一双蓝眼睛 英文版 A Pair of Blue Eyes
托马斯.哈代 Thomas Hardy
Chapter XXVIII
'I lull a fancy, trouble-tost.'
Miss Swancourt, it is eleven o'clock.'
She was looking out of her dressing-room window on the firstfloor, and Knight was regarding her from the terrace balustrade,upon which he had been idly sitting for some time--dividing theglances of his eye between the pages of a book in his hand, thebrilliant hues of the geraniums and calceolarias, and the openwindow above-mentioned.
'Yes, it is, I know. I am coming.'
He drew closer, and under the window.
'How are you this morning, Elfride? You look no better for yourlong night's rest.'
She appeared at the door shortly after, took his offered arm, andtogether they walked slowly down the gravel path leading to theriver and away under the trees.
Her resolution, sustained during the last fifteen hours, had beento tell the whole truth, and now the moment had come.
Step by step they advanced, and still she did not speak. Theywere nearly at the end of the walk, when Knight broke the silence.
'Well, what is the confession, Elfride?'
She paused a moment, drew a long breath; and this is what shesaid:
'I told you one day--or rather I gave you to understand--what wasnot true. I fancy you thought me to mean I was nineteen my nextbirthday, but it was my last I was nineteen.'
The moment had been too much for her. Now that the crisis hadcome, no qualms of conscience, no love of honesty, no yearning tomake a confidence and obtain forgiveness with a kiss, could stringElfride up to the venture. Her dread lest he should beunforgiving was heightened by the thought of yesterday's artifice,which might possibly add disgust to his disappointment. Thecertainty of one more day's affection, which she gained bysilence, outvalued the hope of a perpetuity combined with the riskof all.
The trepidation caused by these thoughts on what she had intendedto say shook so naturally the words she did say, that Knight neverfor a moment suspected them to be a last moment's substitution.He smiled and pressed her hand warmly.
'My dear Elfie--yes, you are now--no protestation--what a winninglittle woman you are, to be so absurdly scrupulous about a mereiota! Really, I never once have thought whether your nineteenthyear was the last or the present. And, by George, well I may not;for it would never do for a staid fogey a dozen years older tostand upon such a trifle as that.'
'Don't praise me--don't praise me! Though I prize it from yourlips, I don't deserve it now.'
But Knight, being in an exceptionally genial mood, merely saw thisdistressful exclamation as modesty. 'Well,' he added, after aminute, 'I like you all the better, you know, for such moralprecision, although I called it absurd.' He went on with tenderearnestness: 'For, Elfride, there is one thing I do love to see ina woman--that is, a soul truthful and clear as heaven's light. Icould put up with anything if I had that--forgive nothing if I hadit not. Elfride, you have such a soul, if ever woman had; andhaving it, retain it, and don't ever listen to the fashionabletheories of the day about a woman's privileges and natural rightto practise wiles. Depend upon it, my dear girl, that a noblewoman must be as honest as a noble man. I specially mean byhonesty, fairness not only in matters of business and socialdetail, but in all the delicate dealings of love, to which thelicence given to your sex particularly refers.'
Elfride looked troublously at the trees.
'Now let us go on to the river, Elfie.'
'I would if I had a hat on,' she said with a sort of suppressedwoe.
'I will get it for you,' said Knight, very willing to purchase hercompanionship at so cheap a price. 'You sit down there a minute.'And he turned and walked rapidly back to the house for the articlein question.
Elfride sat down upon one of the rustic benches which adorned thisportion of the grounds, and remained with her eyes upon the grass.She was induced to lift them by hearing the brush of light andirregular footsteps hard by. Passing along the path whichintersected the one she was in and traversed the outershrubberies, Elfride beheld the farmer's widow, Mrs. Jethway.Before she noticed Elfride, she paused to look at the house,portions of which were visible through the bushes. Elfride,shrinking back, hoped the unpleasant woman might go on withoutseeing her. But Mrs. Jethway, silently apostrophizing the house,with actions which seemed dictated by a half-overturned reason,had discerned the girl, and immediately came up and stood in frontof her.
'Ah, Miss Swancourt! Why did you disturb me? Mustn't I trespasshere?'
'You may walk here if you like, Mrs. Jethway. I do not disturbyou.'
'You disturb my mind, and my mind is my whole life; for my boy isthere still, and he is gone from my body.'
'Yes, poor young man. I was sorry when he died.'
'Do you know what he died of? '
'Consumption.'
'Oh no, no!' said the widow. 'That word "consumption" covers agood deal. He died because you were his own well-agreedsweetheart, and then proved false--and it killed him. Yes, MissSwancourt,' she said in an excited whisper, 'you killed my son!'
'How can you be so wicked and foolish!' replied Elfride, risingindignantly. But indignation was not natural to her, and havingbeen so worn and harrowed by late events, she lost any powers ofdefence that mood might have lent her. 'I could not help hisloving me, Mrs. Jethway!'
'That's just what you could have helped. You know how it began,Miss Elfride. Yes: you said you liked the name of Felix betterthan any other name in the parish, and you knew it was his name,and that those you said it to would report it to him.'
'I knew it was his name--of course I did; but I am sure, Mrs.Jethway, I did not intend anybody to tell him.'
'But you knew they would.'
'No, I didn't.'
'And then, after that, when you were riding on Revels-day by ourhouse, and the lads were gathered there, and you wanted todismount, when Jim Drake and George Upway and three or four moreran forward to hold your pony, and Felix stood back timid, why didyou beckon to him, and say you would rather he held it? '
'O Mrs. Jethway, you do think so mistakenly! I liked him best--that's why I wanted him to do it. He was gentle and nice--Ialways thought him so--and I liked him.'
'Then why did you let him kiss you?'
'It is a falsehood; oh, it is, it is!' said Elfride, weeping withdesperation. 'He came behind me, and attempted to kiss me; andthat was why I told him never to let me see him again.'
'But you did not tell your father or anybody, as you would have ifyou had looked upon it then as the insult you now pretend it was.'
'He begged me not to tell, and foolishly enough I did not. And Iwish I had now. I little expected to be scourged with my ownkindness. Pray leave me, Mrs. Jethway.' The girl onlyexpostulated now.
'Well, you harshly dismissed him, and he died. And before hisbody was cold, you took another to your heart. Then as carelesslysent him about his business, and took a third. And if youconsider that nothing, Miss Swancourt,' she continued, drawingcloser; 'it led on to what was very serious indeed. Have youforgotten the would-be runaway marriage? The journey to London,and the return the next day without being married, and thatthere's enough disgrace in that to ruin a woman's good name farless light than yours? You may have: I have not. Ficklenesstowards a lover is bad, but fickleness after playing the wife iswantonness.'
'Oh, it's a wicked cruel lie! Do not say it; oh, do not! '
'Does your new man know of it? I think not, or he would be no manof yours! As much of the story as was known is creeping about theneighbourhood even now; but I know more than any of them, and whyshould I respect your love?'
'I defy you!' cried Elfride tempestuously. 'Do and say all youcan to ruin me; try; put your tongue at work; I invite it! I defyyou as a slanderous woman! Look, there he comes.' And her voicetrembled greatly as she saw through the leaves the beloved form ofKnight coming from the door with her hat in his hand. 'Tell himat once; I can bear it.'
'Not now,' said the woman, and disappeared down the path.
The excitement of her latter words had restored colour toElfride's cheeks; and hastily wiping her eyes, she walked fartheron, so that by the time her lover had overtaken her the traces ofemotion had nearly disappeared from her face. Knight put the hatupon her head, took her hand, and drew it within his arm.
It was the last day but one previous to their departure for St.Leonards; and Knight seemed to have a purpose in being much in hercompany that day. They rambled along the valley. The season wasthat period in the autumn when the foliage alone of an ordinaryplantation is rich enough in hues to exhaust the chromaticcombinations of an artist's palette. Most lustrous of all are thebeeches, graduating from bright rusty red at the extremity of theboughs to a bright yellow at their inner parts; young oaks arestill of a neutral green; Scotch firs and hollies are nearly blue;whilst occasional dottings of other varieties give maroons andpurples of every tinge.
The river--such as it was--here pursued its course amid flagstonesas level as a pavement, but divided by crevices of irregularwidth. With the summer drought the torrent had narrowed till itwas now but a thread of crystal clearness, meandering along acentral channel in the rocky bed of the winter current. Knightscrambled through the bushes which at this point nearly coveredthe brook from sight, and leapt down upon the dry portion of theriver bottom.
'Elfride, I never saw such a sight!' he exclaimed. 'The hazelsoverhang the river's course in a perfect arch, and the floor isbeautifully paved. The place reminds one of the passages of acloister. Let me help you down.'
He assisted her through the marginal underwood and down to thestones. They walked on together to a tiny cascade about a footwide and high, and sat down beside it on the flags that for ninemonths in the year were submerged beneath a gushing bourne. Fromtheir feet trickled the attenuated thread of water which aloneremained to tell the intent and reason of this leaf-covered aisle,and journeyed on in a zigzag line till lost in the shade.
Knight, leaning on his elbow, after contemplating all this, lookedcritically at Elfride.
'Does not such a luxuriant head of hair exhaust itself and getthin as the years go on from eighteen to eight-and-twenty?' heasked at length.
'Oh no!' she said quickly, with a visible disinclination toharbour such a thought, which came upon her with an unpleasantnesswhose force it would be difficult for men to understand. Sheadded afterwards, with smouldering uneasiness, 'Do you reallythink that a great abundance of hair is more likely to get thinthan a moderate quantity?'
'Yes, I really do. I believe--am almost sure, in fact--that ifstatistics could be obtained on the subject, you would find thepersons with thin hair were those who had a superabundanceoriginally, and that those who start with a moderate quantityretain it without much loss.'
Elfride's troubles sat upon her face as well as in her heart.Perhaps to a woman it is almost as dreadful to think of losing herbeauty as of losing her reputation. At any rate, she looked quiteas gloomy as she had looked at any minute that day.
'You shouldn't be so troubled about a mere personal adornment,'said Knight, with some of the severity of tone that had beencustomary before she had beguiled him into softness.
'I think it is a woman's duty to be as beautiful as she can. If Iwere a scholar, I would give you chapter and verse for it from oneof your own Latin authors. I know there is such a passage, forpapa has alluded to it.'
"'Munditiae, et ornatus, et cultus," &c.--is that it? A passage inLivy which is no defence at all.'
'No, it is not that.'
'Never mind, then; for I have a reason for not taking up my oldcudgels against you, Elfie. Can you guess what the reason is?'
'No; but I am glad to hear it,' she said thankfully. 'For it isdreadful when you talk so. For whatever dreadful name theweakness may deserve, I must candidly own that I am terrified tothink my hair may ever get thin.'
'Of course; a sensible woman would rather lose her wits than herbeauty.'
'I don't care if you do say satire and judge me cruelly. I knowmy hair is beautiful; everybody says so.'
'Why, my dear Miss Swancourt,' he tenderly replied, 'I have notsaid anything against it. But you know what is said abouthandsome being and handsome doing.'
'Poor Miss Handsome-does cuts but a sorry figure beside MissHandsome-is in every man's eyes, your own not excepted, Mr.Knight, though it pleases you to throw off so,' said Elfridesaucily. And lowering her voice: 'You ought not to have taken somuch trouble to save me from falling over the cliff, for you don'tthink mine a life worth much trouble evidently.'
'Perhaps you think mine was not worth yours.'
'It was worth anybody's!'
Her hand was plashing in the little waterfall, and her eyes werebent the same way.
'You talk about my severity with you, Elfride. You are unkind tome, you know.'
'How?' she asked, looking up from her idle occupation.
'After my taking trouble to get jewellery to please you, youwouldn't accept it.'
'Perhaps I would now; perhaps I want to.'
'Do!' said Knight.
And the packet was withdrawn from his pocket and presented thethird time. Elfride took it with delight. The obstacle was rentin twain, and the significant gift was hers.
'I'll take out these ugly ones at once,' she exclaimed, 'and I'llwear yours--shall I?'
'I should be gratified.'
Now, though it may seem unlikely, considering how far the two hadgone in converse, Knight had never yet ventured to kiss Elfride.Far slower was he than Stephen Smith in matters like that. Theutmost advance he had made in such demonstrations had been to thedegree witnessed by Stephen in the summer-house. So Elfride'scheek being still forbidden fruit to him, he said impulsively.
'Elfie, I should like to touch that seductive ear of yours. Thoseare my gifts; so let me dress you in them.'
She hesitated with a stimulating hesitation.
'Let me put just one in its place, then?'
Her face grew much warmer.
'I don't think it would be quite the usual or proper course,' shesaid, suddenly turning and resuming her operation of plashing inthe miniature cataract.
The stillness of things was disturbed by a bird coming to thestreamlet to drink. After watching him dip his bill, sprinklehimself, and fly into a tree, Knight replied, with the courteousbrusqueness she so much liked to hear--
'Elfride, now you may as well be fair. You would mind my doing itbut little, I think; so give me leave, do.'
'I will be fair, then,' she said confidingly, and looking him fullin the face. It was a particular pleasure to her to be able to doa little honesty without fear. 'I should not mind your doing so--I should like such an attention. My thought was, would it beright to let you?'
'Then I will!' he rejoined, with that singular earnestness about asmall matter--in the eyes of a ladies' man but a momentary peg forflirtation or jest--which is only found in deep natures who havebeen wholly unused to toying with womankind, and which, from itsunwontedness, is in itself a tribute the most precious that can berendered, and homage the most exquisite to be received.
'And you shall,' she whispered, without reserve, and no longermistress of the ceremonies. And then Elfride inclined herselftowards him, thrust back her hair, and poised her head sideways.In doing this her arm and shoulder necessarily rested against hisbreast.
At the touch, the sensation of both seemed to be concentrated atthe point of contact. All the time he was performing the delicatemanoeuvre Knight trembled like a young surgeon in his firstoperation.
'Now the other,' said Knight in a whisper.
'No, no.'
'Why not?'
'I don't know exactly.'
'You must know.'
'Your touch agitates me so. Let us go home.'
'Don't say that, Elfride. What is it, after all? A mere nothing.Now turn round, dearest.'
She was powerless to disobey, and turned forthwith; and then,without any defined intention in either's mind, his face and hersdrew closer together; and he supported her there, and kissed her.
you disturb me? Mustn!
Knight was at once the most ardent and the coolest man alive.When his emotions slumbered he appeared almost phlegmatic; whenthey were moved he was no less than passionate. And now, withouthaving quite intended an early marriage, he put the questionplainly. It came with all the ardour which was the accumulationof long years behind a natural reserve.
'Elfride, when shall we be married?'
The words were sweet to her; but there was a bitter in the sweet.These newly-overt acts of his, which had culminated in this plainquestion, coming on the very day of Mrs. Jethway's blastingreproaches, painted distinctly her fickleness as an enormity.Loving him in secret had not seemed such thorough-goinginconstancy as the same love recognized and acted upon in the faceof threats. Her distraction was interpreted by him at her side asthe outward signs of an unwonted experience.
'I don't press you for an answer now, darling,' he said, seeingshe was not likely to give a lucid reply. 'Take your time.'
Knight was as honourable a man as was ever loved and deluded bywoman. It may be said that his blindness in love proved thepoint, for shrewdness in love usually goes with meanness ingeneral. Once the passion had mastered him, the intellect hadgone for naught. Knight, as a lover, was more single-minded andfar simpler than his friend Stephen, who in other capacities wasshallow beside him.
Without saying more on the subject of their marriage, Knight heldher at arm's length, as if she had been a large bouquet, andlooked at her with critical affection.
'Does your pretty gift become me?' she inquired, with tears ofexcitement on the fringes of her eyes.
'Undoubtedly, perfectly!' said her lover, adopting a lighter toneto put her at her ease. 'Ah, you should see them; you lookshinier than ever. Fancy that I have been able to improve you!'
'Am I really so nice? I am glad for your sake. I wish I could seemyself.'
'You can't. You must wait till we get home.'
'I shall never be able,' she said, laughing. 'Look: here's away.'
'So there is. Well done, woman's wit!'
'Hold me steady!'
'Oh yes.'
'And don't let me fall, will you?'
'By no means.'
Below their seat the thread of water paused to spread out into asmooth small pool. Knight supported her whilst she knelt down andleant over it.
'I can see myself. Really, try as religiously as I will, I cannothelp admiring my appearance in them.'
'Doubtless. How can you be so fond of finery? I believe you arecorrupting me into a taste for it. I used to hate every suchthing before I knew you.'
'I like ornaments, because I want people to admire what youpossess, and envy you, and say, "I wish I was he." '
'I suppose I ought not to object after that. And how much longerare you going to look in there at yourself?'
'Until you are tired of holding me? Oh, I want to ask yousomething.' And she turned round. 'Now tell truly, won't you?What colour of hair do you like best now?'
Knight did not answer at the moment.
consumption" covers agood.
'Say light, do!' she whispered coaxingly. 'Don't say dark, as youdid that time.'
'Light-brown, then. Exactly the colour of my sweetheart's.'
'Really?' said Elfride, enjoying as truth what she knew to beflattery.
'Yes.'
'And blue eyes, too, not hazel? Say yes, say yes!'
'One recantation is enough for to-day.'
'No, no.'
'Very well, blue eyes.' And Knight laughed, and drew her close andkissed her the second time, which operations he performed with thecarefulness of a fruiterer touching a bunch of grapes so as not todisturb their bloom.
Elfride objected to a second, and flung away her face, themovement causing a slight disarrangement of hat and hair. Hardlythinking what she said in the trepidation of the moment, sheexclaimed, clapping her hand to her ear--
of a fruiterer.
'Ah, we must be careful! I lost the other earring doing likethis.'
No sooner did she realise the significant words than a troubledlook passed across her face, and she shut her lips as if to keepthem back.
'Doing like what?' said Knight, perplexed.
'Oh, sitting down out of doors,' she replied hastily.