Three miles to the left of the travelers, along the road they had not followed, rose an old house with mullioned windows of Ham-hill stone, and chimneys of lavish solidity. It stood at the top of a slope beside King's-Hintock village-street, only a mile or two from King'sHintock Court, yet quite shut away from that mansion and its precincts. Immediately in front of it grew a large sycamore tree, whose bared roots formed a convenient staircase from the road below to the front door of the dwelling. Its situation gave the house what little distinctive name it possessed, namely, “The Knap.” Some forty yards off a brook dribbled past, which, for its size, made a great deal of noise. At the back was a dairy barton, accessible for vehicles and live-stock by a side “drong.” Thus much only of the character of the homestead could be divined out of doors at this shady evening-time.
But within there was plenty of light to see by, as plenty was construed at Hintock. Beside a Tudor fireplace, whose moulded four centred arch was nearly hidden by a figured blue-cloth blower, were seated two women—mother and daughter—Mrs. Hall, and Sarah, or Sally; for this was a part of the world where the latter modification had not as yet been effaced as a vulgarity by the march of intellect. The owner of the name was the young woman by whose means Mr. Darton proposed to put an end to his bachelor condition on the approaching day.
The mother's bereavement had been so long ago as not to leave much mark of its occurrence upon her now, either in face or clothes. She had resumed the mob-cap of her early married life, enlivening its whiteness by a few rose-du-Barry ribbons. Sally required no such aids to pinkness. Roseate good-nature lit up her gaze; her features showed curves of decision and judgment; and she might have been regarded without much mistake as a warm-hearted, quick-spirited, handsome girl.
She did most of the talking, her mother listening with a half-absent air, as she picked up fragments of red-hot wood ember with the tongs, and piled them upon the brands. But the number of speeches that passed was very small in proportion to the meanings exchanged. Long experience together often enabled them to see the course of thought in each other's minds without a word being spoken. Behind them, in the centre of the room, the table was spread for supper, certain whiffs of air laden with fat vapours, which ever and anon entered from the kitchen, denoting its preparation there.
“The new gown he was going to send you stays about on the way like himself,” Sally's mother was saying.
“Yes, not finished, I daresay,” cried Sally independently. “Lord, I shouldn't be amazed if it didn't come at all! Young men make such kind promises when they are near you, and forget 'em when they go away. But he doesn't intend it as a wedding-gown—he gives it to me merely as a gown to wear when I like—a travelling-dress is what it would be called by some. Come rathe or come late it don't much matter, as I have a dress of my own to fall back upon. But what time is it?”
She went to the family clock and opened the glass, for the hour was not otherwise discernible by night, and indeed at all times was rather a thing to be investigated than beheld, so much more wall than window was there in the apartment. “It is nearly eight,” said she.
“Eight o'clock, and neither dress nor man,” said Mrs. Hall.
“Mother, if you think to tantalize me by talking like that, you are much mistaken! Let him be as late as he will—or stay away altogether—I don't care,” said Sally. But a tender, minute quaver in the negation showed that there was something forced in that statement.
Mrs. Hall perceived it, and drily observed that she was not so sure about Sally not caring. “But perhaps you don't care so much as I do, after all,” she said. “For I see what you don't, that it is a good and flourishing match for you; a very honourable offer in Mr. Darton. And I think I see a kind husband in him. So pray God 'twill go smooth, and wind up well.”
Sally would not listen to misgivings. Of course it would go smoothly, she asserted. “How you are up and down, mother!” she went on. “At this moment, whatever hinders him, we are not so anxious to see him as he is to be here, and his thought runs on before him, and settles down upon us like the star in the east. Hark!” she exclaimed, with a breath of relief, her eyes sparkling. “I heard something. Yes—here they are!”
The next moment her mother's slower ear also distinguished the familiar reverberation occasioned footsteps clambering up the roots of the sycamore.
“Yes it sounds like them at last,” she said. “Well, it is not so very late after all, considering the distance.”
The footfall ceased, and they arose, expecting a knock. They began to think it might have been, after all, some neighbouring villager under Bacchic influence, giving the centre of the road a wide berth, when their doubts were dispelled by the new-comer's entry into the passage. The door of the room was gently opened, and there appeared not the pair of travellers with whom we have already made acquaintance, but a palefaced man in the garb of extreme poverty—almost in rags.
“O, it's a tramp—gracious me!” said Sally, starting back.
His cheeks and eye-orbits were deep concaves—rather, it might be, from natural weakness of constitution than irregular living, though there were indications that he had led no careful life. He gazed at the two women fixedly for a moment: then with an abashed, humiliated demeanour, dropped his glance to the floor, and sank into a chair without uttering a word.
Sally was in advance of her mother, who had remained standing by the fire. She now tried to discern the visitor across the candles.
“Why—mother,” said Sally faintly, turning back to Mrs. Hall. “It is Phil, from Australia!”
Mrs. Hall started, and grew pale, and a fit of coughing seized the man with the ragged clothes. “To come home like this!” she said. “O, Philip—are you ill?”
“No, no, mother,” replied he impatiently, as soon as he could speak.
“But for God's sake how do you come here—and just now too?”
“Well, I am here,” said the man. “How it is I hardly know. I've come home, mother, because I was driven to it. Things were against me out there, and went from bad to worse.”
“Then why didn't you let us know?—you've not writ a line for the last two or three years.”
The son admitted sadly that he had not. He said that he had hoped and thought he might fetch up again, and be able to send good news. Then he had been obliged to abandon that hope, and had finally come home from sheer necessity—previously to making a new start. “Yes, things are very bad with me,” he repeated, perceiving their commiserating glances at his clothes.
They brought him nearer the fire, took his hat from his thin hand, which was so small and smooth as to show that his attempts to fetch up again had not been in a manual direction. His mother resumed her inquiries, and dubiously asked if he had chosen to come that particular night for any special reason.
For no reason, he told her. His arrival had been quite at random. Then Philip Hall looked round the room, and saw for the first time that the table was laid somewhat luxuriously, and for a larger number than themselves; and that an air of festivity pervaded their dress. He asked quickly what was going on.
“Sally is going to be married in a day or two,” replied the mother; and she explained how Mr. Darton, Sally's intended husband, was coming there that night with the groomsman, Mr. Johns, and other details. “We thought it must be their step when we heard you,” said Mrs. Hall.
The needy wanderer looked again on the floor. “I see—I see,” he murmured. “Why, indeed, should I have come to-night? Such folk as I are not wanted here at these times, naturally. And I have no business here—spoiling other people's happiness.”
“Phil,” said his mother, with a tear in her eye, but with a thinness of lip and severity of manner which were presumably not more than past events justified; “since you speak like that to me, I'll speak honestly to you. For these three years you have taken no thought for us. You left home with a good supply of money, and strength and education, and you ought to have made good use of it all. But you come back like a beggar; and that you come in a very awkward time for us cannot be denied. Your return tonight may do us much harm. But mind—you are welcome to this home as long as it is mine. I don't wish to turn you adrift. We will make the best of a bad job; and I hope you are not seriously ill?”
“O, no. I have only this infernal cough.”
She looked at him anxiously. “I think you had better go to bed at once,” she said.
“Well—I shall be out of the way there,” said the son wearily. “Having ruined myself, don't let me ruin you by being seen in these togs, for Heaven's sake. Who do you say Sally is going to be married to—a Farmer Darton?”
“Yes—a gentleman-farmer—quite a wealthy man. Far better in station than she could have expected. It is a good thing, altogether.”
“Well done, little Sal!” said her brother, brightening and looking up at her with a smile. “I ought to have written; but perhaps I have thought of you all the more. But let me get out of sight. I would rather go and jump into the river than be seen here. But have you anything I can drink? I am confoundedly thirsty with my long tramp.”
“Yes, yes, we will bring something upstairs to you,” said Sally, with grief in her face.
“Ay, that will do nicely. But, Sally and mother—” He stopped, and they waited.
“Mother, I have not told you all,” he resumed slowly, still looking on the floor between his knees. “Sad as what you see of me is, there's worse behind.”
His mother gazed upon him in grieved suspense, and Sally went and leant upon the bureau, listening for every sound, and sighing. Suddenly she turned round, saying, “Let them come, I don't care! Philip, tell the worst, and take your time.”
“Well, then,” said the unhappy Phil, “I am not the only one in this mess. Would do Heaven I were! But—”
“O, Phil!”
“I have a wife as destitute as I.”
“A wife?” said his mother.
“Unhappily!”
“A wife! Yes, that is the way with sons!”
“And besides—” said he.
“Besides! O, Philip, surely—”
“I have two little children.”
“Wife and children!” whispered Mrs. Hall, sinking down confounded.
“Poor little things!” said Sally involuntarily.
His mother turned again to him. “I suppose these helpless beings are left in Australia?”
“No. They are in England.”
“Well, I can only hope you've left them in a respectable place.”
“I have not left them at all. They are here—within a few yards of us. In short, they are in the stable.”
“Where?”
“In the stable. I did not like to bring them indoors till I had seen you, mother, and broken the bad news a bit to you. They were very tired, and are resting out there on some straw.”
Mrs. Hall's fortitude visibly broken down. She had been brought up not without refinement, and was even more moved by such a collapse of genteel aims as this than a substantial dairyman's widow would in ordinary have been moved. “Well, it must be borne,” she said, in a low voice, with her hands tightly joined. “A starving son, a starving wife,starving children! Let it be. But why is this come to us now, to-day, tonight? Could no other misfortune happen to helpless women than this, which will quite upset my poor girl's chance of a happy life? Why have you done us this wrong, Philip? What respectable man will come here, and marry open-eyed into a family of vagabonds?”
“Nonsense, mother!” said Sally vehemently, while her face flushed. “Charley isn't the man to desert me. But if he should be, and won't marry me because Phil's come, let him go and marry elsewhere. I won't be ashamed of my own flesh and blood for any man in England—not I!” And then Sally turned away and burst into tears.
“Wait till you are twenty years older and you will tell a different tale,” replied her mother.
The son stood up. “Mother,” he said bitterly, “as I have come, so I will go. All I ask of you is that you will allow me and mine to lie in your stable to-night. I give you my word that we'll be gone by break of day, and trouble you no further!”
Mrs. Hall, the mother, changed at that. “O, no,” she answered hastily; “never shall it be said that I sent any of my own family from my door. Bring 'em in, Philip, or take me out to them.”
“We will put 'em all into the large bedroom,” said Sally, brightening, “and make up a large fire. Let's go and help them in, and call Rebekah.”(Rebekah was the woman who assisted at the dairy and housework; she lived in a cottage hard by with her husband, who attended to the cows.)
Sally went to fetch a lantern from the back-kitchen, but her brother said, “You won't want a light. I lit the lantern that was hanging there.”
“What must we call your wife?” asked Mrs. Hall.
“Helena,” said Philip.
With shawls over their heads they proceeded towards the back door.
“One minute before you go,” interrupted Philip. “I haven't confessed all.”
“Then Heaven help us!” said Mrs. Hall, pushing to the door and clasping her hands in calm despair.
“We passed through Evershead as we came,” he continued, “and I just looked in at the ‘Sow-and-Acorn’ to see if old Mike still kept on there as usual. The carrier had come in from Sherton Abbas at that moment, and guessing that I was bound for this place—for I think he knew me—he asked me to bring on a dressmaker's parcel for Sally that was marked‘immediate.’ My wife had walked on with the children. 'Twas a flimsy parcel, and the paper was torn, and I found on looking at it that it was a thick warm gown. I didn't wish you to see poor Helena in a shabby state. I was ashamed that you should—'twas not what she was born to. I untied the parcel in the road, took it on to her where she was waiting in the Lower Barn, and told her I had managed to get it for her, and that she was to ask no question. She, poor thing, must have supposed I obtained it on trust, through having reached a place where I was known, for she put it on gladly enough. She has it on now. Sally has other gowns, I daresay.”
Sally looked at her mother, speechless.
“You have others, I daresay!” repeated Phil, with a sick man's impatience, “I thought to myself, ‘Better Sally cry than Helena freeze.’ Well, is the dress of great consequence? 'Twas nothing very ornamental, as far as I could see.”
“No—no; not of consequence,” returned Sally sadly, adding in a gentle voice, “You will not mind if I lend her another instead of that one, will you?”
Philip's agitation at the confession had brought on another attack of the cough, which seemed to shake him to pieces. He was so obviously unfit to sit in a chair that they helped him upstairs at once; and having hastily given him a cordial and kindled the bedroom fire, they descended to fetch their unhappy new relations.
沿著三人沒(méi)選的左邊那條路向前走三英里,路邊有一棟老房子,直欞窗用的是哈姆丘陵巖,煙囪也極其結(jié)實(shí)。房子位于國(guó)王的欣托克村正街旁的一個(gè)斜坡頂,離國(guó)王的欣托克大宅只有一兩英里遠(yuǎn),但卻同那座府邸及其所轄區(qū)域隔絕開來(lái)。緊挨著房子正前方有一棵巨大的槭樹,樹根裸露在地面的部分形成了一個(gè)簡(jiǎn)易的階梯,沿斜坡下的路直通到大門口。人們根據(jù)房子所處的地理位置給它取了個(gè)不甚有特色的名字,叫作“高崗”。距房子四十碼開外有一條小溪涓涓流過(guò),溪雖小,流水聲卻十分嘹亮。屋后有一個(gè)奶場(chǎng)院子,車輛和牲口可以從側(cè)邊的一條“巷子”進(jìn)出。在這昏暗的傍晚,外頭只能看到這戶人家的這些情況了。
不過(guò)屋內(nèi)卻有足夠多的燈光照明——此處的“足夠多”是按欣托克村當(dāng)?shù)氐睦斫舛缘摹N輧?nèi)有一個(gè)都鐸式壁爐,壁爐上方的四圓心尖拱幾乎被一個(gè)蓋著印花藍(lán)布的風(fēng)箱給擋住了。壁爐旁坐著兩個(gè)女人——她們是母女——霍爾太太和薩拉,別名莎莉。在這個(gè)地區(qū),后一種簡(jiǎn)稱尚未被增進(jìn)的智識(shí)視為鄙俗而廢除。叫這個(gè)名字的是個(gè)年輕姑娘,達(dá)頓先生正是打算借助她在翌日告別單身。
母親孀居多年,如今無(wú)論從表情還是穿著都已看不出喪夫的痕跡。她戴回了早年新婚時(shí)常戴的頭巾軟帽,襯以幾根玫瑰粉的絲帶,使白帽子不至于太過(guò)寡淡。莎莉不需要這額外的粉色裝點(diǎn)。她面色白里透紅,眼神樂(lè)觀溫和,五官輪廓分明,顯出理性與決斷;說(shuō)她是個(gè)熱心、急性子的漂亮姑娘應(yīng)該不會(huì)有錯(cuò)。
說(shuō)話的主要是莎莉,母親心不在焉地一邊聽,一邊用火鉗把燒得通紅的碎木塊揀出來(lái),堆到墊底的大木頭上。兩人的交談同其中傳遞的信息比起來(lái)可謂惜字如金,常年相伴讓她們心有靈犀不點(diǎn)亦通。在她們身后,房間正中央的餐桌上已經(jīng)擺好了餐具,廚房里間一陣陣帶著肉香的蒸氣飄進(jìn)來(lái),表明彼處正在準(zhǔn)備晚餐。
“他說(shuō)要送給你的長(zhǎng)裙就跟他本人一樣都還在路上?!鄙虻哪赣H正在說(shuō)。
“是啊,我估計(jì)是還沒(méi)做好吧,”莎莉說(shuō)話很有主見,“主啊,就算是永遠(yuǎn)不送來(lái)我也不會(huì)覺得奇怪!男人們就是這樣,在你面前山盟海誓,一轉(zhuǎn)過(guò)身就忘得一干二凈。不過(guò)他并沒(méi)打算把它當(dāng)結(jié)婚禮服——只是件外套,什么時(shí)候想穿就穿——有些人把這叫作出門裝。早來(lái)也好,晚來(lái)也罷,關(guān)系都不大,反正我自己也有裙子可以撐一下。現(xiàn)在幾點(diǎn)鐘了?”
她走到鐘跟前打開玻璃門,因?yàn)橥砩咸旌诳床磺鍟r(shí)間——其實(shí)任何時(shí)候都沒(méi)法單靠一瞥就能看清,一定得仔細(xì)察看,因?yàn)槲葑訅Χ啻吧?。“快八點(diǎn)了?!彼f(shuō)。
“都八點(diǎn)了,衣服沒(méi)到人也沒(méi)到?!被魻柼f(shuō)。
“媽,如果您以為這樣說(shuō)就能讓我著急,那您可錯(cuò)了!隨便他想多晚來(lái)就多晚來(lái)吧——就算他一輩子都不來(lái)——我也無(wú)所謂?!鄙蛘f(shuō),但是她說(shuō)“無(wú)所謂”時(shí)語(yǔ)氣里帶著一絲微微的顫抖,暴露了她說(shuō)這話的勉強(qiáng)。
霍爾太太覺察出來(lái)了,淡淡地說(shuō)她可不認(rèn)為莎莉真的不在乎?!安贿^(guò)也許你的確不如我那么在乎?!彼f(shuō),“因?yàn)槲冶饶愀宄@是門能讓你發(fā)達(dá)的好親事,我們應(yīng)該感謝達(dá)頓先生。而且我相信他會(huì)是個(gè)好丈夫。所以我們要祈禱上帝讓一切順順當(dāng)當(dāng),讓結(jié)果稱心如意?!?/p>
莎莉這會(huì)兒聽不進(jìn)去任何擔(dān)憂的話。她確信一切肯定都會(huì)順順當(dāng)當(dāng)?shù)??!澳鷦e這么忐忑不安啦,媽媽!”她接著說(shuō),“不管是什么原因讓他來(lái)晚了,這會(huì)兒他想要快點(diǎn)到這兒的心情比咱們想見到他的心情要迫切得多呢!他的心肯定比他的人跑得快,已經(jīng)像東邊升起的星星一樣來(lái)到我們家了。快聽!”她喊了一聲,松了一口氣,眼睛閃著喜悅的光芒,“我聽到有聲音了。是的——是他們來(lái)了!”
下一刻她有點(diǎn)耳背的母親也聽到了腳踩著槭樹根爬上坡發(fā)出的熟悉聲響。
“是的,看來(lái)他們終于到了,”她說(shuō),“唉,總的來(lái)說(shuō)還不算太晚,想想要走那么遠(yuǎn)的路呢?!?/p>
腳步聲停了,兩人站起身來(lái),等待敲門聲響起。她們等了又等,差點(diǎn)要開始懷疑剛聽到的腳步聲不過(guò)是村里某個(gè)鄉(xiāng)親,因?yàn)楹茸砹司?,所以走偏了路。但?lái)人進(jìn)了走廊,打消了她們的疑慮。房門被輕輕地推開了,可是進(jìn)來(lái)的不是我們已經(jīng)提到過(guò)的那兩位旅人,而是一個(gè)臉色蒼白的男子,穿著極其襤褸——幾乎就是一堆破布。
“哦,天哪——是個(gè)流浪漢!”莎莉嚇得退后一步。
來(lái)人臉頰干癟、眼窩深陷——但很可能更多的是體質(zhì)虛弱的緣故,而不單是因?yàn)轱栆活D饑一頓,看得出來(lái)他的日子過(guò)得并不精心。他定定地望了兩個(gè)女人一會(huì)兒,然后低頭望向地面,帶著一副羞愧不安、忍辱負(fù)重的神情,一言不發(fā)地癱坐到椅子上。
莎莉搶先一步走上前去,她的母親則站在壁爐邊沒(méi)動(dòng)彈。莎莉借著燭光仔細(xì)辨認(rèn)來(lái)者。
“啊——媽媽,”莎莉轉(zhuǎn)過(guò)身,對(duì)著霍爾太太,仿佛突然失了力氣,“是菲爾,他從澳大利亞回來(lái)了!”
霍爾太太大驚,臉色“唰”地一下子變白了。衣著襤褸的男子爆發(fā)了一陣咳嗽?!俺蛇@個(gè)樣子回來(lái)!”她說(shuō),“啊,菲利普——你病了?”
“不,沒(méi)有,母親?!彼换謴?fù)力氣開口,便不耐煩地回答。
“但,我的天哪,你是怎么回來(lái)的——而且還在這個(gè)時(shí)候?”
“唉,我就是回來(lái)了,”男子說(shuō),“怎么回來(lái)的我也不知道。母親,我之所以回來(lái),是因?yàn)槠炔坏靡选T谀沁吺裁炊疾蝗缫?,情況越來(lái)越糟?!?/p>
“那你為什么不告訴我們?——這兩三年你從沒(méi)寫過(guò)一個(gè)字回來(lái)。”
兒子哀傷地承認(rèn)自己沒(méi)有寫過(guò)信。他解釋說(shuō),他一直希望并相信自己也許能挽回局面,就可以給家里報(bào)喜。但后來(lái)他不得不放棄希望,直到窮途末路只能回來(lái)——且待他日東山再起。他看到她們憐憫地打量著他穿的破爛,又重復(fù)了一遍:“是的,我的日子很不好過(guò)。”
她們把他扶到火邊,從他干枯消瘦的手里把帽子接過(guò)去。他的手小而光滑,可見他想借以翻盤的辦法應(yīng)該不是干體力活。他的母親又繼續(xù)盤問(wèn),狐疑地問(wèn)他是不是有什么特別的原因,所以才特意挑了這一晚回來(lái)。
他告訴她沒(méi)有什么特別原因,只是碰巧而已。說(shuō)完后菲利普·霍爾環(huán)顧四周,這才發(fā)現(xiàn)餐桌上的餐具很是奢華,而且不止兩個(gè)人的數(shù),母女倆的穿著也很隆重喜慶。他趕緊詢問(wèn)是怎么回事。
“莎莉這兩天就要成親了,”母親回答。她解釋說(shuō)達(dá)頓先生,莎莉的未婚夫,今天晚上要同伴郎約翰斯先生一起來(lái)做客,以及其他一些詳情,“我們聽到你的腳步聲時(shí)還以為是他們來(lái)了?!被魻柼f(shuō)。
潦倒的流浪漢又一次眼望地面。“明白了——明白了,”他喃喃地說(shuō),“是啊,確實(shí),我為什么要今天晚上回來(lái)呢?像我這樣的人當(dāng)然不應(yīng)該出現(xiàn)在這種時(shí)候。我根本沒(méi)有資格出現(xiàn)在這里——攪了別人的好事?!?/p>
“菲爾,”他的母親眼里泛起淚光,但她依然緊抿嘴唇、舉止嚴(yán)厲,這應(yīng)該是源于過(guò)去種種而令她不得不這樣做,“既然你這樣對(duì)我說(shuō)話,那我也對(duì)你開誠(chéng)布公吧。過(guò)去三年里你壓根兒沒(méi)管過(guò)我們。你離開家的時(shí)候不愁錢也不愁力氣,你也受過(guò)教育,本應(yīng)好好利用這些條件,過(guò)上好日子??赡悻F(xiàn)在回來(lái),還弄得像個(gè)乞丐;而且,不可否認(rèn),你回來(lái)的時(shí)間對(duì)我們來(lái)說(shuō)確實(shí)非常尷尬。你今晚回來(lái)可能會(huì)害了我們。不過(guò)請(qǐng)記住,只要我還在,這個(gè)家就歡迎你。我不會(huì)把你拒之門外。事到如今我們也只有盡人事聽天命了。你的病嚴(yán)不嚴(yán)重?”
“呃,不嚴(yán)重。只是咳嗽比較煩人。”
她急切地看看他,“我覺得你最好馬上去睡一覺?!?/p>
“是的——這樣我就不會(huì)礙事了?!眱鹤悠v地說(shuō)道,“我已經(jīng)毀了我自己,可別讓別人看見我穿著這身破爛,我的天哪,免得毀了你們的幸福。你剛才說(shuō)莎莉要嫁給誰(shuí)來(lái)著——一個(gè)叫達(dá)頓的農(nóng)民?”
“是的——一位紳士農(nóng)場(chǎng)主——非常富有。地位遠(yuǎn)高出她的預(yù)期??偟膩?lái)說(shuō),這是件大好事?!?/p>
“干得漂亮,小莎爾!”她的兄長(zhǎng)眼睛一亮,微笑著抬頭看她,“我本該寫信回來(lái)的,但是我怕寫了信會(huì)更想你?,F(xiàn)在讓我先躲起來(lái)吧,我寧可去跳河也不想在這里被人看到。不過(guò)你們有沒(méi)有什么喝的?我走了很遠(yuǎn)很遠(yuǎn)的路,現(xiàn)在渴得嗓子都冒煙了。”
“有的,有的,我們給你送到樓上去?!鄙蛘f(shuō),臉上表情很哀傷。
“好,那非常好。但是,莎莉,母親——”他欲言又止,她們便等著他說(shuō)下去。
“母親,我還沒(méi)有跟你說(shuō)完,”他慢慢地開口了,依然低頭望著雙膝之間的地面,“您看我這副樣子已經(jīng)很落魄,但是還有更糟的在后頭?!?/p>
他的母親驚疑不定地盯著他。莎莉走過(guò)去靠著柜子,凝神靜聽,長(zhǎng)長(zhǎng)嘆了口氣,然后她突然轉(zhuǎn)過(guò)身說(shuō):“讓該來(lái)的都來(lái)吧,我不在乎!菲利普,把最壞的事都說(shuō)出來(lái)吧,慢慢說(shuō)?!?/p>
“好吧,”倒霉的菲爾說(shuō),“這個(gè)爛攤子里,我不是唯一的一個(gè)人。上天啊,要是只有我一個(gè)就好了!但是——”
“噢,菲爾!”
“我還有個(gè)妻子,跟我一樣一貧如洗?!?/p>
“妻子?”他的母親問(wèn)道。
“很不幸!”
“妻子!對(duì)啊,養(yǎng)兒子還有這一茬兒!”
“除此之外——”他又說(shuō)。
“除此之外!噢,菲利普,難道你——”
“我還有兩個(gè)孩子?!?/p>
“妻子和孩子!”霍爾太太低聲說(shuō),失魂落魄地癱坐在地上。
“可憐的孩子們!”莎莉不由自主地說(shuō)。
母親又轉(zhuǎn)向他說(shuō):“我猜你把你可憐的妻兒留在澳大利亞了?”
“不,他們?cè)谟⒏裉m?!?/p>
“那么,我只能希望你把他們留在了一個(gè)還算體面的地方?!?/p>
“我沒(méi)把他們留在任何地方。他們就在這兒——離我們只有幾碼遠(yuǎn)。長(zhǎng)話短說(shuō),他們?cè)隈R廄里。”
“在……在哪里?”
“在馬廄里。我想等我先見到您——母親——跟您透露一點(diǎn)壞消息之后,再帶他們來(lái)見您。他們很疲憊了,在里面的稻草堆上歇息。”
霍爾太太的堅(jiān)毅很明顯被擊垮了。她也是在體面人家長(zhǎng)大的,因此看到兒子斯文掃地,受到的打擊比起尋常的奶牛場(chǎng)主遺孀要大得多?!盁o(wú)論如何,都必須得扛著。”她低聲地說(shuō),雙手緊握,“餓得半死的兒子,餓得半死的兒媳婦,餓得半死的孩子!來(lái)就來(lái)吧。但是你為什么非要在這個(gè)節(jié)骨眼回來(lái),非要在今天,非要在今晚?為什么要讓這樣不幸的事情發(fā)生在兩個(gè)無(wú)依無(wú)靠的女人身上,讓我可憐的女兒得到幸福的機(jī)會(huì)就此被毀掉?菲利普,你為什么要這樣害我們?有哪個(gè)體面的男人到了這里,看到這一家子的流浪漢,還會(huì)愿意跟他們結(jié)親?”
“媽媽,別亂說(shuō)!”莎莉激烈地說(shuō),臉漲得通紅,“查理[2]不是那樣的人,不會(huì)因此拋棄我。但假如他真的因?yàn)榉茽柣貋?lái)就不愿意娶我的話,那就讓他走,去娶別人吧。我不會(huì)為了全英格蘭任何一個(gè)男人而嫌棄自己的親人——任他是誰(shuí),我都不會(huì)!”說(shuō)完,她扭過(guò)頭去,眼淚奪眶而出。
“再等二十年,你就不會(huì)說(shuō)這種話了!”她的母親回答。
兒子站起身來(lái)?!澳赣H,”他苦澀地說(shuō),“我怎么來(lái)的就怎么走。我只請(qǐng)求您讓我和我的家人今晚在您的馬廄里歇息一夜。我向您保證,到天亮?xí)r我們就會(huì)離開,從今往后再不給您添麻煩!”
聽到這話,他的母親霍爾太太變了臉色?!芭恫唬 彼颐φf(shuō),“我可不能讓別人說(shuō)我把自己的親人拒之門外。菲利普,把他們帶進(jìn)來(lái)吧,或者帶我過(guò)去見他們?!?/p>
“我們讓他們住到大臥室去吧,”莎莉的臉色高興了些,“把火生得旺旺的。我們一起過(guò)去帶他們進(jìn)來(lái),然后去叫黎貝卡?!保ɡ柝惪ㄔ谒齻兗夷虉?chǎng)做幫手并兼做家務(wù),她丈夫則幫著養(yǎng)牛,兩人就住在大房旁邊的小屋里。)
莎莉到后面廚房拿了一盞燈,但她兄長(zhǎng)說(shuō):“不需要帶燈過(guò)去,我已經(jīng)把掛在馬廄那兒的燈點(diǎn)亮了。”
“我們?cè)趺捶Q呼你的妻子?”霍爾太太問(wèn)。
“海倫娜?!狈评栈卮稹?/p>
母女倆頭裹上披巾,向后門走去。
“等一等,”菲利普叫住她們,“我還有件事沒(méi)說(shuō)。”
“上天可憐可憐我們吧!”霍爾太太整個(gè)人靠向門,雙手緊捏在一起,平靜而絕望地說(shuō)。
“我們來(lái)的時(shí)候經(jīng)過(guò)艾福斯海德,”他接著說(shuō),“我順便去‘豬與橡子’小酒館看了一眼,看看老邁克還在不在那里干活,正好碰到郵差從謝頓阿巴斯鎮(zhèn)過(guò)來(lái),他猜我要到這里來(lái)——我估計(jì)他認(rèn)出了我——于是讓我捎帶一個(gè)裁縫寄給莎莉的包裹,上面標(biāo)著‘急件’。我妻子和孩子已經(jīng)先往前走了。包裹很薄,包裝紙磨破了,我看到里面是一件厚實(shí)的長(zhǎng)裙。我不想讓你們看到海倫娜穿得太寒磣,我會(huì)覺得很丟人——她生來(lái)家境不是這樣的。我在路上就把包裹拆了,到下巴恩找她,她在那兒等我。我告訴她我找了件衣服給她穿,讓她不要多問(wèn)。可憐見的,她大概以為是我回到家鄉(xiāng)找到了熟人,賒了點(diǎn)賬買來(lái)的,就很高興地穿上了。她現(xiàn)在就穿著這件衣服。莎莉應(yīng)該還有別的衣服吧,我敢說(shuō)?!?/p>
莎莉看了看母親,一句話也說(shuō)不出來(lái)。
“你肯定還有別的衣服,對(duì)不對(duì)!”菲爾又重復(fù)了一遍,帶著病人不耐煩的腔調(diào),“我對(duì)自己說(shuō),‘就算把莎莉惹哭也好過(guò)讓海倫娜挨凍。’怎么,這裙子很重要嗎?看上去也沒(méi)有多華麗,至少我看來(lái)是這樣?!?/p>
“不——不,沒(méi)有多重要?!鄙蚱喑鼗卮?,又柔聲加了一句,“你應(yīng)該不會(huì)介意我另外借一件長(zhǎng)裙給她,把這條換回來(lái)吧?”
菲利普聽到這話情緒有點(diǎn)激動(dòng),結(jié)果又勾起了一陣驚天動(dòng)地的咳嗽,整個(gè)人都快散架了。他實(shí)在不適合再坐在椅子里,于是她們立刻扶著他上了樓,匆匆給他倒了一杯藥酒,把臥室的火生起來(lái),然后下樓去接那些倒霉的新親戚了。
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