章节正文
an esteem that nothing can shake."
A slight ring of glass made him lift his eyes from the
slice of pine-apple he was cutting into small pieces on
his plate. In changing his position Captain Whalley
had contrived to upset an empty tumbler.
Without looking that way, leaning sideways on his
elbow, his other hand shading his brow, he groped
shakily for it, then desisted. Van Wyk stared blankly,
as if something momentous had happened all at once.
He did not know why he should feel so startled; but he
forgot Sterne utterly for the moment.
"Why, what's the matter?"
And Captain Whalley, half-averted, in a deadened,
agitated voice, muttered--
"Esteem!"
"And I may add something more," Mr. Van Wyk,
very steady-eyed, pronounced slowly.
"Hold! Enough!" Captain Whalley did not
change his attitude or raise his voice. "Say no more!
I can make you no return. I am too poor even for that
now. Your esteem is worth having. You are not a
man that would stoop to deceive the poorest sort of devil
on earth, or make a ship unseaworthy every time he
takes her to sea."
Mr. Van Wyk, leaning forward, his face gone pink
all over, with the starched table-napkin over his knees,
was inclined to mistrust his senses, his power of com-
prehension, the sanity of his guest.
"Where? Why? In the name of God!--what's this?
What ship? I don't understand who . . ."
"Then, in the name of God, it is I! A ship's unsea-
worthy when her captain can't see. I am going blind."
Mr. Van Wyk made a slight movement, and sat very
still afterwards for a few seconds; then, with the
thought of Sterne's "The game's up," he ducked under
the table to pick up the napkin which had slipped off
his knees. This was the game that was up. And at
the same time the muffled voice of Captain Whalley
passed over him--
"I've deceived them all. Nobody knows."
He emerged flushed to the eyes. Captain Whalley,
motionless under the full blaze of the lamp, shaded his
face with his hand.
"And you had that courage?"
"Call it by what name you like. But you are a hu-
mane man--a--a--gentleman, Mr. Van Wyk. You may
have asked me what I had done with my conscience."
He seemed to muse, profoundly silent, very still in his
mournful pose.
"I began to tamper with it in my pride. You begin
to see a lot of things when you are going blind. I
could not be frank with an old chum even. I was not
frank with Massy--no, not altogether. I knew he took
me for a wealthy sailor fool, and I let him. I wanted
to keep up my importance--because there was poor Ivy
away there--my daughter. What did I want to trade
on his misery for? I did trade on it--for her. And
now, what mercy could I expect from him? He would
trade on mine if he knew it. He would hunt the old
fraud out, and stick to the money for a year. Ivy's
money. And I haven't kept a penny for myself. How
am I going to live for a year. A year! In a year there
will be no sun in the sky for her father."
His deep voice came out, awfully veiled, as though he
had been overwhelmed by the earth of a landslide, and
talking to you of the thoughts that haunt the dead in
their graves. A cold shudder ran down Mr. Van Wyk's
back.
"And how long is it since you have . . .?" he
began.
"It was a long time before I could bring myself to
believe in this--this visitation." Captain Whalley
spoke with gloomypatience from under his hand.
He had not thought he had deserved it. He had begun
by deceiving himself from day to day, from week to
week. He had the Serang at hand there--an old
servant. It came on gradually, and when he could no
longer deceive himself . . .
His voice died out almost.
"Rather than give her up I set myself to deceive
you all."
"It's incredible," whispered Mr. Van Wyk. Captain
Whalley's appalling murmur flowed on.
"Not even the sign of God's anger could make me
forget her. How could I forsake my child, feeling my
vigor all the time--the blood warm within me? Warm
as yours. It seems to me that, like the blinded Samson,
I would find the strength to shake down a temple upon
my head. She's a struggling woman--my own child
that we used to pray over together, my poor wife and I.
Do you remember that day I as well as told you
that I believed God would let me live to a hundred for
her sake? What sin is there in loving your child? Do
you see it? I was ready for her sake to live for ever.
I half believed I would. I've been praying for death
since. Ha! Presumptuous man--you wanted to
live . . ."
A tremendous, shuddering upheaval of that big frame,
shaken by a gasping sob, set the glasses jingling all
over the table, seemed to make the whole house tremble
to the roof-tree. And Mr. Van Wyk, whose feeling of
outraged love had been translated into a form of strug-
gle with nature, understood very well that, for that man
whose whole life had been conditioned by action, there
could exist no other expression for all the emotions; that,
to voluntarily cease venturing, doing, enduring, for his
child's sake, would have been exactly like plucking his
warm love for her out of his living heart. Something
too monstrous, too impossible, even to conceive.
Captain Whalley had not changed his attitude, that
seemed to express something of shame, sorrow, and
defiance.
"I have even deceived you. If it had not been for
that word 'esteem.' These are not the words for me.
I would have lied to you. Haven't I lied to you?
Weren't you going to trust your property on board this
very trip?"
"I have a floating yearly policy," Mr. Van Wyk said
almost unwittingly, and was amazed at the sudden crop-
ping up of a commercial detail.
"The ship is unseaworthy, I tell you. The policy
would be invalid if it were known . . ."
"We shall share the guilt, then."
"Nothing could make mine less," said Captain
Whalley.
He had not dared to consult a doctor; the man would
have perhaps asked who he was, what he was doing;
Massy might have heard something. He had lived on
without any help, human or divine. The very prayers
stuck in his throat. What was there to pray for? and
death seemed as far as ever. Once he got into his cabin
he dared not come out again; when he sat down he dared
not get up; he dared not raise his eyes to anybody's
face; he felt reluctant to look upon the sea or up to
the sky. The world was fading before his great fear
of giving himself away. The old ship was his last
friend; he was not afraid of her; he knew every inch
of her deck; but at her too he hardly dared to look, for
fear of finding he could see less than the day before.
A great incertitude enveloped him. The horizon was
gone; the sky mingled darkly with the sea. Who was
this figure standing over yonder? what was this thing
lying down there? And a frightful doubt of the reality
of what he could see made even the remnant of sight
that remained to him an added torment, a pitfall always
open for his miserable pretense. He was afraid to
stumble inexcusably over something--to say a fatal Yes
or No to a question. The hand of God was upon him,
but it could not tear him away from his child. And,
as if in a nightmare of humiliation, every featureless
man seemed an enemy.
He let his hand fall heavily on the table. Mr. Van
Wyk, arms down, chin on breast, with a gleam of white
teeth pressing on the lower lip, meditated on Sterne's
"The game's up."
"The Serang of course does not know."
"Nobody," said Captain Whalley, with assurance.
"Ah yes. Nobody. Very well. Can you keep it up
to the end of the trip? That is the last under the agree-
ment with Massy."
Captain Whalley got up and stood erect, very stately,
with the great white beard lying like a silver breastplate
over the awful secret of his heart. Yes; that was the
only hope there was for him of ever seeing her again,
of securing the money, the last he could do for her,
before he crept away somewhere--useless, a burden, a
reproach to himself. His voice faltered.
"Think of it! Never see her any more: the only
human being besides myself now on earth that can re-
member my wife. She's just like her mother. Lucky
the poor woman is where there are no tears shed over
those they loved on earth and that remain to pray not
to be led into temptation--because, I suppose, the
blessed know the secret of grace in God's dealings with
His created children."
He swayed a little, said with austere dignity--
"I don't. I know only the child He has given me."
And he began to walk. Mr. Van Wyk, jumping up,
saw the full meaning of the rigid head, the hesitating
feet, the vaguelyextended hand. His heart was beat-
ing fast; he moved a chair aside, and instinctively ad-
vanced as if to offer his arm. But Captain Whalley
passed him by, making for the stairs quite straight.
"He could not see me at all out of his line," Van Wyk
thought, with a sort of awe. Then going to the head
of the stairs, he asked a little tremulously--
"What is it like--like a mist--like . . ."
Captain Whalley, half-way down, stopped, and turned
round undismayed to answer.
"It is as if the light were ebbing out of the world.
Have you ever watched the ebbing sea on an open
stretch of sands withdrawing farther and farther away
from you? It is like this--only there will be no flood
to follow. Never. It is as if the sun were growing
smaller, the stars going out one by one. There can't be
many left that I can see by this. But I haven't had the
courage to look of late . . ." He must have been able
to make out Mr. Van Wyk, because he checked him by
an authoritativegesture and a stoical--
"I can get about alone yet."
It was as if he had taken his line, and would accept no
A slight ring of glass made him lift his eyes from the
slice of pine-apple he was cutting into small pieces on
his plate. In changing his position Captain Whalley
had contrived to upset an empty tumbler.
Without looking that way, leaning sideways on his
elbow, his other hand shading his brow, he groped
shakily for it, then desisted. Van Wyk stared blankly,
as if something momentous had happened all at once.
He did not know why he should feel so startled; but he
forgot Sterne utterly for the moment.
"Why, what's the matter?"
And Captain Whalley, half-averted, in a deadened,
agitated voice, muttered--
"Esteem!"
"And I may add something more," Mr. Van Wyk,
very steady-eyed, pronounced slowly.
"Hold! Enough!" Captain Whalley did not
change his attitude or raise his voice. "Say no more!
I can make you no return. I am too poor even for that
now. Your esteem is worth having. You are not a
man that would stoop to deceive the poorest sort of devil
on earth, or make a ship unseaworthy every time he
takes her to sea."
Mr. Van Wyk, leaning forward, his face gone pink
all over, with the starched table-napkin over his knees,
was inclined to mistrust his senses, his power of com-
prehension, the sanity of his guest.
"Where? Why? In the name of God!--what's this?
What ship? I don't understand who . . ."
"Then, in the name of God, it is I! A ship's unsea-
worthy when her captain can't see. I am going blind."
Mr. Van Wyk made a slight movement, and sat very
still afterwards for a few seconds; then, with the
thought of Sterne's "The game's up," he ducked under
the table to pick up the napkin which had slipped off
his knees. This was the game that was up. And at
the same time the muffled voice of Captain Whalley
passed over him--
"I've deceived them all. Nobody knows."
He emerged flushed to the eyes. Captain Whalley,
motionless under the full blaze of the lamp, shaded his
face with his hand.
"And you had that courage?"
"Call it by what name you like. But you are a hu-
mane man--a--a--gentleman, Mr. Van Wyk. You may
have asked me what I had done with my conscience."
He seemed to muse, profoundly silent, very still in his
mournful pose.
"I began to tamper with it in my pride. You begin
to see a lot of things when you are going blind. I
could not be frank with an old chum even. I was not
frank with Massy--no, not altogether. I knew he took
me for a wealthy sailor fool, and I let him. I wanted
to keep up my importance--because there was poor Ivy
away there--my daughter. What did I want to trade
on his misery for? I did trade on it--for her. And
now, what mercy could I expect from him? He would
trade on mine if he knew it. He would hunt the old
fraud out, and stick to the money for a year. Ivy's
money. And I haven't kept a penny for myself. How
am I going to live for a year. A year! In a year there
will be no sun in the sky for her father."
His deep voice came out, awfully veiled, as though he
had been overwhelmed by the earth of a landslide, and
talking to you of the thoughts that haunt the dead in
their graves. A cold shudder ran down Mr. Van Wyk's
back.
"And how long is it since you have . . .?" he
began.
"It was a long time before I could bring myself to
believe in this--this visitation." Captain Whalley
spoke with gloomypatience from under his hand.
He had not thought he had deserved it. He had begun
by deceiving himself from day to day, from week to
week. He had the Serang at hand there--an old
servant. It came on gradually, and when he could no
longer deceive himself . . .
His voice died out almost.
"Rather than give her up I set myself to deceive
you all."
"It's incredible," whispered Mr. Van Wyk. Captain
Whalley's appalling murmur flowed on.
"Not even the sign of God's anger could make me
forget her. How could I forsake my child, feeling my
vigor all the time--the blood warm within me? Warm
as yours. It seems to me that, like the blinded Samson,
I would find the strength to shake down a temple upon
my head. She's a struggling woman--my own child
that we used to pray over together, my poor wife and I.
Do you remember that day I as well as told you
that I believed God would let me live to a hundred for
her sake? What sin is there in loving your child? Do
you see it? I was ready for her sake to live for ever.
I half believed I would. I've been praying for death
since. Ha! Presumptuous man--you wanted to
live . . ."
A tremendous, shuddering upheaval of that big frame,
shaken by a gasping sob, set the glasses jingling all
over the table, seemed to make the whole house tremble
to the roof-tree. And Mr. Van Wyk, whose feeling of
outraged love had been translated into a form of strug-
gle with nature, understood very well that, for that man
whose whole life had been conditioned by action, there
could exist no other expression for all the emotions; that,
to voluntarily cease venturing, doing, enduring, for his
child's sake, would have been exactly like plucking his
warm love for her out of his living heart. Something
too monstrous, too impossible, even to conceive.
Captain Whalley had not changed his attitude, that
seemed to express something of shame, sorrow, and
defiance.
"I have even deceived you. If it had not been for
that word 'esteem.' These are not the words for me.
I would have lied to you. Haven't I lied to you?
Weren't you going to trust your property on board this
very trip?"
"I have a floating yearly policy," Mr. Van Wyk said
almost unwittingly, and was amazed at the sudden crop-
ping up of a commercial detail.
"The ship is unseaworthy, I tell you. The policy
would be invalid if it were known . . ."
"We shall share the guilt, then."
"Nothing could make mine less," said Captain
Whalley.
He had not dared to consult a doctor; the man would
have perhaps asked who he was, what he was doing;
Massy might have heard something. He had lived on
without any help, human or divine. The very prayers
stuck in his throat. What was there to pray for? and
death seemed as far as ever. Once he got into his cabin
he dared not come out again; when he sat down he dared
not get up; he dared not raise his eyes to anybody's
face; he felt reluctant to look upon the sea or up to
the sky. The world was fading before his great fear
of giving himself away. The old ship was his last
friend; he was not afraid of her; he knew every inch
of her deck; but at her too he hardly dared to look, for
fear of finding he could see less than the day before.
A great incertitude enveloped him. The horizon was
gone; the sky mingled darkly with the sea. Who was
this figure standing over yonder? what was this thing
lying down there? And a frightful doubt of the reality
of what he could see made even the remnant of sight
that remained to him an added torment, a pitfall always
open for his miserable pretense. He was afraid to
stumble inexcusably over something--to say a fatal Yes
or No to a question. The hand of God was upon him,
but it could not tear him away from his child. And,
as if in a nightmare of humiliation, every featureless
man seemed an enemy.
He let his hand fall heavily on the table. Mr. Van
Wyk, arms down, chin on breast, with a gleam of white
teeth pressing on the lower lip, meditated on Sterne's
"The game's up."
"The Serang of course does not know."
"Nobody," said Captain Whalley, with assurance.
"Ah yes. Nobody. Very well. Can you keep it up
to the end of the trip? That is the last under the agree-
ment with Massy."
Captain Whalley got up and stood erect, very stately,
with the great white beard lying like a silver breastplate
over the awful secret of his heart. Yes; that was the
only hope there was for him of ever seeing her again,
of securing the money, the last he could do for her,
before he crept away somewhere--useless, a burden, a
reproach to himself. His voice faltered.
"Think of it! Never see her any more: the only
human being besides myself now on earth that can re-
member my wife. She's just like her mother. Lucky
the poor woman is where there are no tears shed over
those they loved on earth and that remain to pray not
to be led into temptation--because, I suppose, the
blessed know the secret of grace in God's dealings with
His created children."
He swayed a little, said with austere dignity--
"I don't. I know only the child He has given me."
And he began to walk. Mr. Van Wyk, jumping up,
saw the full meaning of the rigid head, the hesitating
feet, the vaguelyextended hand. His heart was beat-
ing fast; he moved a chair aside, and instinctively ad-
vanced as if to offer his arm. But Captain Whalley
passed him by, making for the stairs quite straight.
"He could not see me at all out of his line," Van Wyk
thought, with a sort of awe. Then going to the head
of the stairs, he asked a little tremulously--
"What is it like--like a mist--like . . ."
Captain Whalley, half-way down, stopped, and turned
round undismayed to answer.
"It is as if the light were ebbing out of the world.
Have you ever watched the ebbing sea on an open
stretch of sands withdrawing farther and farther away
from you? It is like this--only there will be no flood
to follow. Never. It is as if the sun were growing
smaller, the stars going out one by one. There can't be
many left that I can see by this. But I haven't had the
courage to look of late . . ." He must have been able
to make out Mr. Van Wyk, because he checked him by
an authoritativegesture and a stoical--
"I can get about alone yet."
It was as if he had taken his line, and would accept no
- deceive [di´si:v]
vt.欺骗，欺诈 (初中英语单词) - movement [´mu:vmənt] n.活动；运动；动作 (初中英语单词)
- altogether [,ɔ:ltə´geðə] ad.完全；总而言之 (初中英语单词)
- wealthy [´welθi] a.富有的；丰富的 (初中英语单词)
- misery [´mizəri] n.痛苦；悲惨；穷困 (初中英语单词)
- patience [´peiʃəns] n.忍耐(力)；耐心；坚韧 (初中英语单词)
- temple [´tempəl] n.庙宇；寺院；太阳穴 (初中英语单词)
- tremendous [tri´mendəs] a.可怕的；巨大的 (初中英语单词)
- commercial [kə´mə:ʃəl] a.商业的 n.广告节目 (初中英语单词)
- consult [kən´sʌlt] v.商量；磋商；请教 (初中英语单词)
- divine [di´vain] a.神圣的 v.预言 (初中英语单词)
- throat [θrəut] n.咽喉；嗓子；出入口 (初中英语单词)
- horizon [hə´raizən] n.地平线；范围；视野 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- miserable [´mizərəbəl] a.悲惨的；可怜的 (初中英语单词)
- gesture [´dʒestʃə] n.手势 v.打手势 (初中英语单词)
- esteem [i´sti:m] n.尊重 vt.认为；感到 (高中英语单词)
- pronounced [prə´naunst] a.发出音的；显著的 (高中英语单词)
- napkin [´næpkin] n.餐巾；手帕；尿布 (高中英语单词)
- awfully [´ɔ:fuli] ad.令人畏惧地 (高中英语单词)
- shudder [´ʃʌdə] n.&vi.震颤；发抖 (高中英语单词)
- gloomy [´glu:mi] a.昏暗的；忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- loving [´lʌviŋ] a.爱的，有爱情的 (高中英语单词)
- monstrous [´mɔnstrəs] a.怪异的；庞大的 (高中英语单词)
- finding [´faindiŋ] n.发现物；判断；结果 (高中英语单词)
- frightful [´fraitfəl] a.可怕的；不愉快的 (高中英语单词)
- remnant [´remnənt] n.残(剩)余 a.剩余的 (高中英语单词)
- torment [´tɔ:ment] vt.(使)痛苦，折磨 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- half-way [´hɑ:fwei] ad.半途；几乎 (高中英语单词)
- profoundly [prə´faundli] ad.深深地 (英语四级单词)
- appalling [ə´pɔ:liŋ] a.令人震惊的 (英语四级单词)
- forsake [fə´seik] vt.遗弃，抛弃，摒绝 (英语四级单词)
- yearly [´jiəli] a.每年的；一年间的 (英语四级单词)
- invalid [in´vælid] n.病人 a.无效的 (英语四级单词)
- reluctant [ri´lʌktənt] a.勉强的；难得到的 (英语四级单词)
- nightmare [´naitmeə] n.梦魇；恶梦 (英语四级单词)
- austere [ɔ´stiə] a.严峻(格)的；质朴的 (英语四级单词)
- vaguely [´veigli] ad.含糊地，暖昧地 (英语四级单词)
- instinctively [in´stiŋktivli] ad.本能地 (英语四级单词)
- authoritative [ɔ:´θɔrətətiv] a.可信的；命令的 (英语四级单词)
- mistrust [mis´trʌst] v.&n.不信任；怀疑 (英语六级单词)
- enduring [in´djuəriŋ] a.持久的 (英语六级单词)
- darkly [´dɑ:kli] adv.暗，黑；暗中 (英语六级单词)
- humiliation [hju:,mili´eiʃən] n.羞辱，屈辱 (英语六级单词)
- extended [iks´tendid] a.伸长的；广大的 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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