一双蓝眼睛 英文版 A Pair of Blue Eyes
托马斯.哈代 Thomas Hardy
Chapter VI
'Fare thee weel awhile!'
Simultaneously with the conclusion of Stephen's remark, the soundof the closing of an external door in their immediateneighbourhood reached Elfride's ears. It came from the furtherside of the wing containing the illuminated room. She thendiscerned, by the aid of the dusky departing light, a figure,whose sex was undistinguishable, walking down the gravelled pathby the parterre towards the river. The figure grew fainter, andvanished under the trees.
Mr. Swancourt's voice was heard calling out their names from adistant corridor in the body of the building. They retraced theirsteps, and found him with his coat buttoned up and his hat on,awaiting their advent in a mood of self-satisfaction at havingbrought his search to a successful close. The carriage wasbrought round, and without further delay the trio drove away fromthe mansion, under the echoing gateway arch, and along by theleafless sycamores, as the stars began to kindle their tremblinglights behind the maze of branches and twigs.
No words were spoken either by youth or maiden. Her unpractisedmind was completely occupied in fathoming its recent acquisition.The young man who had inspired her with such novelty of feeling,who had come directly from London on business to her father,having been brought by chance to Endelstow House had, by somemeans or other, acquired the privilege of approaching some lady hehad found therein, and of honouring her by petits soins of amarked kind,--all in the space of half an hour.
What room were they standing in? thought Elfride. As nearly asshe could guess, it was Lord Luxellian's business-room, or office.What people were in the house? None but the governess andservants, as far as she knew, and of these he had professed atotal ignorance. Had the person she had indistinctly seen leavingthe house anything to do with the performance? It was impossibleto say without appealing to the culprit himself, and that shewould never do. The more Elfride reflected, the more certain didit appear that the meeting was a chance rencounter, and not anappointment. On the ultimate inquiry as to the individuality ofthe woman, Elfride at once assumed that she could not be aninferior. Stephen Smith was not the man to care about passages-at-love with women beneath him. Though gentle, ambition wasvisible in his kindling eyes; he evidently hoped for much; hopedindefinitely, but extensively. Elfride was puzzled, and beingpuzzled, was, by a natural sequence of girlish sensations, vexedwith him. No more pleasure came in recognizing that from likingto attract him she was getting on to love him, boyish as he wasand innocent as he had seemed.
They reached the bridge which formed a link between the easternand western halves of the parish. Situated in a valley that wasbounded outwardly by the sea, it formed a point of depression fromwhich the road ascended with great steepness to West Endelstow andthe Vicarage. There was no absolute necessity for either of themto alight, but as it was the vicar's custom after a long journeyto humour the horse in making this winding ascent, Elfride, movedby an imitative instinct, suddenly jumped out when Pleasant hadjust begun to adopt the deliberate stalk he associated with thisportion of the road.
The young man seemed glad of any excuse for breaking the silence.'Why, Miss Swancourt, what a risky thing to do!' he exclaimed,immediately following her example by jumping down on the otherside.
'Oh no, not at all,' replied she coldly; the shadow phenomenon atEndelstow House still paramount within her.
Stephen walked along by himself for two or three minutes, wrappedin the rigid reserve dictated by her tone. Then apparentlythinking that it was only for girls to pout, he came serenelyround to her side, and offered his arm with Castilian gallantry,to assist her in ascending the remaining three-quarters of thesteep.
Here was a temptation: it was the first time in her life thatElfride had been treated as a grown-up woman in this way--offeredan arm in a manner implying that she had a right to refuse it.Till to-night she had never received masculine attentions beyondthose which might be contained in such homely remarks as 'Elfride,give me your hand;' 'Elfride, take hold of my arm,' from herfather. Her callow heart made an epoch of the incident; sheconsidered her array of feelings, for and against. Collectivelythey were for taking this offered arm; the single one of piquedetermined her to punish Stephen by refusing.
'No, thank you, Mr. Smith; I can get along better by myself'
It was Elfride's first fragile attempt at browbeating a lover.Fearing more the issue of such an undertaking than what a gentleyoung man might think of her waywardness, she immediatelyafterwards determined to please herself by reversing herstatement.
'On second thoughts, I will take it,' she said.
?' she asked impulsively.Swancourtsaid?
They slowly went their way up the hill, a few yards behind thecarriage.
'How silent you are, Miss Swancourt!' Stephen observed.
'Perhaps I think you silent too,' she returned.
'I may have reason to be.'
'Scarcely; it is sadness that makes people silent, and you canhave none.'
'You don't know: I have a trouble; though some might think it lessa trouble than a dilemma.'
'What is it?' she asked impulsively.
Stephen hesitated. 'I might tell,' he said; 'at the same time,perhaps, it is as well----'
She let go his arm and imperatively pushed it from her, tossingher head. She had just learnt that a good deal of dignity is lostby asking a question to which an answer is refused, even ever sopolitely; for though politeness does good service in cases ofrequisition and compromise, it but little helps a direct refusal.'I don't wish to know anything of it; I don't wish it,' she wenton. 'The carriage is waiting for us at the top of the hill; wemust get in;' and Elfride flitted to the front. 'Papa, here isyour Elfride!' she exclaimed to the dusky figure of the oldgentleman, as she sprang up and sank by his side without deigningto accept aid from Stephen.
'Ah, yes!' uttered the vicar in artificially alert tones, awakingfrom a most profound sleep, and suddenly preparing to alight.
'Why, what are you doing, papa? We are not home yet.'
'Oh no, no; of course not; we are not at home yet,' Mr. Swancourtsaid very hastily, endeavouring to dodge back to his originalposition with the air of a man who had not moved at all. 'Thefact is I was so lost in deep meditation that I forgot whereaboutswe were.' And in a minute the vicar was snoring again.
That evening, being the last, seemed to throw an exceptional shadeof sadness over Stephen Smith, and the repeated injunctions of thevicar, that he was to come and revisit them in the summer,apparently tended less to raise his spirits than to unearth somemisgiving.
He left them in the gray light of dawn, whilst the colours ofearth were sombre, and the sun was yet hidden in the east. Elfridehad fidgeted all night in her little bed lest none of thehousehold should be awake soon enough to start him, and also lestshe might miss seeing again the bright eyes and curly hair, towhich their owner's possession of a hidden mystery added a deepertinge of romance. To some extent--so soon does womanly interesttake a solicitous turn--she felt herself responsible for his safeconduct. They breakfasted before daylight; Mr. Swancourt, beingmore and more taken with his guest's ingenuous appearance, havingdetermined to rise early and bid him a friendly farewell. It was,however, rather to the vicar's astonishment, that he saw Elfridewalk in to the breakfast-table, candle in hand.
Whilst William Worm performed his toilet (during which performancethe inmates of the vicarage were always in the habit of waitingwith exemplary patience), Elfride wandered desultorily to thesummer house. Stephen followed her thither. The copse-coveredvalley was visible from this position, a mist now lying all alongits length, hiding the stream which trickled through it, thoughthe observers themselves were in clear air.
They stood close together, leaning over the rustic balustradingwhich bounded the arbour on the outward side, and formed the crestof a steep slope beneath Elfride constrainedly pointed out somefeatures of the distant uplands rising irregularly opposite. Butthe artistic eye was, either from nature or circumstance, veryfaint in Stephen now, and he only half attended to herdescription, as if he spared time from some other thought going onwithin him.
'Well, good-bye,' he said suddenly; 'I must never see you again, Isuppose, Miss Swancourt, in spite of invitations.'
His genuine tribulation played directly upon the delicate chordsof her nature. She could afford to forgive him for a concealmentor two. Moreover, the shyness which would not allow him to lookher in the face lent bravery to her own eyes and tongue.
'Oh, DO come again, Mr. Smith!' she said prettily.
'I should delight in it; but it will be better if I do not.'
'Why?'
'Certain circumstances in connection with me make it undesirable.Not on my account; on yours.'
'Goodness! As if anything in connection with you could hurt me,'she said with serene supremacy; but seeing that this plan oftreatment was inappropriate, she tuned a smaller note. 'Ah, Iknow why you will not come. You don't want to. You'll go home toLondon and to all the stirring people there, and will never wantto see us any more!'
'You know I have no such reason.'
'And go on writing letters to the lady you are engaged to, just asbefore.'
'What does that mean? I am not engaged.'
'You wrote a letter to a Miss Somebody; I saw it in the letter-rack.'
'Pooh! an elderly woman who keeps a stationer's shop; and it wasto tell her to keep my newspapers till I get back.'
'You needn't have explained: it was not my business at all.' MissElfride was rather relieved to hear that statement, nevertheless.'And you won't come again to see my father?' she insisted.
'I should like to--and to see you again, but----'
'Will you reveal to me that matter you hide?' she interruptedpetulantly.
'No; not now.'
She could not but go on, graceless as it might seem.
'Tell me this,' she importuned with a trembling mouth. 'Does anymeeting of yours with a lady at Endelstow Vicarage clash with--anyinterest you may take in me?'
Swancourt!' Stephen observed.-up woman in this way--offeredan!
He started a little. 'It does not,' he said emphatically; andlooked into the pupils of her eyes with the confidence that onlyhonesty can give, and even that to youth alone.
The explanation had not come, but a gloom left her. She could notbut believe that utterance. Whatever enigma might lie in theshadow on the blind, it was not an enigma of underhand passion.
She turned towards the house, entering it through theconservatory. Stephen went round to the front door. Mr.Swancourt was standing on the step in his slippers. Worm wasadjusting a buckle in the harness, and murmuring about his poorhead; and everything was ready for Stephen's departure.
'You named August for your visit. August it shall be; that is, ifyou care for the society of such a fossilized Tory,' said Mr.Swancourt.
Mr. Smith only responded hesitatingly, that he should like to comeagain.
'You said you would, and you must,' insisted Elfride, coming tothe door and speaking under her father's arm.
Whatever reason the youth may have had for not wishing to enterthe house as a guest, it no longer predominated. He promised, andbade them adieu, and got into the pony-carriage, which crept upthe slope, and bore him out of their sight.
'I never was so much taken with anybody in my life as I am withthat young fellow--never! I cannot understand it--can't understandit anyhow,' said Mr. Swancourt quite energetically to himself; andwent indoors.