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Tales and Fantasies-Part23_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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spoke until they reached Thymebury Junction.

This was a station isolated in the midst of moorlands, yet



lying on the great up line to London. The nearest town,

Thymebury itself, was seven miles distant along the branch



they call the Vale of Thyme Railway. It was now nearly half

an hour past noon, the down train had just gone by, and there



would be no more traffic at the junction until half-past

three, when the local train comes in to meet the up express



at a quarter before four. The stationmaster had already gone

off to his garden, which was half a mile away in a hollow of



the moor; a porter, who was just leaving, took charge of the

phaeton, and promised to return it before night to Naseby



House; only a deaf, snuffy, and stern old man remained to

play propriety for Dick and Esther.



Before the phaeton had driven off, the girl had entered the

station and seated herself upon a bench. The endless, empty



moorlands stretched before her, entirely unenclosed, and with

no boundary but the horizon. Two lines of rails, a waggon



shed, and a few telegraph posts, alone diversified the

outlook. As for sounds, the silence was unbroken save by the



chant of the telegraph wires and the crying of the plovers on

the waste. With the approach of midday the wind had more and



more fallen, it was now sweltering hot and the air trembled

in the sunshine.



Dick paused for an instant on the threshold of the platform.

Then, in two steps, he was by her side and speaking almost



with a sob.

'Esther,' he said, 'have pity on me. What have I done? Can



you not forgive me? Esther, you loved me once - can you not

love me still?'



'How can I tell you? How am I to know?' she answered. 'You

are all a lie to me - all a lie from first to last. You were



laughing at my folly, playing with me like a child, at the

very time when you declared you loved me. Which was true?



was any of it true? or was it all, all a mockery? I am weary

trying to find out. And you say I loved you; I loved my



father's friend. I never loved, I never heard of, you, until

that man came home and I began to find myself deceived. Give



me back my father, be what you were before, and you may talk

of love indeed!'



'Then you cannot forgive me - cannot?' he asked.

'I have nothing to forgive,' she answered. 'You do not



understand.'

'Is that your last word, Esther?' said he, very white, and



biting his lip to keep it still.

'Yes, that is my last word,' replied she.



'Then we are here on false pretences, and we stay here no

longer,' he said. 'Had you still loved me, right or wrong, I



should have taken you away, because then I could have made

you happy. But as it is - I must speak plainly - what you



propose is degrading to you, and an insult to me, and a rank

unkindness to your father. Your father may be this or that,



but you should use him like a fellow-creature.'

'What do you mean?' she flashed. 'I leave him my house and



all my money; it is more than he deserves. I wonder you dare

speak to me about that man. And besides, it is all he cares



for; let him take it, and let me never hear from him again.'

'I thought you romantic about fathers,' he said.



'Is that a taunt?' she demanded.

'No,' he replied, 'it is an argument. No one can make you



like him, but don't disgrace him in his own eyes. He is old,

Esther, old and broken down. Even I am sorry for him, and he



has been the loss of all I cared for. Write to your aunt;

when I see her answer you can leave quietly and naturally,



and I will take you to your aunt's door. But in the meantime

you must go home. You have no money, and so you are



helpless, and must do as I tell you; and believe me, Esther,

I do all for your good, and your good only, so God help me.'



She had put her hand into her pocket and withdrawn it empty.

'I counted upon you,' she wailed.



'You counted rightly then,' he retorted. 'I will not, to

please you for a moment, make both of us unhappy for our



lives; and since I cannot marry you, we have only been too

long away, and must go home at once.'






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