子浪小说

第80部分（第1页）

sed；　and　all　was　in　readiness。

St。　John　arrived　first。　I　had　entreated　him　to　keep　quite　clear　of　the　house　till　everything　was　arranged：　and；　indeed；　the　bare　idea　of　the　motion；　at　once　sordid　and　trivial；　going　on　within　its　walls　sufficed　to　scare　him　to　estrangement。　He　found　me　in　the　kitchen；　watching　the　progress　of　certain　cakes　for　tea；　then　baking。　Approaching　the　hearth；　he　asked；　“If　I　was　at　last　satisfied　with　housemaid’s　work？”　I　answered　by　inviting　him　to　acpany　me　on　a　general　inspection　of　the　result　of　my　labours。　With　some　difficulty；　I　got　him　to　make　the　tour　of　the　house。　He　just　looked　in　at　the　doors　I　opened；　and　when　he　had　wandered　upstairs　and　downstairs；　he　said　I　must　have　gone　through　a　great　deal　of　fatigue　and　trouble　to　have　effected　such　considerable　changes　in　so　short　a　time：　but　not　a　syllable　did　he　utter　indicating　pleasure　in　the　improved　aspect　of　his　abode。

This　silence　damped　me。　I　thought　perhaps　the　alterations　had　disturbed　some　old　associations　he　valued。　I　inquired　whether　this　was　the　case：　no　doubt　in　a　somewhat　crest…fallen　tone。

“Not　at　all；　he　had；　on　the　contrary；　remarked　that　I　had　scrupulously　respected　every　association：　he　feared；　indeed；　I　must　have　bestowed　more　thought　on　the　matter　than　it　was　worth。　How　many　minutes；　for　instance；　had　I　devoted　to　studying　the　arrangement　of　this　very　room？—By…the…bye；　could　I　tell　him　where　such　a　book　was？”

I　showed　him　the　volume　on　the　shelf：　he　took　it　down；　and　withdrawing　to　his　accustomed　window　recess；　he　began　to　read　it。

Now；　I　did　not　like　this；　reader。　St。　John　was　a　good　man；　but　I　began　to　feel　he　had　spoken　truth　of　himself　when　he　said　he　was　hard　and　cold。　The　humanities　and　amenities　of　life　had　no　attraction　for　him—its　peaceful　enjoyments　no　charm。　Literally；　he　lived　only　to　aspire—after　what　was　good　and　great；　certainly；　but　still　he　would　never　rest；　nor　approve　of　others　resting　round　him。　As　I　looked　at　his　lofty　forehead；　still　and　pale　as　a　white　stone—　at　his　fine　lineaments　fixed　in　study—I　prehended　all　at　once　that　he　would　hardly　make　a　good　husband：　that　it　would　be　a　trying　thing　to　be　his　wife。　I　understood；　as　by　inspiration；　the　nature　of　his　love　for　Miss　Oliver；　I　agreed　with　him　that　it　was　but　a　love　of　the　senses。　I　prehended　how　he　should　despise　himself　for　the　feverish　influence　it　exercised　over　him；　how　he　should　wish　to　stifle　and　destroy　it；　how　he　should　mistrust　its　ever　conducting　permanently　to　his　happiness　or　hers。　I　saw　he　was　of　the　material　from　which　nature　hews　her　heroes—Christian　and　Pagan—her　lawgivers；　her　statesmen；　her　conquerors：　a　steadfast　bulwark　for　great　interests　to　rest　upon；　but；　at　the　fireside；　too　often　a　cold　cumbrous　column；　gloomy　and　out　of　place。

“This　parlour　is　not　his　sphere；”　I　reflected：　“the　Himalayan　ridge　or　Caffre　bush；　even　the　plague…cursed　Guinea　Coast　swamp　would　suit　him　better。　Well　may　he　eschew　the　calm　of　domestic　life；　it　is　not　his　element：　there　his　faculties　stagnate—they　cannot　develop　or　appear　to　advantage。　It　is　in　scenes　of　strife　and　danger—where　courage　is　proved；　and　energy　exercised；　and　fortitude　tasked—that　he　will　speak　and　move；　the　leader　and　superior。　A　merry　child　would　have　the　advantage　of　him　on　this　hearth。　He　is　right　to　choose　a　missionary’s　career—I　see　it　now。”

“They　are　ing！　they　are　ing！”　cried　Hannah；　throwing　open　the　parlour　door。　At　the　same　moment　old　Carlo　barked　joyfully。　Out　I　ran。　It　was　now　dark；　but　a　rumbling　of　wheels　was　audible。　Hannah　soon　had　a　lantern　lit。　The　vehicle　had　stopped　at　the　wicket；　the　driver　opened　the　door：　first　one　well…known　form；　then　another；　stepped　out。　In　a　minute　I　had　my　face　under　their　bons；　in　contact　first　with　Mary’s　soft　cheek；　then　with　Diana’s　flowing　curls。　They　laughed—kissed　me—then　Hannah：　patted　Carlo；　who　was　half　wild　with　delight；　asked　eagerly　if　all　was　well；　and　being　assured　in　the　affirmative；　hastened　into　the　house。

They　were　stiff　with　their　long　and　jolting　drive　from　Whitcross；　and　chilled　with　the　frosty　night　air；　but　their　pleasant　countenances　expanded　to　the　cheerful　firelight。　While　the　driver　and　Hannah　brought　in　the　boxes；　they　demanded　St。　John。　At　this　moment　he　advanced　from　the　parlour。　They　both　threw　their　arms　round　his　neck　at　once。　He　gave　each　one　quiet　kiss；　said　in　a　low　tone　a　few　words　of　wele；　stood　a　while　to　be　talked　to；　and　then；　intimating　that　he　supposed　they　would　soon　rejoin　him　in　the　parlour；　withdrew　there　as　to　a　place　of　refuge。

I　had　lit　their　candles　to　go　upstairs；　but　Diana　had　first　to　give　hospitable　orders　respecting　the　driver；　this　done；　both　followed　me。　They　were　delighted　with　the　renovation　and　decorations　of　their　rooms；　with　the　new　drapery；　and　fresh　carpets；　and　rich　tinted　china　vases：　they　expressed　their　gratification　ungrudgingly。　I　had　the　pleasure　of　feeling　that　my　arrangements　met　their　wishes　exactly；　and　that　what　I　had　done　added　a　vivid　charm　to　their　joyous　return　home。

Sweet　was　that　evening。　My　cousins；　full　of　exhilaration；　were　so　eloquent　in　narrative　and　ment；　that　their　fluency　covered　St。　John’s　taciturnity：　he　was　sincerely　glad　to　see　his　sisters；　but　in　their　glow　of　fervour　and　flow　of　joy　he　could　not　sympathise。　The　event　of　the　day—that　is；　the　return　of　Diana　and　Mary—pleased　him；　but　the　acpaniments　of　that　event；　the　glad　tumult；　the　garrulous　glee　of　reception　irked　him：　I　saw　he　wished　the　calmer　morrow　was　e。　In　the　very　meridian　of　the　night’s　enjoyment；　about　an　hour　after　tea；　a　rap　was　heard　at　the　door。　Hannah　entered　with　the　intimation　that　“a　poor　lad　was　e；　at　that　unlikely　time；　to　fetch　Mr。　Rivers　to　see　his　mother；　who　was　drawing　away。”

“Where　does　she　live；　Hannah？”

“Clear　up　at　Whitcross　Brow；　almost　four　miles　off；　and　moor　and　moss　all　the　way。”

“Tell　him　I　will　go。”

“I’m　sure；　sir；　you　had　better　not。　It’s　the　worst　road　to　travel　after　dark　that　can　be：　there’s　no　track　at　all　over　the　bog。　And　then　it　is　such　a　bitter　night—the　keenest　wind　you　ever　felt。　You　had　better　send　word；　sir；　that　you　will　be　there　in　the　morning。”

But　he　was　already　in　the　passage；　putting　on　his　cloak；　and　without　one　objection；　one　murmur；　he　departed。　It　was　then　nine　o’clock：　he　did　not　return　till　midnight。　Starved　and　tired　enough　he　was：　but　he　looked　happier　than　when　he　set　out。　He　had　performed　an　act　of　duty；　made　an　exertion；　felt　his　own　strength　to　do　and　deny；　and　was　on　better　terms　with　himself。

I　am　afraid　the　whole　of　the　ensuing　week　tried　his　patience。　It　was　Christmas　week：　we　took　to　no　settled　employment；　but　spent　it　in　a　sort　of　merry　domestic　dissipation。　The　air　of　the　moors；　the　freedom　of　home；　the　dawn　of　prosperity；　acted　on　Diana　and　Mary’s　spirits　like　some　life…giving　elixir：　they　were　gay　from　morning　till　noon；　and　from　noon　till　night。　They　could　always　talk；　and　their　discourse；　witty；　pithy；　original；　had　such　charms　for　me；　that　I　preferred　listening　to；　and　sharing　in　it；　to　doing　anything　else。　St。　John　did　not　rebuke　our　vivacity；　but　he　escaped　from　it：　he　was　seldom　in　the　house；　his　parish　was　large；　the　population　scattered；　and　he　found　daily　business　in　visiting　the　sick　and　poor　in　its　different　districts。

One　morning　at　breakfast；　Diana；　after　looking　a　little　pensive　for　some　minutes；　asked　him；　“If　his　plans　were　yet　unchanged。”

“Unchanged　and　unchangeable；”　was　the　reply。　And　he　proceeded　to　inform　us　that　his　departure　from　England　was　now　definitively　fixed　for　the　ensuing　year。

“And　Rosamond　Oliver？”　suggested　Mary；　the　words　seeming　to　escape　her　lips　involuntarily：　for　no　sooner　had　she　uttered　them；　than　she　made　a　gesture　as　if　wishing　to　recall　them。　St。　John　had　a　book　in　his　hand—it　was　his　unsocial　custom　to　read　at　meals—he　closed　it；　and　looked　up；

“Rosamond　Oliver；”　said　he；　“is　about　to　be　married　to　Mr。　Granby；　one　of　the　best　connected　and　most　estimable　residents　in　S…；　grandson　and　heir　to　Sir　Frederic　Granby：　I　had　the　intelligence　from　her　father　yesterday。”

His　sisters　looked　at　each　other　and　at　me；　we　all　three　looked　at　him：　he　was　serene　as　glass。

“The　match　must　have　been　got　up　hastily；”　said　Diana：　“they　cannot　have　known　each　other　long。”

“But　two　months：　they　met　in　October　at　the　county　ball　at　S…。　But　where　there　are　no　obstacles　to　a　union；　as　in　the　present　case；　where　the　connection　is　in　every　point　desirable；　delays　are　unnecessary：　they　will　be　married　as　soon　as　S…　Place；　which　Sir　Frederic　gives　up　to　them；　can　he　refitted　for　their　reception。”

The　first　time　I　found　St。　John　alone　after　this　munication；　I　felt　tempted　to　inquire　if　the　event　distressed　him：　but　he　seemed　so　little　to　need　sympathy；　that；　so　far　from　venturing　to　offer　him　more；　I　experienced　some　shame　at　the　recollection　of　what　I　had　already　hazarded。　Besides；　I　was　out　of　practice　in　talking　to　him：　his　reserve　was　again　frozen　over；　and　my　frankness　was　congealed　beneath　it。　He　had　not　kept　his　promise　of　treating　me　like　his　sisters；　he　continually　made　little　chilling　differences　between　us；　which　did　not　at　all　tend　to　the　development　of　cordiality：　in　short；　now　that　I　was　acknowledged　his　kinswoman；　and　lived　under　the　same　roof　with　him；　I　felt　the　distance　between　us　to　be　far　greater　than　when　he　had　known　me　only　as　the　village　schoolmistress。　When　I　remembered　how　far　I　had　once　been　admitted　to　his　confidence；　I　could　hardly　prehend　his　present　frigidity。

Such　being　the　case；　I　felt　not　a　little　surprised　when　he　raised　his　head　suddenly　from　the　desk　over　which　he　was　stooping；　and　said—

“You　see；　Jane；　the　battle　is　fought　and　the　victory　won。”

Startled　at　being　thus　addressed；　I　did　not　immediately　reply：　after　a　moment’s　hesitation　I　answered—

“But　are　you　sure　you　are　not　in　the　position　of　those　conquerors　whose　triumphs　have　cost　them　too　dear？　Would　not　such　another　ruin　you？”

“I　think　not；　and　if　I　were；　it　does　not　much　signify；　I　shall　never　be　called　upon　to　contend　for　such　another。　The　event　of　the　conflict　is　decisive：　my　way　is　now　clear；　I　thank　God　for　it！”　So　saying；　he　returned　to　his　papers　and　his　silence。

As　our　mutual　happiness　（i。e。；　Diana’s；　Mary’s；　and　mine）　settled　into　a　quieter　character；　and　we　resumed　our　usual　habits　and　regular　studies；　St。　John　stayed　more　at　home：　he　sat　with　us　in　the　same　room；　sometimes　for　hours　together。　While　Mary　drew；　Diana　pursued　a　course　of　encyclopaedic　reading　she　had　（to　my　awe　and　amazement）　undertaken；　and　I　fagged　away　at　German；　he　pondered　a　mystic　lore　of　his　own：　that　of　some　Eastern　tongue；　the　acquisition　of　which　he　thought　necessary　to　his　plans。

Thus　engaged；　he　appeared；　sitting　in　his　own　recess；　quiet　and　absorbed　enough；　but　that　blue　eye　of　his　had　a　habit　of　leaving　the　outlandish…looking　grammar；　and　wandering　over；　and　sometimes　fixing　upon　us；　his　fellow…students；　with　a　curious　intensity　of　observation：　if　caught；　it　would　be　instantly　withdrawn；　yet　ever　and　anon；　it　returned　searchingly　to　our　table。　I　wondered　what　it　meant：　I　wondered；　too；　at　the　punctual　satisfaction　he　never　failed　to　exhibit　on　an　occasion　that　seemed　to　me　of　small　moment；　namely；　my　weekly　visit　to　Morton　school；　and　s

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