章节正文
desoiate-looking, high above them. Presently they turned
into a less dismal side street, where the houses were smaller,
and, though hinting of the most meagre comfort, lacked
the concentrated wretchedness of the more populous
byways.
At a segregated, two-story house Father Rogan halted,
and mounted the steps with the confidence of a familiar
visitor. He ushered Lorison into a narrow hallway,
faintly lighted by a cobwebbed hanging lamp. Almost
immediately a door to the right opened and a dingy Irish-
woman protruded her head.
"Good evening to ye, Mistress Geehan," said the
priest, unconsciously, it seemed, falling into a delicately
flavoured brogue. "And is it yourself can tell me if
Norah has gone out again, the night, maybe?"
"Oh, it's yer blissid reverence! Sure and I can tell
ye the same. The purty darlin' wint out, as usual, but a
bit later. And she says: 'Mother Geehan,' says she, 'it's
me last noight out, praise the saints, this noight is!' And,
oh, yer reverence, the swate, beautiful drame of a dress she
had this toime! White satin and silk and ribbons, and
lace about the neck and arrums -- 'twas a sin, yer
reverence, the gold was spint upon it."
The priest heard Lorison catch his breath painfully,
and a faint smile flickered across his own clean-cut
mouth.
"Well, then, Mistress Geehan," said he, "I'll just
step upstairs and see the bit boy for a minute, and I'll
take this Gentleman up with me."
"He's awake, thin," said the woman. 'I've just
come down from sitting wid him the last hour, tilling him
fine shtories of ould County Tyrone. 'Tis a greedy gos-
soon, it is, yer riverence, for me shtories."
"Small the doubt," said Father Rogan. "There's no
rocking would put him to slape the quicker, I'm thinking."
Amid the woman's shrill protest against the retort, the
two men ascended the steep stairway. The priest pushed
open the door of a room near its top.
"Is that you already, sister?" drawled a sweet, childish
voice from the darkness.
"It's only ould Father Denny come to see ye, darlin';
and a foine gentleman I've brought to make ye a gr-r-and
call. And ye resaves us fast aslape in bed! Shame on
yez manners!"
"Oh, Father Denny, is that you? I'm glad. And
will you light the lamp, please? It's on the table by the
door. And quit talking like Mother Geehan, Father
Denny."
The priest lit the lamp, and Lorison saw a tiny, towsled-
haired boy, with a thin, delicate face, sitting up in a small
bed in a corner. Quickly, also, his rapid glance con-
sidered the room and its contents. It was furnished with
more than comfort, and its adornments plainly indicated
a woman's discerning taste. An open door beyond
revealed the blackness of an adjoining room's interior.
The boy clutched both of Father Rogan's hands. "I'm
so glad you came," he said; "but why did you come in
the night? Did sister send you?"
"Off wid ye! Am I to be sint about, at me age, as
was Terence McShane, of Ballymahone? I come on me
own r-r-responsibility."
Lorison had also advanced to the boy's bedside. He
was fond of children; and the wee fellow, laving himself
down to sleep alone ill that dark room, stirred-his heart.
"Aren't you afraid, little man?" he asked, stooping
down beside him.
"Sometimes," answered the boy, with a shy smile,
"when the rats make too much noise. But nearly every
night, when sister goes out, Molt-her Geehan stays a while
with me, and tells me funny stories. I'm not often
afraid, sir."
"This brave little gentleman," said Father Rogan, "is
a scholar of mine. Every day from half-past six to half-
past eight -- when sister comes for him -- he stops in
my study, and we find out what's in the inside of books.
He knows multiplication, division and fractions; and
he's troubling me to begin wid the chronicles of Ciaran
of Clonmaciioise, Corurac McCullenan and Cuan O'Loc-
hain, the gr-r-reat Irish histhorians." The boy was
evidently accustomed to the priest's Celtic pleasantries.
A little, appreciative grin was all the attention the insin-
nation of pedantry received.
Lorison, to have saved his life, could not have put to
the child one of those vital questions that were wildly
beating about, unanswered, in his own brain. The little
fellow was very like Norah; he had the same shining
hair and candid eyes.
"Oh, Father Denny," cried the boy, suddenly, "I
forgot to tell you! Sister is not going away at night any
more! She told me so when she kissed me good night as
she was leaving. And she said she was so happy, and
then she cried. Wasn't that queer? But I'm glad;
aren't you?"
"Yes, lad. And now, ye omadhaun, go to sleep, and
say good night; we must be going."
"Which shall I do first, Father Denny?"
"Faith, he's caught me again! Wait till I get the
sassenach into the annals of Tageruach, the hagiographer;
I'll give him enough of the Irish idiom to make him more
respectful."
The light was out, and the small, brave voice bidding
them good night from the dark room. They groped
downstairs, and tore away from the garrulity of Mother
Geehan.
Again the priest steered them through the dim ways,
but this time in another direction. His conductor was
serenely silent, and Lorison followed his example to the
extent of seldom speaking. Serene he could not be. His
heart beat suffocatingly in his breast. The following of
this blind, menacing trail was pregnant with he knew not
what humiliating revelation to be delivered at its end.
They came into a more pretentious street, where trade,
it could be surmised, flourished by day. And again the
priest paused; this time before a lofty building, whose
great doors and windows in the lowest floor were carefully
shuttered and barred. Its higher apertures were dark,
save in the third story, the windows of which were bril-
liantly lighted. Lorison's ear caught a distant, regular,
pleasing thrumming, as of music above. They stood at
an angle of the building. Up, along the side nearest them,
mounted an iron stairway. At its top was an upright,
illuminated parallelogram. Father Rogan had stopped,
and stood, musing.
"I will say this much," he remarked, thoughtfully:
"I believe you to be a better man than you think yourself
to be, and a better man than I thought some hours ago.
But do not take this," he added, with a smile, "as much
praise. I promised you a possible deliverance from an
unhappy perplexity. I will have to modify that promise.
I can only remove the mystery that enhanced that per-
plexity. Your deliverance depends upon yourself.
Come."
He led his companion up the stairway. Halfway up,
Lorison caught him by the sleeve. "Remember," he
gasped, "I love that woman."
"You desired to know.
"I -- Go on."
The priest reached the landing at the top of the stairway.
Lorison, behind him, saw that the illuminated space was
the glass upper half of a door opening into the lighted
room. The rhythmic music increased as they neared
it; the stairs shook with the mellow vibrations.
Lorison stopped breathing when he set foot upon the
highest step, for the priest stood aside, and motioned him
to look through the glass of the door.
His eye, accustomed to the darkness, met first a blind-
ing glare, and then he made out the faces and forms of
many people, amid an extravagant display of splendid
robings -- billowy laces, brilliant-hued finery, ribbons,
silks and misty drapery. And then he caught the mean.
ing of that jarring hum, and he saw the tired, pale, happy
face of his wife, bending, as were a score of others, over
her sewing machine -- toiling, toiling. Here was the
folly she pursued, and the end of his quest.
But not his deliverance, though even then remorse
struck him. His shamed soul fluttered once more before
it retired to make room for the other and better one.
For, to temper his thrill of joy, the shine of the satin and
the glimmer of ornaments recalled the disturbing figure
of the bespangled Amazon, and the base duplicate histories
it by the glare of footlights and stolen diamonds. It is
past the wisdom of him who only sets the scenes, either to
praise or blame the man. But this time his love over-
came his scruples. He took a quick step, and reached
out his hand for the doorknob. Father Rogan was
quicker to arrest it and draw him back.
"You use my trust in you queerly," said the priest
sternly. "What are you about to do?"
"I am going to my wife," said Lorison. "Let me pass."
"Listen," said the priest, holding him firmly by the
arm. "I am about to put you in possession of a piece of
knowledge of which, thus far, you have scarcely proved
deserving. I do not think you ever will; but I will not
dwell upon that. You see in that room the woman you
married, working for a frugal living for herself, and a
generous comfort for an idolized brother. This building
belongs to the chief costumer of the city. For months the
advance orders for the coming Mardi Gras festivals have
kept the work going day and night. I myself secured
employment here for Norah. She toils here each night
from nine o'clock until daylight, and, besides, carries
home with her some of the finer costumes, requiring more
delicate needlework, and works there part of the day.
Somehow, you two have remained strangelyignorant of
each other's lives. Are you convinced now that your
wife is not walking the streets?"
"Let me go to her," cried Lorison, again struggling,
"and beg her forgiveness!'
"Sir," said the priest, "do you owe me nothing? Be
quiet. It seems so often that Heaven lets fall its choicest
gifts into hands that must be taught to hold them. Listen
again. You forgot that repentant sin must not comprom-
ise, but look up, for redemption, to the purest and best.
You went to her with the fine-spun sophistry that peace
could be found in a mutual guilt; and she, fearful of losing
what her heart so craved, thought it worth the price to
buy it with a desperate, pure, beautiful lie. I have known
her since the day she was born; she is as innocent and
unsullied in life and deed as a holy saint. In that lowly
street where she dwells she first saw the light, and she
has lived there ever since, spending her days in generous
into a less dismal side street, where the houses were smaller,
and, though hinting of the most meagre comfort, lacked
the concentrated wretchedness of the more populous
byways.
At a segregated, two-story house Father Rogan halted,
and mounted the steps with the confidence of a familiar
visitor. He ushered Lorison into a narrow hallway,
faintly lighted by a cobwebbed hanging lamp. Almost
immediately a door to the right opened and a dingy Irish-
woman protruded her head.
"Good evening to ye, Mistress Geehan," said the
priest, unconsciously, it seemed, falling into a delicately
flavoured brogue. "And is it yourself can tell me if
Norah has gone out again, the night, maybe?"
"Oh, it's yer blissid reverence! Sure and I can tell
ye the same. The purty darlin' wint out, as usual, but a
bit later. And she says: 'Mother Geehan,' says she, 'it's
me last noight out, praise the saints, this noight is!' And,
oh, yer reverence, the swate, beautiful drame of a dress she
had this toime! White satin and silk and ribbons, and
lace about the neck and arrums -- 'twas a sin, yer
reverence, the gold was spint upon it."
The priest heard Lorison catch his breath painfully,
and a faint smile flickered across his own clean-cut
mouth.
"Well, then, Mistress Geehan," said he, "I'll just
step upstairs and see the bit boy for a minute, and I'll
take this Gentleman up with me."
"He's awake, thin," said the woman. 'I've just
come down from sitting wid him the last hour, tilling him
fine shtories of ould County Tyrone. 'Tis a greedy gos-
soon, it is, yer riverence, for me shtories."
"Small the doubt," said Father Rogan. "There's no
rocking would put him to slape the quicker, I'm thinking."
Amid the woman's shrill protest against the retort, the
two men ascended the steep stairway. The priest pushed
open the door of a room near its top.
"Is that you already, sister?" drawled a sweet, childish
voice from the darkness.
"It's only ould Father Denny come to see ye, darlin';
and a foine gentleman I've brought to make ye a gr-r-and
call. And ye resaves us fast aslape in bed! Shame on
yez manners!"
"Oh, Father Denny, is that you? I'm glad. And
will you light the lamp, please? It's on the table by the
door. And quit talking like Mother Geehan, Father
Denny."
The priest lit the lamp, and Lorison saw a tiny, towsled-
haired boy, with a thin, delicate face, sitting up in a small
bed in a corner. Quickly, also, his rapid glance con-
sidered the room and its contents. It was furnished with
more than comfort, and its adornments plainly indicated
a woman's discerning taste. An open door beyond
revealed the blackness of an adjoining room's interior.
The boy clutched both of Father Rogan's hands. "I'm
so glad you came," he said; "but why did you come in
the night? Did sister send you?"
"Off wid ye! Am I to be sint about, at me age, as
was Terence McShane, of Ballymahone? I come on me
own r-r-responsibility."
Lorison had also advanced to the boy's bedside. He
was fond of children; and the wee fellow, laving himself
down to sleep alone ill that dark room, stirred-his heart.
"Aren't you afraid, little man?" he asked, stooping
down beside him.
"Sometimes," answered the boy, with a shy smile,
"when the rats make too much noise. But nearly every
night, when sister goes out, Molt-her Geehan stays a while
with me, and tells me funny stories. I'm not often
afraid, sir."
"This brave little gentleman," said Father Rogan, "is
a scholar of mine. Every day from half-past six to half-
past eight -- when sister comes for him -- he stops in
my study, and we find out what's in the inside of books.
He knows multiplication, division and fractions; and
he's troubling me to begin wid the chronicles of Ciaran
of Clonmaciioise, Corurac McCullenan and Cuan O'Loc-
hain, the gr-r-reat Irish histhorians." The boy was
evidently accustomed to the priest's Celtic pleasantries.
A little, appreciative grin was all the attention the insin-
nation of pedantry received.
Lorison, to have saved his life, could not have put to
the child one of those vital questions that were wildly
beating about, unanswered, in his own brain. The little
fellow was very like Norah; he had the same shining
hair and candid eyes.
"Oh, Father Denny," cried the boy, suddenly, "I
forgot to tell you! Sister is not going away at night any
more! She told me so when she kissed me good night as
she was leaving. And she said she was so happy, and
then she cried. Wasn't that queer? But I'm glad;
aren't you?"
"Yes, lad. And now, ye omadhaun, go to sleep, and
say good night; we must be going."
"Which shall I do first, Father Denny?"
"Faith, he's caught me again! Wait till I get the
sassenach into the annals of Tageruach, the hagiographer;
I'll give him enough of the Irish idiom to make him more
respectful."
The light was out, and the small, brave voice bidding
them good night from the dark room. They groped
downstairs, and tore away from the garrulity of Mother
Geehan.
Again the priest steered them through the dim ways,
but this time in another direction. His conductor was
serenely silent, and Lorison followed his example to the
extent of seldom speaking. Serene he could not be. His
heart beat suffocatingly in his breast. The following of
this blind, menacing trail was pregnant with he knew not
what humiliating revelation to be delivered at its end.
They came into a more pretentious street, where trade,
it could be surmised, flourished by day. And again the
priest paused; this time before a lofty building, whose
great doors and windows in the lowest floor were carefully
shuttered and barred. Its higher apertures were dark,
save in the third story, the windows of which were bril-
liantly lighted. Lorison's ear caught a distant, regular,
pleasing thrumming, as of music above. They stood at
an angle of the building. Up, along the side nearest them,
mounted an iron stairway. At its top was an upright,
illuminated parallelogram. Father Rogan had stopped,
and stood, musing.
"I will say this much," he remarked, thoughtfully:
"I believe you to be a better man than you think yourself
to be, and a better man than I thought some hours ago.
But do not take this," he added, with a smile, "as much
praise. I promised you a possible deliverance from an
unhappy perplexity. I will have to modify that promise.
I can only remove the mystery that enhanced that per-
plexity. Your deliverance depends upon yourself.
Come."
He led his companion up the stairway. Halfway up,
Lorison caught him by the sleeve. "Remember," he
gasped, "I love that woman."
"You desired to know.
"I -- Go on."
The priest reached the landing at the top of the stairway.
Lorison, behind him, saw that the illuminated space was
the glass upper half of a door opening into the lighted
room. The rhythmic music increased as they neared
it; the stairs shook with the mellow vibrations.
Lorison stopped breathing when he set foot upon the
highest step, for the priest stood aside, and motioned him
to look through the glass of the door.
His eye, accustomed to the darkness, met first a blind-
ing glare, and then he made out the faces and forms of
many people, amid an extravagant display of splendid
robings -- billowy laces, brilliant-hued finery, ribbons,
silks and misty drapery. And then he caught the mean.
ing of that jarring hum, and he saw the tired, pale, happy
face of his wife, bending, as were a score of others, over
her sewing machine -- toiling, toiling. Here was the
folly she pursued, and the end of his quest.
But not his deliverance, though even then remorse
struck him. His shamed soul fluttered once more before
it retired to make room for the other and better one.
For, to temper his thrill of joy, the shine of the satin and
the glimmer of ornaments recalled the disturbing figure
of the bespangled Amazon, and the base duplicate histories
it by the glare of footlights and stolen diamonds. It is
past the wisdom of him who only sets the scenes, either to
praise or blame the man. But this time his love over-
came his scruples. He took a quick step, and reached
out his hand for the doorknob. Father Rogan was
quicker to arrest it and draw him back.
"You use my trust in you queerly," said the priest
sternly. "What are you about to do?"
"I am going to my wife," said Lorison. "Let me pass."
"Listen," said the priest, holding him firmly by the
arm. "I am about to put you in possession of a piece of
knowledge of which, thus far, you have scarcely proved
deserving. I do not think you ever will; but I will not
dwell upon that. You see in that room the woman you
married, working for a frugal living for herself, and a
generous comfort for an idolized brother. This building
belongs to the chief costumer of the city. For months the
advance orders for the coming Mardi Gras festivals have
kept the work going day and night. I myself secured
employment here for Norah. She toils here each night
from nine o'clock until daylight, and, besides, carries
home with her some of the finer costumes, requiring more
delicate needlework, and works there part of the day.
Somehow, you two have remained strangelyignorant of
each other's lives. Are you convinced now that your
wife is not walking the streets?"
"Let me go to her," cried Lorison, again struggling,
"and beg her forgiveness!'
"Sir," said the priest, "do you owe me nothing? Be
quiet. It seems so often that Heaven lets fall its choicest
gifts into hands that must be taught to hold them. Listen
again. You forgot that repentant sin must not comprom-
ise, but look up, for redemption, to the purest and best.
You went to her with the fine-spun sophistry that peace
could be found in a mutual guilt; and she, fearful of losing
what her heart so craved, thought it worth the price to
buy it with a desperate, pure, beautiful lie. I have known
her since the day she was born; she is as innocent and
unsullied in life and deed as a holy saint. In that lowly
street where she dwells she first saw the light, and she
has lived there ever since, spending her days in generous
- presently [´prezəntli]
ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词) - mistress [´mistris] n.女主人；情妇；女能手 (初中英语单词)
- priest [pri:st] n.教士；牧师；神父 (初中英语单词)
- breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
- greedy [´gri:di] a.贪婪的；馋的 (初中英语单词)
- delicate [´delikət] a.精美的；微妙的 (初中英语单词)
- contents [´kɔ:ntents] n.容纳物；要旨 (初中英语单词)
- plainly [´pleinli] ad.平坦地；简单地 (初中英语单词)
- advanced [əd´vɑ:nst] a.先进的；高级的 (初中英语单词)
- scholar [´skɔlə, ´skɑ-] n.学者；奖学金获得者 (初中英语单词)
- conductor [kən´dʌktə] n.指导者；向导者 (初中英语单词)
- mystery [´mistəri] n.神秘；秘密；故弄玄虚 (初中英语单词)
- companion [kəm´pæniən] n.同伴；同事；伴侣 (初中英语单词)
- sleeve [sli:v] n.袖子；袖套 (初中英语单词)
- opening [´əupəniŋ] n.开放；开端 a.开始的 (初中英语单词)
- temper [´tempə] n.韧度 v.锻炼；调和 (初中英语单词)
- thrill [θril] v.震惊；激动；刺激 (初中英语单词)
- stolen [´stəulən] steal 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- wisdom [´wizdəm] n.智慧，聪明，才智 (初中英语单词)
- arrest [ə´rest] vt.逮捕 n.逮捕；停止 (初中英语单词)
- firmly [´fə:mli] ad.坚固地，稳定地 (初中英语单词)
- working [´wə:kiŋ] a.工人的；劳动的 (初中英语单词)
- daylight [´deilait] n.日光；黎明 (初中英语单词)
- strangely [´streindʒli] ad.奇怪地；陌生地 (初中英语单词)
- ignorant [´ignərənt] a.无知的，愚昧的 (初中英语单词)
- fearful [´fiəfəl] a.可怕的；担心的 (初中英语单词)
- desperate [´despərit] a.拼死的；绝望的 (初中英语单词)
- innocent [´inəsənt] a.无罪的；单纯的 (初中英语单词)
- generous [´dʒenərəs] a.慷慨的；丰盛的 (初中英语单词)
- dismal [´dizməl] a.灰暗的；阴郁的 (高中英语单词)
- hanging [´hæŋiŋ] n.绞刑 a.悬挂着的 (高中英语单词)
- reverence [´revərəns] n.尊敬；敬畏；尊严 (高中英语单词)
- shrill [ʃril] a.(声音)尖锐的 (高中英语单词)
- retort [ri´tɔ:t] n.&v.报复；反击；反驳 (高中英语单词)
- serene [si´ri:n] n.&a.清澈的；宁静的 (高中英语单词)
- revelation [,revə´leiʃən] n.展现；揭露(的事物) (高中英语单词)
- mellow [´meləu] a.芳醇的 v.(使)成熟 (高中英语单词)
- extravagant [ik´strævəgənt] a.奢侈的；过度的 (高中英语单词)
- sewing [´səuiŋ] n.缝纫；(书的)装订 (高中英语单词)
- mutual [´mju:tʃuəl] a.相互的；共同的 (高中英语单词)
- unconsciously [ʌn´kɔʃəsli] ad.无意识地；不觉察地 (英语四级单词)
- upstairs [,ʌp´steəz] ad.在楼上 a.楼上的 (英语四级单词)
- stairway [´steəwei] n.楼梯 (英语四级单词)
- blackness [´blæknis] n.黑色；阴险 (英语四级单词)
- bedside [´bedsaid] n.床边 a.护理的 (英语四级单词)
- deliverance [di´livərəns] n.援救；获释 (英语四级单词)
- perplexity [pə´pleksiti] n.困惑；为难；纷乱 (英语四级单词)
- drapery [´dreipəri] n.布业，布匹，帐帘 (英语四级单词)
- glimmer [´glimə] n.&vi.闪光 (英语四级单词)
- amazon [´æməzən] n.女战士 (英语四级单词)
- duplicate [´dju:plikit] vt.复写 a.副的 n.复本 (英语四级单词)
- multiplication [,mʌltipli´keiʃən] n.增多；倍增；繁殖 (英语六级单词)
- appreciative [ə´pri:ʃətiv] a.欣赏的；感激的 (英语六级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- pregnant [´pregnənt] a.怀孕的；含蓄的 (英语六级单词)
- landing [´lændiŋ] n.登陆；降落；楼梯平台 (英语六级单词)
- retired [ri´taiəd] a.退休的；通职的 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
- frugal [´fru:gəl] a.节俭的，俭朴的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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