” asked the voice. The mysterious one had reappeared in the doorway.
“A ring!” Calderon said sharply.
“A ring!” There was sympathy in the voice. “What a pity! Let me look.”
He struck another match, and groped about. It was unavailing. The match went out, and beyond a sudden glimpse of the trodden earth he had seen nothing.
“It’s really your fault,” Calderon said to the unknown, “for starting away.”
“Was it on your finger?”
“No. It isn’t mine. It’s a silver ring.”
“A silver—” There was a moment’s startled pause. “Did you hear the song just now?”
p. 191“Yes—Ah!” With the third match he had detected the ring. “Good!”
“Is it your ring?” asked the voice. “I mean . . . Evelyn . . . wears one, doesn’t she?”
“Does she?” Calderon asked drily. “She did.”
“Oh, she—”
“I found it on the moor. This is hers. I brought it—”
Calderon checked himself again. He was rubbing the ring with his handkerchief, in case it had been dirtied.
“How did you know we were here?” said the voice, in a tone of piquant50 curiosity.
“Then—!” cried Calderon, feeling his face get very hot. He could have shouted at this confirmation51 of his most rosy52 hopes. It was with a terrible effort that be restrained himself. “Oh,” he said vaguely53, “one does know.” He heard a real laugh this time, but smothered54, as though the unknown were holding a handkerchief to her mouth.
“Evidently,” she said. “But how does one know?”
“How do you know that Evelyn didn’t tell me?” he parried. He felt it was a master stroke. “You don’t seem to have exhausted55 the possibilities.”
“No, of course. She might have,” admitted the mysterious voice. There was the tiniest silence. “But I don’t think she did. Of course, I don’t know.”
“No, of course,” Calderon politely agreed. “Is she quite well?”
“Oh!” cried the voice, shaking with amusement. “Don’t you know that? Hasn’t she told you that? It’s too bad to keep it from you!”
p. 192“What!” Calderon moved nearer. “She’s not ill!”
“No. I meant that she was well.”
“She tells me very little about herself—very little,” he explained ingeniously. “You’ll have noticed that she doesn’t think of herself at all.”
A dryness came into the tone of his companion.
“You still idealize her, then?” Calderon heard.
“Yes. You see . . . it’s an odd thing,” he went on, “and one doesn’t talk about it. But you see I’m in love with her.”
There was another pause. A significant pause. “I think you’re very forgiving,” at last said a muffled56 voice. “I—”
“What I should like to know,” Calderon answered, as if weighing his words, “is whether she’s also very forgiving.”
“Oh,” said the voice, now very low. “You must ask her that.”
“I do,” Calderon ventured. “Are you?”
“Oh, Maurice, you’re crushing me!” cried the unknown suddenly. “There . . . Alice has finished singing. She’ll be coming. . . . Give me my ring. . . . Oh, my dear; of course I do!”
The ring was restored, to rest in its old position until memory’s course should be run.
Frank Swinnerton.
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收听单词发音
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1
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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memento
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| n.纪念品，令人回忆的东西 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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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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assailing
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| v.攻击( assail的现在分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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12
personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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13
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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15
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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17
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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19
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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20
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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trudge
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| v.步履艰难地走；n.跋涉，费力艰难的步行 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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groomed
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| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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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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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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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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prophesying
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的现在分词 ) | |
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37
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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38
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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39
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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40
recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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41
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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42
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
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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44
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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45
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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46
canvassing
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的现在分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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47
beguile
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| vt.欺骗，消遣 | |
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48
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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49
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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51
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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52
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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53
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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54
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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55
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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56
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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