章节正文
so bright!" she went on dreamily.
"It dazzles!" said Bruno, shading his eyes with one little hand, while
the other clung tightly to Sylvie's hand, as if he were half-alarmed at
her strange manner.
For the child moved on as if walking in her sleep, her large eyes
gazing into the far distance, and her breath coming and going in quick
pantings of eager delight. I knew, by some mysteriousmental light,
that a great change was taking place in my sweet little friend
(for such I loved to think her) and that she was passing from the
condition of a mere Outland Sprite into the true Fairy-nature.
Upon Bruno the change came later: but it was completed in both before
they reached the golden gate, through which I knew it would be
impossible for me to follow. I could but stand outside, and take a
last look at the two sweet children, ere they disappeared within,
and the golden gate closed with a bang.
And with such a bang! "It never will shut like any other
cupboard-door," Arthur explained. "There's something wrong with the
hinge. However, here's the cake and wine. And you've had your forty
winks. So you really must get off to bed, old man! You're fit for
nothing else. Witness my hand, Arthur Forester, M.D."
By this time I was wide-awake again. "Not quite yet!" I pleaded.
"Really I'm not sleepy now. And it isn't midnight yet."
"Well, I did want to say another word to you," Arthur replied in a
relenting tone, as he supplied me with the supper he had prescribed.
"Only I thought you were too sleepy for it to-night."
We took our midnight meal almost in silence; for an unusual nervousness
seemed to have seized on my old friend.
"What kind of a night is it?" he asked, rising and undrawing the
window-curtains, apparently to change the subject for a minute.
I followed him to the window, and we stood together, looking out,
in silence.
"When I first spoke to you about--" Arthur began, after a long and
embarrassing silence, "that is, when we first talked about her--for I
think it was you that introduced the subject--my own position in life
forbade me to do more than worship her from a distance:
and I was turning over plans for leaving this place finally,
and settling somewhere out of all chance of meeting her again.
That seemed to be my only chance of usefulness in life.
Would that have been wise?" I said. "To leave yourself no hope at all?"
"There was no hope to leave," Arthur firmly replied, though his eyes
glittered with tears as he gazed upwards into the midnight sky, from
which one solitary star, the glorious 'Vega,' blazed out in fitful
splendour through the driving clouds. "She was like that star to me--
bright, beautiful, and pure, but out of reach, out of reach!"
He drew the curtains again, and we returned to our places by the
fireside.
"What I wanted to tell you was this," he resumed. "I heard this
evening from my solicitor. I can't go into the details of the
business, but the upshot is that my worldlywealth is much more than I
thought, and I am (or shall soon be) in a position to offer marriage,
without imprudence, to any lady, even if she brought nothing. I doubt
if there would be anything on her side: the Earl is poor, I believe.
But I should have enough for both, even if health failed."
"I wish you all happiness in your married life!" I cried.
"Shall you speak to the Earl to-morrow?"
"Not yet awhile," said Arthur. "He is very friendly, but I dare not
think he means more than that, as yet. And as for--as for Lady Muriel,
try as I may, I cannot read her feelings towards me. If there is love,
she is hiding it! No, I must wait, I must wait!"
I did not like to press any further advice on my friend, whose
judgment, I felt, was so much more sober and thoughtful than my own;
and we parted without more words on the subject that had now absorbed
his thoughts, nay, his very life.
The next morning a letter from my solicitor arrived, summoning me to
town on important business.
CHAPTER 14.
FAIRY-SYLVlE.
For a full month the business, for which I had returned to London,
detained me there: and even then it was only the urgent advice of my
physician that induced me to leave it unfinished and pay another visit
to Elveston.
Arthur had written once or twice during the month; but in none of his
letters was there any mention of Lady Muriel. Still, I did not augur
ill from his silence: to me it looked like the natural action of a lover,
who, even while his heart was singing "She is mine!", would fear to
paint his happiness in the cold phrases of a written letter, but would
wait to tell it by word of mouth. "Yes," I thought, "I am to hear his
song of triumph from his own lips!"
The night I arrived we had much to say on other matters: and, tired
with the journey, I went to bed early, leaving the happy secret still
untold. Next day, however, as we chatted on over the remains of
luncheon, I ventured to put the momentous question. "Well, old friend,
you have told me nothing of Lady Muriel--nor when the happy day is to be?"
"The happy day," Arthur said, looking unexpectedly grave, "is yet in
the dim future. We need to know--or, rather, she needs to know me better.
I know her sweet nature, thoroughly, by this time. But I dare not speak
till I am sure that my love is returned."
"Don't wait too long!" I said gaily. "Faint heart never won fair lady!"
"It is 'faint heart,' perhaps. But really I dare not speak just yet."
"But meanwhile," I pleaded, "you are running a risk that perhaps you
have not thought of. Some other man--"
"No," said Arthur firmly. "She is heart-whole: I am sure of that.
Yet, if she loves another better than me, so be it! I will not spoil
her happiness. The secret shall die with me. But she is my first--
and my only love!"
"That is all very beautiful sentiment," I said, "but it is not practical.
It is not like you.
He either fears his fate too much,
Or his desert is small,
Who dares not put it to the touch,
To win or lose it all."
"I dare not ask the question whether there is another!" he said
passionately. "It would break my heart to know it!"
"Yet is it wise to leave it unasked? You must not waste your life upon
an 'if'!"
"I tell you I dare not!', "May I find it out for you?" I asked, with
the freedom of an old friend.
"No, no!" he replied with a pained look. "I entreat you to say nothing.
Let it wait."
"As you please," I said: and judged it best to say no more just then.
"But this evening," I thought, "I will call on the Earl. I may be
able to see how the land lies, without so much as saying a word!"
It was a very hot afternoon--too hot to go for a walk or do anything--
or else it wouldn't have happened, I believe.
In the first place, I want to know--dear Child who reads this!--why
Fairies should always be teaching us to do our duty, and lecturing us
when we go wrong, and we should never teach them anything? You can't
mean to say that Fairies are never greedy, or selfish, or cross, or
deceitful, because that would be nonsense, you know. Well then, don't
you think they might be all the better for a little lecturing and
punishing now and then?
I really don't see why it shouldn't be tried, and I'm almost sure that,
if you could only catch a Fairy, and put it in the corner, and give it
nothing but bread and water for a day or two, you'd find it quite an
improved character--it would take down its conceit a little, at all
events.
The next question is, what is the best time for seeing Fairies?
I believe I can tell you all about that.
The first rule is, that it must be a very hot day--that we may consider
as settled: and you must be just a little sleepy--but not too sleepy to
keep your eyes open, mind. Well, and you ought to feel a little--what
one may call "fairyish "--the Scotch call it "eerie," and perhaps
that's a prettier word; if you don't know what it means, I'm afraid I
can hardly explain it; you must wait till you meet a Fairy, and then
you'll know.
And the last rule is, that the crickets should not be chirping.
I can't stop to explain that: you must take it on trust for the present.
So, if all these things happen together, you have a good chance of
seeing a Fairy--or at least a much better chance than if they didn't.
The first thing I noticed, as I went lazily along through an open place
in the wood, was a large Beetle lying struggling on its back,
and I went down upon one knee to help the poor thing to its feet again.
In some things, you know, you ca'n't be quite sure what an insect would
like: for instance, I never could quite settle, supposing I were a
moth, whether I would rather be kept out of the candle, or be allowed
to fly straight in and get burnt--or again, supposing I were a spider,
I'm not sure if I should be quite pleased to have my web torn down,
and the fly let loose--but I feel quite certain that, if I were a beetle
and had rolled over on my back, I should always be glad to be helped up
again.
So, as I was saying, I had gone down upon one knee, and was just
reaching out a little stick to turn the Beetle over, when I saw a sight
that made me draw back hastily and hold my breath, for fear of making
any noise and frightening the little creature a way.
Not that she looked as if she would be easily frightened: she seemed so
good and gentle that I'm sure she would never expect that any one could
wish to hurt her. She was only a few inches high, and was dressed in
green, so that you really would hardly have noticed her among the long
grass; and she was so delicate and graceful that she quite seemed to
belong to the place, almost as if she were one of the flowers. I may
tell you, besides, that she had no wings (I don't believe in Fairies
with wings), and that she had quantities of long brown hair and large
earnest brown eyes, and then I shall have done all I can to give you an
idea of her.
[Image...Fairy-sylvie]
Sylvie (I found out her name afterwards) had knelt down, just as I was
doing, to help the Beetle; but it needed more than a little stick for
her to get it on its legs again; it was as much as she could do,
with both arms, to roll the heavy thing over; and all the while she
was talking to it, half scolding and half comforting, as a nurse might
do with a child that had fallen down.
"There, there! You needn't cry so much about it. You're not killed
yet--though if you were, you couldn't cry, you know, and so it's a
general rule against crying, my dear! And how did you come to tumble
over? But I can see well enough how it was--I needn't ask you that--
walking over sand-pits with your chin in the air, as usual.
Of course if you go among sand-pits like that, you must expect to tumble.
You should look."
The Beetle murmured something that sounded like "I did look," and Sylvie
went on again.
"But I know you didn't! You never do! You always walk with your chin
up--you're so dreadfullyconceited. Well, let's see how many legs are
broken this time. Why, none of them, I declare! And what's the good
of having six legs, my dear, if you can only kick them all about in the
air when you tumble? Legs are meant to walk with, you know. Now don't
begin putting out your wings yet; I've more to say. Go to the frog
that lives behind that buttercup--give him my compliments--Sylvie's
compliments--can you say compliments'?"
The Beetle tried and, I suppose, succeeded.
"Yes, that's right. And tell him he's to give you some of that salve I
left with him yesterday. And you'd better get him to rub it in for you.
He's got rather cold hands, but you mustn't mind that."
I think the Beetle must have shuddered at this idea, for Sylvie went on
in a graver tone. "Now you needn't pretend to be so particular as all
that, as if you were too grand to be rubbed by a frog. The fact is,
you ought to be very much obliged to him. Suppose you could get nobody
but a toad to do it, how would you like that?"
There was a little pause, and then Sylvie added "Now you may go.
Be a good beetle, and don't keep your chin in the air." And then began
one of those performances of humming, and whizzing, and restless banging
about, such as a beetle indulges in when it has decided on flying, but
"It dazzles!" said Bruno, shading his eyes with one little hand, while
the other clung tightly to Sylvie's hand, as if he were half-alarmed at
her strange manner.
For the child moved on as if walking in her sleep, her large eyes
gazing into the far distance, and her breath coming and going in quick
pantings of eager delight. I knew, by some mysteriousmental light,
that a great change was taking place in my sweet little friend
(for such I loved to think her) and that she was passing from the
condition of a mere Outland Sprite into the true Fairy-nature.
Upon Bruno the change came later: but it was completed in both before
they reached the golden gate, through which I knew it would be
impossible for me to follow. I could but stand outside, and take a
last look at the two sweet children, ere they disappeared within,
and the golden gate closed with a bang.
And with such a bang! "It never will shut like any other
cupboard-door," Arthur explained. "There's something wrong with the
hinge. However, here's the cake and wine. And you've had your forty
winks. So you really must get off to bed, old man! You're fit for
nothing else. Witness my hand, Arthur Forester, M.D."
By this time I was wide-awake again. "Not quite yet!" I pleaded.
"Really I'm not sleepy now. And it isn't midnight yet."
"Well, I did want to say another word to you," Arthur replied in a
relenting tone, as he supplied me with the supper he had prescribed.
"Only I thought you were too sleepy for it to-night."
We took our midnight meal almost in silence; for an unusual nervousness
seemed to have seized on my old friend.
"What kind of a night is it?" he asked, rising and undrawing the
window-curtains, apparently to change the subject for a minute.
I followed him to the window, and we stood together, looking out,
in silence.
"When I first spoke to you about--" Arthur began, after a long and
embarrassing silence, "that is, when we first talked about her--for I
think it was you that introduced the subject--my own position in life
forbade me to do more than worship her from a distance:
and I was turning over plans for leaving this place finally,
and settling somewhere out of all chance of meeting her again.
That seemed to be my only chance of usefulness in life.
Would that have been wise?" I said. "To leave yourself no hope at all?"
"There was no hope to leave," Arthur firmly replied, though his eyes
glittered with tears as he gazed upwards into the midnight sky, from
which one solitary star, the glorious 'Vega,' blazed out in fitful
splendour through the driving clouds. "She was like that star to me--
bright, beautiful, and pure, but out of reach, out of reach!"
He drew the curtains again, and we returned to our places by the
fireside.
"What I wanted to tell you was this," he resumed. "I heard this
evening from my solicitor. I can't go into the details of the
business, but the upshot is that my worldlywealth is much more than I
thought, and I am (or shall soon be) in a position to offer marriage,
without imprudence, to any lady, even if she brought nothing. I doubt
if there would be anything on her side: the Earl is poor, I believe.
But I should have enough for both, even if health failed."
"I wish you all happiness in your married life!" I cried.
"Shall you speak to the Earl to-morrow?"
"Not yet awhile," said Arthur. "He is very friendly, but I dare not
think he means more than that, as yet. And as for--as for Lady Muriel,
try as I may, I cannot read her feelings towards me. If there is love,
she is hiding it! No, I must wait, I must wait!"
I did not like to press any further advice on my friend, whose
judgment, I felt, was so much more sober and thoughtful than my own;
and we parted without more words on the subject that had now absorbed
his thoughts, nay, his very life.
The next morning a letter from my solicitor arrived, summoning me to
town on important business.
CHAPTER 14.
FAIRY-SYLVlE.
For a full month the business, for which I had returned to London,
detained me there: and even then it was only the urgent advice of my
physician that induced me to leave it unfinished and pay another visit
to Elveston.
Arthur had written once or twice during the month; but in none of his
letters was there any mention of Lady Muriel. Still, I did not augur
ill from his silence: to me it looked like the natural action of a lover,
who, even while his heart was singing "She is mine!", would fear to
paint his happiness in the cold phrases of a written letter, but would
wait to tell it by word of mouth. "Yes," I thought, "I am to hear his
song of triumph from his own lips!"
The night I arrived we had much to say on other matters: and, tired
with the journey, I went to bed early, leaving the happy secret still
untold. Next day, however, as we chatted on over the remains of
luncheon, I ventured to put the momentous question. "Well, old friend,
you have told me nothing of Lady Muriel--nor when the happy day is to be?"
"The happy day," Arthur said, looking unexpectedly grave, "is yet in
the dim future. We need to know--or, rather, she needs to know me better.
I know her sweet nature, thoroughly, by this time. But I dare not speak
till I am sure that my love is returned."
"Don't wait too long!" I said gaily. "Faint heart never won fair lady!"
"It is 'faint heart,' perhaps. But really I dare not speak just yet."
"But meanwhile," I pleaded, "you are running a risk that perhaps you
have not thought of. Some other man--"
"No," said Arthur firmly. "She is heart-whole: I am sure of that.
Yet, if she loves another better than me, so be it! I will not spoil
her happiness. The secret shall die with me. But she is my first--
and my only love!"
"That is all very beautiful sentiment," I said, "but it is not practical.
It is not like you.
He either fears his fate too much,
Or his desert is small,
Who dares not put it to the touch,
To win or lose it all."
"I dare not ask the question whether there is another!" he said
passionately. "It would break my heart to know it!"
"Yet is it wise to leave it unasked? You must not waste your life upon
an 'if'!"
"I tell you I dare not!', "May I find it out for you?" I asked, with
the freedom of an old friend.
"No, no!" he replied with a pained look. "I entreat you to say nothing.
Let it wait."
"As you please," I said: and judged it best to say no more just then.
"But this evening," I thought, "I will call on the Earl. I may be
able to see how the land lies, without so much as saying a word!"
It was a very hot afternoon--too hot to go for a walk or do anything--
or else it wouldn't have happened, I believe.
In the first place, I want to know--dear Child who reads this!--why
Fairies should always be teaching us to do our duty, and lecturing us
when we go wrong, and we should never teach them anything? You can't
mean to say that Fairies are never greedy, or selfish, or cross, or
deceitful, because that would be nonsense, you know. Well then, don't
you think they might be all the better for a little lecturing and
punishing now and then?
I really don't see why it shouldn't be tried, and I'm almost sure that,
if you could only catch a Fairy, and put it in the corner, and give it
nothing but bread and water for a day or two, you'd find it quite an
improved character--it would take down its conceit a little, at all
events.
The next question is, what is the best time for seeing Fairies?
I believe I can tell you all about that.
The first rule is, that it must be a very hot day--that we may consider
as settled: and you must be just a little sleepy--but not too sleepy to
keep your eyes open, mind. Well, and you ought to feel a little--what
one may call "fairyish "--the Scotch call it "eerie," and perhaps
that's a prettier word; if you don't know what it means, I'm afraid I
can hardly explain it; you must wait till you meet a Fairy, and then
you'll know.
And the last rule is, that the crickets should not be chirping.
I can't stop to explain that: you must take it on trust for the present.
So, if all these things happen together, you have a good chance of
seeing a Fairy--or at least a much better chance than if they didn't.
The first thing I noticed, as I went lazily along through an open place
in the wood, was a large Beetle lying struggling on its back,
and I went down upon one knee to help the poor thing to its feet again.
In some things, you know, you ca'n't be quite sure what an insect would
like: for instance, I never could quite settle, supposing I were a
moth, whether I would rather be kept out of the candle, or be allowed
to fly straight in and get burnt--or again, supposing I were a spider,
I'm not sure if I should be quite pleased to have my web torn down,
and the fly let loose--but I feel quite certain that, if I were a beetle
and had rolled over on my back, I should always be glad to be helped up
again.
So, as I was saying, I had gone down upon one knee, and was just
reaching out a little stick to turn the Beetle over, when I saw a sight
that made me draw back hastily and hold my breath, for fear of making
any noise and frightening the little creature a way.
Not that she looked as if she would be easily frightened: she seemed so
good and gentle that I'm sure she would never expect that any one could
wish to hurt her. She was only a few inches high, and was dressed in
green, so that you really would hardly have noticed her among the long
grass; and she was so delicate and graceful that she quite seemed to
belong to the place, almost as if she were one of the flowers. I may
tell you, besides, that she had no wings (I don't believe in Fairies
with wings), and that she had quantities of long brown hair and large
earnest brown eyes, and then I shall have done all I can to give you an
idea of her.
[Image...Fairy-sylvie]
Sylvie (I found out her name afterwards) had knelt down, just as I was
doing, to help the Beetle; but it needed more than a little stick for
her to get it on its legs again; it was as much as she could do,
with both arms, to roll the heavy thing over; and all the while she
was talking to it, half scolding and half comforting, as a nurse might
do with a child that had fallen down.
"There, there! You needn't cry so much about it. You're not killed
yet--though if you were, you couldn't cry, you know, and so it's a
general rule against crying, my dear! And how did you come to tumble
over? But I can see well enough how it was--I needn't ask you that--
walking over sand-pits with your chin in the air, as usual.
Of course if you go among sand-pits like that, you must expect to tumble.
You should look."
The Beetle murmured something that sounded like "I did look," and Sylvie
went on again.
"But I know you didn't! You never do! You always walk with your chin
up--you're so dreadfullyconceited. Well, let's see how many legs are
broken this time. Why, none of them, I declare! And what's the good
of having six legs, my dear, if you can only kick them all about in the
air when you tumble? Legs are meant to walk with, you know. Now don't
begin putting out your wings yet; I've more to say. Go to the frog
that lives behind that buttercup--give him my compliments--Sylvie's
compliments--can you say compliments'?"
The Beetle tried and, I suppose, succeeded.
"Yes, that's right. And tell him he's to give you some of that salve I
left with him yesterday. And you'd better get him to rub it in for you.
He's got rather cold hands, but you mustn't mind that."
I think the Beetle must have shuddered at this idea, for Sylvie went on
in a graver tone. "Now you needn't pretend to be so particular as all
that, as if you were too grand to be rubbed by a frog. The fact is,
you ought to be very much obliged to him. Suppose you could get nobody
but a toad to do it, how would you like that?"
There was a little pause, and then Sylvie added "Now you may go.
Be a good beetle, and don't keep your chin in the air." And then began
one of those performances of humming, and whizzing, and restless banging
about, such as a beetle indulges in when it has decided on flying, but
- breath [breθ]
n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词) - mysterious [mi´stiəriəs] a.神秘的；难以理解的 (初中英语单词)
- mental [´mentl] a.精神的；心理的 (初中英语单词)
- witness [´witnis] n.见证人 vt.目击 (初中英语单词)
- midnight [´midnait] n.午夜；漆黑 (初中英语单词)
- unusual [ʌn´ju:ʒuəl] a.不平常的；异常的 (初中英语单词)
- worship [´wə:ʃip] n.&v.崇拜；敬仰 (初中英语单词)
- firmly [´fə:mli] ad.坚固地，稳定地 (初中英语单词)
- glorious [´glɔ:riəs] a.光荣的；辉煌的 (初中英语单词)
- wealth [welθ] n.财富，财产 (初中英语单词)
- triumph [´traiəmf] n.胜利 vi.得胜，战胜 (初中英语单词)
- thoroughly [´θʌrəli] ad.完全地，彻底地 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- greedy [´gri:di] a.贪婪的；馋的 (初中英语单词)
- selfish [´selfiʃ] a.自私的，利己的 (初中英语单词)
- insect [´insekt] n.昆虫 (初中英语单词)
- instance [´instəns] n.例子，实例，例证 (初中英语单词)
- hastily [´heistili] ad.急速地；草率地 (初中英语单词)
- delicate [´delikət] a.精美的；微妙的 (初中英语单词)
- graceful [´greisfəl] a.优美的，流畅的 (初中英语单词)
- dreadfully [dredfuli] ad.可怕地；糟透地 (初中英语单词)
- yesterday [´jestədi] n.&ad.昨天；前不久 (初中英语单词)
- pretend [pri´tend] v.假装；借口；妄求 (初中英语单词)
- restless [´restləs] a.没有休息的 (初中英语单词)
- tightly [´taitli] ad.紧，紧密地 (高中英语单词)
- sleepy [´sli:pi] a.困的，想睡的 (高中英语单词)
- apparently [ə´pærəntli] ad.显然，表面上地 (高中英语单词)
- solitary [´sɔlitəri] a.独居的；孤独的 (高中英语单词)
- thoughtful [´θɔ:tfəl] a.深思的；体贴的 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- nonsense [´nɔnsəns] n.胡说 int.胡说!废话 (高中英语单词)
- conceit [kən´si:t] n.自负；骄傲自满 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- scotch [skɔtʃ] vt.&n.刻痕(于)；划伤 (高中英语单词)
- beetle [´bi:tl] n.甲虫 vi.忙碌地来回 (高中英语单词)
- decided [di´saidid] a.明显的；决定的 (高中英语单词)
- upwards [´ʌpwədz] ad.=upward (英语四级单词)
- worldly [´wə:ldli] a.现世的；世俗的 (英语四级单词)
- urgent [´ə:dʒənt] a.急迫的，紧急的 (英语四级单词)
- unfinished [´ʌn´finiʃt] a.未完成的，未完工的 (英语四级单词)
- unexpectedly [´ʌniks´pektidli] ad.意外地；突然地 (英语四级单词)
- entreat [in´tri:t] vt.恳求，恳请 (英语四级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- sprite [sprait] n.小妖精；捣蛋鬼 (英语六级单词)
- forester [´fɔristə] n.护林人，林务员 (英语六级单词)
- usefulness [´ju:sfəlnis] n.有用(性)；有益(性) (英语六级单词)
- solicitor [sə´lisitə] n.律师；掮客 (英语六级单词)
- lazily [´leizili] ad.懒惰地，慢吞吞地 (英语六级单词)
- conceited [kən´si:tid] a.自负的；自夸的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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