一双蓝眼睛 英文版 A Pair of Blue Eyes
托马斯.哈代 Thomas Hardy
Chapter XII Page 1
'Adieu! she cries, and waved her lily hand.'
The few tattered clouds of the morning enlarged and united, thesun withdrew behind them to emerge no more that day, and theevening drew to a close in drifts of rain. The water-drops beatlike duck shot against the window of the railway-carriagecontaining Stephen and Elfride.
The journey from Plymouth to Paddington, by even the most headlongexpress, allows quite enough leisure for passion of any sort tocool. Elfride's excitement had passed off, and she sat in a kindof stupor during the latter half of the journey. She was arousedby the clanging of the maze of rails over which they traced theirway at the entrance to the station.
Is this London?' she said.
'Yes, darling,' said Stephen in a tone of assurance he was farfrom feeling. To him, no less than to her, the reality so greatlydiffered from the prefiguring.
She peered out as well as the window, beaded with drops, wouldallow her, and saw only the lamps, which had just been lit,blinking in the wet atmosphere, and rows of hideous zinc chimney-pipes in dim relief against the sky. She writhed uneasily, aswhen a thought is swelling in the mind which must cause much painat its deliverance in words. Elfride had known no more about thestings of evil report than the native wild-fowl knew of theeffects of Crusoe's first shot. Now she saw a little further, anda little further still.
The train stopped. Stephen relinquished the soft hand he had heldall the day, and proceeded to assist her on to the platform.
This act of alighting upon strange ground seemed all that waswanted to complete a resolution within her.
She looked at her betrothed with despairing eyes.
'O Stephen,' she exclaimed, 'I am so miserable! I must go homeagain--I must--I must! Forgive my wretched vacillation. I don'tlike it here--nor myself--nor you!'
Stephen looked bewildered, and did not speak.
'Will you allow me to go home?' she implored. 'I won't troubleyou to go with me. I will not be any weight upon you; only sayyou will agree to my returning; that you will not hate me for it,Stephen! It is better that I should return again; indeed it is,Stephen.'
'But we can't return now,' he said in a deprecatory tone.
'I must! I will!'
'How? When do you want to go?'
'Now. Can we go at once?'
The lad looked hopelessly along the platform.
'If you must go, and think it wrong to remain, dearest,' said hesadly, 'you shall. You shall do whatever you like, my Elfride.But would you in reality rather go now than stay till to-morrow,and go as my wife?'
'Yes, yes--much--anything to go now. I must; I must!' she cried.
'We ought to have done one of two things,' he answered gloomily.'Never to have started, or not to have returned without beingmarried. I don't like to say it, Elfride--indeed I don't; but youmust be told this, that going back unmarried may compromise yourgood name in the eyes of people who may hear of it.'
'They will not; and I must go.'
'O Elfride! I am to blame for bringing you away.'
'Not at all. I am the elder.'
'By a month; and what's that? But never mind that now.' He lookedaround. 'Is there a train for Plymouth to-night?' he inquired ofa guard. The guard passed on and did not speak.
'Is there a train for Plymouth to-night?' said Elfride to another.
'Yes, miss; the 8.10--leaves in ten minutes. You have come to thewrong platform; it is the other side. Change at Bristol into thenight mail. Down that staircase, and under the line.'
They ran down the staircase--Elfride first--to the booking-office,and into a carriage with an official standing beside the door.'Show your tickets, please.' They are locked in--men about theplatform accelerate their velocities till they fly up and downlike shuttles in a loom--a whistle--the waving of a flag--a humancry--a steam groan--and away they go to Plymouth again, justcatching these words as they glide off:
'Those two youngsters had a near run for it, and no mistake!'
Elfride found her breath.
'And have you come too, Stephen? Why did you?'
'I shall not leave you till I see you safe at St. Launce's. Donot think worse of me than I am, Elfride.'
And then they rattled along through the night, back again by theway they had come. The weather cleared, and the stars shone inupon them. Their two or three fellow-passengers sat for most ofthe time with closed eyes. Stephen sometimes slept; Elfride alonewas wakeful and palpitating hour after hour.
The day began to break, and revealed that they were by the sea.Red rocks overhung them, and, receding into distance, grew lividin the blue grey atmosphere. The sun rose, and sent penetratingshafts of light in upon their weary faces. Another hour, and theworld began to be busy. They waited yet a little, and the trainslackened its speed in view of the platform at St. Launce's.
having gone thus far ?
She shivered, and mused sadly.
'Then appearances will speak falsely; and how can that matter,even if they do? I shall be your husband sooner or later, forcertain, and so prove your purity.'
'Stephen, once in London I ought to have married you,' she saidfirmly. 'It was my only safe defence. I see more things now thanI did yesterday. My only remaining chance is not to bediscovered; and that we must fight for most desperately.'
They stepped out. Elfride pulled a thick veil over her face.
A woman with red and scaly eyelids and glistening eyes was sittingon a bench just inside the office-door. She fixed her eyes uponElfride with an expression whose force it was impossible to doubt,but the meaning of which was not clear; then upon the carriagethey had left. She seemed to read a sinister story in the scene.
Elfride shrank back, and turned the other way.
'Who is that woman?' said Stephen. 'She looked hard at you.'
'Mrs. Jethway--a widow, and mother of that young man whose tomb wesat on the other night. Stephen, she is my enemy. Would that Godhad had mercy enough upon me to have hidden this from HER!'
'Do not talk so hopelessly,' he remonstrated. 'I don't think sherecognized us.'
'I pray that she did not.'
He put on a more vigorous mood.
'Now, we will go and get some breakfast.'
'No, no!' she begged. 'I cannot eat. I MUST get back toEndelstow.'
Elfride was as if she had grown years older than Stephen now.
'But you have had nothing since last night but that cup of tea atBristol.'
'I can't eat, Stephen.'
'Wine and biscuit?'
'No.'
'Nor tea, nor coffee?'
'No.'
'A glass of water?'
'No. I want something that makes people strong and energetic forthe present, that borrows the strength of to-morrow for use to-day--leaving to-morrow without any at all for that matter; or eventhat would take all life away to-morrow, so long as it enabled meto get home again now. Brandy, that's what I want. That woman'seyes have eaten my heart away!'
'You are wild; and you grieve me, darling. Must it be brandy?'
'Yes, if you please.'
'How much?'
'I don't know. I have never drunk more than a teaspoonful atonce. All I know is that I want it. Don't get it at the Falcon.'
He left her in the fields, and went to the nearest inn in thatdirection. Presently he returned with a small flask nearly full,and some slices of bread-and-butter, thin as wafers, in a paper-bag. Elfride took a sip or two.
'It goes into my eyes,' she said wearily. 'I can't take any more.Yes, I will; I will close my eyes. Ah, it goes to them by aninside route. I don't want it; throw it away.'
However, she could eat, and did eat. Her chief attention wasconcentrated upon how to get the horse from the Falcon stableswithout suspicion. Stephen was not allowed to accompany her intothe town. She acted now upon conclusions reached without any aidfrom him: his power over her seemed to have departed.
want to go?'to a .
'You had better not be seen with me, even here where I am solittle known. We have begun stealthily as thieves, and we mustend stealthily as thieves, at all hazards. Until papa has beentold by me myself, a discovery would be terrible.'
Walking and gloomily talking thus they waited till nearly nineo'clock, at which time Elfride thought she might call at theFalcon without creating much surprise. Behind the railway-stationwas the river, spanned by an old Tudor bridge, whence the roaddiverged in two directions, one skirting the suburbs of the town,and winding round again into the high-road to Endelstow. Besidethis road Stephen sat, and awaited her return from the Falcon.
He sat as one sitting for a portrait, motionless, watching thechequered lights and shades on the tree-trunks, the childrenplaying opposite the school previous to entering for the morninglesson, the reapers in a field afar off. The certainty ofpossession had not come, and there was nothing to mitigate theyouth's gloom, that increased with the thought of the parting nowso near.
At length she came trotting round to him, in appearance much as onthe romantic morning of their visit to the cliff, but shorn of theradiance which glistened about her then. However, her comparativeimmunity from further risk and trouble had considerably composedher. Elfride's capacity for being wounded was only surpassed byher capacity for healing, which rightly or wrongly is by someconsidered an index of transientness of feeling in general.
'Elfride, what did they say at the Falcon?'
'Nothing. Nobody seemed curious about me. They knew I went toPlymouth, and I have stayed there a night now and then with MissBicknell. I rather calculated upon that.'
And now parting arose like a death to these children, for it wasimperative that she should start at once. Stephen walked besideher for nearly a mile. During the walk he said sadly:
'Elfride, four-and-twenty hours have passed, and the thing is notdone.'
'But you have insured that it shall be done.'
'How have I?'
'O Stephen, you ask how! Do you think I could marry another man onearth after having gone thus far with you? Have I not shown beyondpossibility of doubt that I can be nobody else's? Have I notirretrievably committed myself?--pride has stood for nothing inthe face of my great love. You misunderstood my turning back, andI cannot explain it. It was wrong to go with you at all; andthough it would have been worse to go further, it would have beenbetter policy, perhaps. Be assured of this, that whenever youhave a home for me--however poor and humble--and come and claimme, I am ready.' She added bitterly, 'When my father knows of thisday's work, he may be only too glad to let me go.'
'Perhaps he may, then, insist upon our marriage at once!' Stephenanswered, seeing a ray of hope in the very focus of her remorse.'I hope he may, even if we had still to part till I am ready foryou, as we intended.'
Elfride did not reply.
'You don't seem the same woman, Elfie, that you were yesterday.'
'Nor am I. But good-bye. Go back now.' And she reined the horsefor parting. 'O Stephen,' she cried, 'I feel so weak! I don'tknow how to meet him. Cannot you, after all, come back with me?'
'Shall I come?'
Elfride paused to think.
'No; it will not do. It is my utter foolishness that makes me saysuch words. But he will send for you.'
'Say to him,' continued Stephen, 'that we did this in the absolutedespair of our minds. Tell him we don't wish him to favour us--only to deal justly with us. If he says, marry now, so much thebetter. If not, say that all may be put right by his promise toallow me to have you when I am good enough for you--which may besoon. Say I have nothing to offer him in exchange for histreasure--the more sorry I; but all the love, and all the life,and all the labour of an honest man shall be yours. As to whenthis had better be told, I leave you to judge.'
His words made her cheerful enough to toy with her position.
'And if ill report should come, Stephen,' she said smiling, 'why,the orange-tree must save me, as it saved virgins in St. George'stime from the poisonous breath of the dragon. There, forgive mefor forwardness: I am going.'
Then the boy and girl beguiled themselves with words of half-parting only.
'Own wifie, God bless you till we meet again!'
'Till we meet again, good-bye!'
And the pony went on, and she spoke to him no more. He saw herfigure diminish and her blue veil grow gray--saw it with theagonizing sensations of a slow death.
After thus parting from a man than whom she had known none greateras yet, Elfride rode rapidly onwards, a tear being occasionallyshaken from her eyes into the road. What yesterday had seemed sodesirable, so promising, even trifling, had now acquired thecomplexion of a tragedy.
She saw the rocks and sea in the neighbourhood of Endelstow, andheaved a sigh of relief
When she passed a field behind the vicarage she heard the voicesof Unity and William Worm. They were hanging a carpet upon aline. Unity was uttering a sentence that concluded with 'whenMiss Elfride comes.'
'When d'ye expect her?'
'Not till evening now. She's safe enough at Miss Bicknell's,bless ye.'
Elfride went round to the door. She did not knock or ring; andseeing nobody to take the horse, Elfride led her round to theyard, slipped off the bridle and saddle, drove her towards thepaddock, and turned her in. Then Elfride crept indoors, andlooked into all the ground-floor rooms. Her father was not there.
On the mantelpiece of the drawing-room stood a letter addressed toher in his handwriting. She took it and read it as she wentupstairs to change her habit.
STRATLEIGH, Thursday.
'DEAR ELFRIDE,--On second thoughts I will not return to-day, butonly come as far as Wadcombe. I shall be at home by to-morrowafternoon, and bring a friend with me.--Yours, in haste,C. S.'
on and did not speak.thick.
'O Miss Elfride! I said to myself 'tis her sperrit! We didn'tdream o' you not coming home last night. You didn't say anythingabout staying.'
'I intended to come home the same evening, but altered my plan. Iwished I hadn't afterwards. Papa will be angry, I suppose?'
'Better not tell him, miss,' said Unity.
'I do fear to,' she murmured. 'Unity, would you just begintelling him when he comes home?'
'What! and get you into trouble?'
'I deserve it.'
'No, indeed, I won't,' said Unity. 'It is not such a mightymatter, Miss Elfride. I says to myself, master's taking ahollerday, and because he's not been kind lately to Miss Elfride,she----'
'Is imitating him. Well, do as you like. And will you now bringme some luncheon?'
After satisfying an appetite which the fresh marine air had givenher in its victory over an agitated mind, she put on her hat andwent to the garden and summer-house. She sat down, and leant withher head in a corner. Here she fell asleep.
Half-awake, she hurriedly looked at the time. She had been therethree hours. At the same moment she heard the outer gate swingtogether, and wheels sweep round the entrance; some prior noisefrom the same source having probably been the cause of herawaking. Next her father's voice was heard calling to Worm.
Elfride passed along a walk towards the house behind a belt ofshrubs. She heard a tongue holding converse with her father,which was not that of either of the servants. Her father and thestranger were laughing together. Then there was a rustling ofsilk, and Mr. Swancourt and his companion, or companions, to allseeming entered the door of the house, for nothing more of themwas audible. Elfride had turned back to meditate on what friendsthese could be, when she heard footsteps, and her fatherexclaiming behind her:
'O Elfride, here you are! I hope you got on well?'
Elfride's heart smote her, and she did not speak.
'Come back to the summer-house a minute,' continued Mr. Swancourt;'I have to tell you of that I promised to.'
They entered the summer-house, and stood leaning over the knottywoodwork of the balustrade.
'Now,' said her father radiantly, 'guess what I have to say.' Heseemed to be regarding his own existence so intently, that he tookno interest in nor even saw the complexion of hers.
'I cannot, papa,' she said sadly.
'Try, dear.'
'I would rather not, indeed.'
'You are tired. You look worn. The ride was too much for you.Well, this is what I went away for. I went to be married!'
'Married!' she faltered, and could hardly check an involuntary 'Sodid I.' A moment after and her resolve to confess perished like abubble.
'Yes; to whom do you think? Mrs. Troyton, the new owner of theestate over the hedge, and of the old manor-house. It was onlyfinally settled between us when I went to Stratleigh a few daysago.' He lowered his voice to a sly tone of merriment. 'Now, asto your stepmother, you'll find she is not much to look at, thougha good deal to listen to. She is twenty years older than myself,for one thing.'
'You forget that I know her. She called here once, after we hadbeen, and found her away from home.'
'Of course, of course. Well, whatever her looks are, she's asexcellent a woman as ever breathed. She has had lately left heras absolute property three thousand five hundred a year, besidesthe devise of this estate--and, by the way, a large legacy came toher in satisfaction of dower, as it is called.'
'Three thousand five hundred a year!'
'And a large--well, a fair-sized--mansion in town, and a pedigreeas long as my walking-stick; though that bears evidence of beingrather a raked-up affair--done since the family got rich--peopledo those things now as they build ruins on maiden estates and castantiques at Birmingham.'
Elfride merely listened and said nothing.
He continued more quietly and impressively. 'Yes, Elfride, she iswealthy in comparison with us, though with few connections.However, she will introduce you to the world a little. We aregoing to exchange her house in Baker Street for one at Kensington,for your sake. Everybody is going there now, she says. AtEasters we shall fly to town for the usual three months--I shallhave a curate of course by that time. Elfride, I am past love,you know, and I honestly confess that I married her for your sake.Why a woman of her standing should have thrown herself away uponme, God knows. But I suppose her age and plainness were toopronounced for a town man. With your good looks, if you now playyour cards well, you may marry anybody. Of course, a littlecontrivance will be necessary; but there's nothing to standbetween you and a husband with a title, that I can see. LadyLuxellian was only a squire's daughter. Now, don't you see howfoolish the old fancy was? But come, she is indoors waiting to seeyou. It is as good as a play, too,' continued the vicar, as theywalked towards the house. 'I courted her through the privet hedgeyonder: not entirely, you know, but we used to walk there of anevening--nearly every evening at last. But I needn't tell youdetails now; everything was terribly matter-of-fact, I assure you.At last, that day I saw her at Stratleigh, we determined to settleit off-hand.'