So much of strange incident had crowded with action the long years of my life in London, that, as I walked from the station down into the old cathedral town, a feeling of wonder was on me that the hand of time had dealt so gently with the landmarks1 of my youth. Here were the same old gates and churches and houses I had known, unaltered unless for an additional film of the fragrant2 lichen3 of age. The very ruins of the ancient castle and palace were stone by stone such as I remembered them.
There was frost in the air, too; so that sometimes, as I moved dreamily onward4, a sense as if all that gap of vivid life were a vanished vision and unreality moved strongly in me. Then it seemed that presently I should saunter into the old mill to find my father and Zyp and Jason sitting down as usual to the midday meal.
My appearance was so changed that none of all who would formerly5 have somewhat sourly acknowledged my passing with a nod now recognized me.
Suddenly I caught sight of Dr. Crackenthorpe, moving on in front of me in company with another man. The doctor was no more altered than his surroundings, judged at least by his back view. This presented the same long rusty6 coat of a chocolate color—relic of a bygone generation, I always thought—cut after a slightly sporting fashion, which he wore in all my memory of him throughout the winter; half-Wellington boots, into which the ends of his trousers were tucked, and a flat-topped, hard felt hat, under the brim of which his lank7 tails of brick-colored hair fell in dry, thin tassels8.
The man he walked with seemed old and bent9, and he moved with a spiritless, hesitating step that appeared to cause the other some impatience10.
I was so far from claiming knowledge of this second person that, when he turned his head aside a moment to gaze upon something as I came near, it was with a most painful shock that I discovered it to be my father.
I hurried up, calling to him. He gave a great start—they both did—and turned round to meet me.
Then I was terribly taken aback to see the change that had come over him. He, whom four years ago I had left hale, self-reliant, powerful in body and intellect, was to all appearance a halting and decrepit11 old man, in whom the worst sign was the senile indecision of his eyes.
He came at me, holding out both his hands in welcome with trembling eagerness, and I was much moved to see some glint of tears furrowing12 his cheeks.
“Renalt, my boy—Renalt, my boy!” he cried in a gladsome, thin voice, and that was all; for he could find words for no more, but stood looking up in my face—I topped him now—with a half-searching, half-deprecating earnestness of perusal13.
“Well, dad,” I answered, cheerfully—for I would give no hint of surprise before the other—“you said ‘come,’ and here I am.”
“A brave fellow—a brown, strong man!” He was feeling me over as he spoke—running his thumb down the sinews of my hands—pinching the firm arm in my sleeve.
“A strong man, my boy,” he said. “I bred him—he’s my son—I was the same myself once.”
“You find your father altered—eh, Mr. Bookbinder?”
“If he is at all, doctor, it’s nothing that won’t improve on a little management and wholesome14 company.”
“Well, he’s had plenty of mine.”
“Then his state’s accounted for,” I said.
The long man looked at me with an expression not pleasant.
“Ay,” he said. “There’s the old spirit forward again. We’ve done very well without it since the last of the fry took themselves off.”
“It’s not company you batten on, doctor,” I said. “But loneliness breeds other evils than coin-collecting.”
“I mustn’t forget my manners to a London rattle,” he said. “No doubt you pride yourself on a very pretty wit, sir. But while you talk my lunch grows cold; so I’ll even take the liberty of wishing you good-morning.”
He walked off, snapping his fingers on either side of him.
When he was gone, I took my father’s arm and passed it through mine.
“Strong boy,” he said, affectionately—then whispered in my ear: “That’s a terrible man, Renalt! Be careful before you offend him.”
I looked at him in startled wonder. This was not how he was used to speak.
“I hold him as cheap as any other dog,” said I.
He patted my hand with a little sigh of comfortable admiration16.
“I want you at home,” he said, “all to myself. I’m glad that you’ve come, Renalt. It’s lonely in the old mill nowadays.”
As we walked, my heart was filled with remorseful17 pondering over the wrecked18 figure at my side. Why had I never known of this change in it? What had caused it, indeed? Gloomy, sinister19 remembrances of my one-time suspicion of some nameless hold that the doctor had over my father stirred in me and woke a deep anger against fate. Were we all of us, for no fault of our own, to be forever stunted20 in our lives and oppressed by the malign21 influence of the place that had given us birth? It was hateful and monstrous22. What fight could a human being show against foes23 who shot their poison from places beyond the limits of his understanding?
A trifle more aged24 looking—a trifle more crazy and dark and weather-stained—the old mill looked to my returning vision, and that was all. The atmosphere of the place was cold and eerie25 and haunted as ever.
But a great feast awaited the returned prodigal26. The sitting-room27 table fairly sparkled with unwonted dainties of the season, and a red fire crackled on the hearth28.
My father pressed me into a chair; he heaped good things upon my plate; he could not do enough to prove the warmth of his welcome and the pathos29 of loneliness that underlay30 it.
“Here’s to my strong son!” he cried, pledging me gayly in a glass of weak wine and water; “my son that I’m feasting for all the doctor—for all the doctor, I say!”
“The doctor, dad?”
“He wouldn’t have had it, Renalt. He said it was throwing pearls before swine and most wicked waste. I wouldn’t listen to him this time—not I.”
“Why, what has he got to do with it?”
“He’s a secret man,” he whispered, “and the mill’s as full of ears as a king’s palace.”
I made no answer, but went on with my meal, though I had much ado to swallow it; but to please my father I made a great show of enjoying what was put before me.
One thing I noticed with satisfaction, and that was that my father drank sparingly and that only of wine watered to insipidity32. Indeed, I was to find that a complete change in him in this respect was not the least marvelous sign of the strange alteration33 in his temperament34.
The meal over, we drew our chairs to the fire, and talked the afternoon away on desultory35 subjects. By and by some shadowy spirit of his old intellectual self seemed to flash and flicker36 fitfully through his conversation.
The afternoon deepened into dusk; strange phantoms37, wrought38 of the leaping flame, came out of corners or danced from wall to ceiling and were gone. He was in the midst of a fine flow of words descriptive of some metaphysical passages he had lately encountered in a book, when his voice trailed off and died away. He crept to me and whispered in my ear: “He’s there, behind the door!”
I jumped to my feet, rushed across the room and—met Dr. Crackenthorpe on the threshold.
“Can’t you come in like a decent visitor?” I cried, stamping my foot on the floor.
“Why, what’s all this?” he said. “I walked straight up the stairs, as a body should.”
“You made no noise,” I said, black and wrathful. “What right have you to prowl into a private house in that fashion?”
For a moment his face fell menacing. But it cleared—if such may express the lightening of those muddy features—almost immediately.
“Here’s a fine reception!” he cried, “for one who comes to greet the returned prodigal in all good comradeship; and to an old friend, too!”
“You were never ours,” I muttered.
He plucked a bottle of gin from under his arm, where he had been carrying it.
“Your father has given up the pernicious habit,” he said, with a grin, “but I thought, perhaps, he’d break his rule for once on such a stupendous occasion as this. Let us pledge you in a full bumper40, Mr. Renalt.”
“Pledge whom you like,” I answered, surlily, “but don’t ask a return from me. I don’t drink spirit.”
“Then you miss a very exquisite41 and esthetic42 pleasure, I may say. Try it this only time. Glasses, Mr. Trender.”
I saw my father waver, and guessed this unwonted liberality on the part of the doctor was calculated to some end of his own. In an access of rage I seized the full bottle and spun43 it with all my might against the wooden wall of the room. It crashed into a thousand flying splinters, and the pungent44 liquor flooded the floor beneath.
For an instant the doctor stood quite dumfounded, and went all the colors of the prism. Then he walked very gently to the door and turned on the threshold.
“You were always an unlicked cub,” he said, softly, “but this transcends45 all your past pleasantries.”
“I mean it too,” I said, still in a towering passion. “I intend it as a hint that you had best keep away from here. I’ve no cause to remember you with love, and from this time, understand, you’ve no claim of friendship upon this household.”
“I will remember,” he said. “I always do. Perhaps I’ve another sort of claim, though. Who knows?”
I looked at my father. He was sitting, his hands clasping the elbows of his chair, with a wild, lost look upon his face.
“What have you done?” he whispered. “Renalt, what have you done? We are in that man’s power to ruin us at a word!”
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1
landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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2
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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3
lichen
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| n.地衣, 青苔 | |
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4
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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6
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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7
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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8
tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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9
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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12
furrowing
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的现在分词 ) | |
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13
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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14
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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15
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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16
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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17
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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19
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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20
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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malign
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| adj.有害的；恶性的；恶意的；v.诽谤，诬蔑 | |
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22
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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23
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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24
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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25
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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28
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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29
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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30
underlay
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| v.位于或存在于（某物）之下( underlie的过去式 )；构成…的基础（或起因），引起n.衬垫物 | |
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31
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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32
insipidity
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| n.枯燥无味，清淡，无精神；无生气状 | |
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33
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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34
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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36
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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37
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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38
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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40
bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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41
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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42
esthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的；悦目的，雅致的 | |
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43
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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44
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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45
transcends
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的第三人称单数 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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46
Mandarin
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| n.中国官话，国语，满清官吏；adj.华丽辞藻的 | |
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