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Tales and Fantasies-Part19_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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the best man I know in all this world; he is worth a hundred

of me, only he doesn't understand me, and he can't be made



to.'

There was a silence for a while. 'Dick,' she began again, 'I



am going to ask a favour, it's the first since you said you

loved me. May I see your father - see him pass, I mean,



where he will not observe me?'

'Why?' asked Dick.



'It is a fancy; you forget, I am romantic about fathers.'

The hint was enough for Dick; he consented with haste, and



full of hang-dog penitence and disgust, took her down by a

backway and planted her in the shrubbery, whence she might



see the Squire ride by to dinner. There they both sat

silent, but holding hands, for nearly half an hour. At last



the trotting of a horse sounded in the distance, the park

gates opened with a clang, and then Mr. Naseby appeared, with



stooping shoulders and a heavy, bilious countenance,

languidly rising to the trot. Esther recognised him at once;



she had often seen him before, though with her huge

indifference for all that lay outside the circle of her love,



she had never so much as wondered who he was; but now she

recognised him, and found him ten years older, leaden and



springless, and stamped by an abiding sorrow.

'Oh Dick, Dick!' she said, and the tears began to shine upon



her face as she hid it in his bosom; his own fell thickly

too. They had a sad walk home, and that night, full of love



and good counsel, Dick exerted every art to please his

father, to convince him of his respect and affection, to heal



up this breach of kindness, and reunite two hearts. But

alas! the Squire was sick and peevish; he had been all day



glooming over Dick's estrangement - for so he put it to

himself, and now with growls, cold words, and the cold



shoulder, he beat off all advances, and entrenched himself in

a just resentment.



CHAPTER V - THE PRODIGAL FATHER MAKES HIS DEBUT AT HOME

THAT took place upon a Tuesday. On the Thursday following,



as Dick was walking by appointment, earlier than usual, in

the direction of the cottage, he was appalled to meet in the



lane a fly from Thymebury, containing the human form of Miss

M'Glashan. The lady did not deign to remark him in her



passage; her face was suffused with tears, and expressed much

concern for the packages by which she was surrounded. He



stood still, and asked himself what this circumstance might

portend. It was so beautiful a day that he was loth to



forecast evil, yet something must perforce have happened at

the cottage, and that of a decisive nature; for here was Miss



M'Glashan on her travels, with a small patrimony in brown

paper parcels, and the old lady's bearing implied hot battle



and unqualified defeat. Was the house to be closed against

him? Was Esther left alone, or had some new protector made



his appearance from among the millions of Europe? It is the

character of love to loathe the near relatives of the loved



one; chapters in the history of the human race have justified

this feeling, and the conduct of uncles, in particular, has



frequently met with censure from the independent novelist.

Miss M'Glashan was now seen in the rosy colours of regret;



whoever succeeded her, Dick felt the change would be for the

worse. He hurried forward in this spirit; his anxiety grew



upon him with every step; as he entered the garden a voice

fell upon his ear, and he was once more arrested, not this



time by doubt, but by indubitable certainty of ill.

The thunderbolt had fallen; the Admiral was here.



Dick would have retreated, in the panic terror of the moment;

but Esther kept a bright look-out when her lover was



expected. In a twinkling she was by his side, brimful of

news and pleasure, too glad to notice his embarrassment, and



in one of those golden transports of exultation which

transcend not only words but caresses. She took him by the



end of the fingers (reaching forward to take them, for her

great preoccupation was to save time), she drew him towards



her, pushed him past her in the door, and planted him face to

face with Mr. Van Tromp, in a suit of French country



velveteens and with a remarkable carbuncle on his nose.

Then, as though this was the end of what she could endure in






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