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The Warden-Part17_Antony Trollope(1815-1882)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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it is with you every time I look at you.'

How he pressed her to his heart again with almost a spasmodic



pressure! How he kissed her as the tears fell like rain from

his old eyes! How he blessed her, and called her by a hundred



soft sweet names which now came new to his lips! How he chid

himself for ever having been unhappy with such a treasure in his



house, such a jewel on his bosom, with so sweet a flower in

the choice garden of his heart! And then the floodgates of



his tongue were loosed, and, at length, with unsparing detail

of circumstances, he told her all that he wished, and all that



he could not do. He repeated those arguments of the archdeacon,

not agreeing in their truth, but explaining his inability to



escape from them--how it had been declared to him that he

was bound to remain where he was by the interests of his order,



by gratitude to the bishop, by the wishes of his friends, by

a sense of duty, which, though he could not understand it,



he was fain to acknowledge. He told her how he had been accused

of cowardice, and though he was not a man to make much of such



a charge before the world, now in the full candour of his heart

he explained to her that such an accusation was grievous to



him; that he did think it would be unmanly to desert his post,

merely to escape his present sufferings, and that, therefore, he



must bear as best he might the misery which was prepared for him.

And did she find these details tedious? Oh, no; she



encouraged him to dilate on every feeling he expressed, till he

laid bare the inmost corners of his heart to her. They spoke



together of the archdeacon, as two children might of a stern,

unpopular, but still respected schoolmaster, and of the bishop



as a parent kind as kind could be, but powerless against an

omnipotent pedagogue.



And then when they had discussed all this, when the father

had told all to the child, she could not be less confiding than



he had been; and as John Bold's name was mentioned between

them, she owned how well she had learned to love him--'had



loved him once,' she said, 'but she would not, could not

do so now--no, even had her troth been plighted to him,



she would have taken it back again--had she sworn to love

him as his wife, she would have discarded him, and not felt



herself forsworn, when he proved himself the enemy of her

father.'



But the warden declared that Bold was no enemy of his, and

encouraged her love; and gently rebuked, as he kissed her,



the stern resolve she had made to cast him off; and then he

spoke to her of happier days when their trials would all be



over; and declared that her young heart should not be torn

asunder to please either priest or prelate, dean or archdeacon.



No, not if all Oxford were to convocate together, and agree

as to the necessity of the sacrifice.



And so they greatly comforted each other--and in what

sorrow will not such mutual confidence give consolation!--



and with a last expression of tender love they parted, and went

comparatively happy to their rooms.



CHAPTER XI

Iphigenia



When Eleanor laid her head on her pillow that night,

her mind was anxiouslyintent on some plan by which



she might extricate her father from his misery; and, in her

warm-hearted enthusiasm, self-sacrifice was decided on as the



means to be adopted. Was not so good an Agamemnon

worthy of an Iphigenia? She would herself personally implore



John Bold to desist from his undertaking; she would explain

to him her father's sorrows, the cruel misery of his position;



she would tell him how her father would die if he were thus

dragged before the public and exposed to such unmerited



ignominy; she would appeal to his old friendship, to his

generosity, to his manliness, to his mercy; if need were, she



would kneel to him for the favour she would ask; but before

she did this the idea of love must be banished. There must



be no bargain in the matter. To his mercy, to his generosity,

she could appeal; but as a pure maiden, hitherto even



unsolicited, she could not appeal to his love, nor under such

circumstances could she allow him to do so. Of course, when



so provoked he would declare his passion; that was to be

expected; there had been enough between them to make such






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