简爱(英文版)-第52部分

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“I　trust　I　shall　not　eat　long　at　your　expense；　sir；”　was　my　very　clumsily…contrived；　unpolished　answer。
“No；”　he　said　coolly：　“when　you　have　indicated　to　us　the　residence　of　your　friends；　we　can　write　to　them；　and　you　may　be　restored　to　home。”
“That；　I　must　plainly　tell　you；　is　out　of　my　power　to　do；　being　absolutely　without　home　and　friends。”
The　three　looked　at　me；　but　not　distrustfully；　I　felt　there　was　no　suspicion　in　their　glances：　there　was　more　of　curiosity。　I　speak　particularly　of　the　young　ladies。　St。　John’s　eyes；　though　clear　enough　in　a　literal　sense；　in　a　figurative　one　were　difficult　to　fathom。　He　seemed　to　use　them　rather　as　instruments　to　search　other　people’s　thoughts；　than　as　agents　to　reveal　his　own：　the　which　bination　of　keenness　and　reserve　was　considerably　more　calculated　to　embarrass　than　to　encourage。
“Do　you　mean　to　say；”　he　asked；　“that　you　are　pletely　isolated　from　every　connection？”
“I　do。　Not　a　tie　links　me　to　any　living　thing：　not　a　claim　do　I　possess　to　admittance　under　any　roof　in　England。”
“A　most　singular　position　at　your　age！”
Here　I　saw　his　glance　directed　to　my　hands；　which　were　folded　on　the　table　before　me。　I　wondered　what　he　sought　there：　his　words　soon　explained　the　quest。
“You　have　never　been　married？　You　are　a　spinster？”
Diana　laughed。　“Why；　she　can’t　he　above　seventeen　or　eighteen　years　old；　St。　John；”　said　she。
“I　am　near　nieen：　but　I　am　not　married。　No。”
I　felt　a　burning　glow　mount　to　my　face；　for　bitter　and　agitating　recollections　were　awakened　by　the　allusion　to　marriage。　They　all　saw　the　embarrassment　and　the　emotion。　Diana　and　Mary　relieved　me　by　turning　their　eyes　elsewhere　than　to　my　crimsoned　visage；　but　the　colder　and　sterner　brother　continued　to　gaze；　till　the　trouble　he　had　excited　forced　out　tears　as　well　as　colour。
“Where　did　you　last　reside？”　he　now　asked。
“You　are　too　inquisitive；　St。　John；”　murmured　Mary　in　a　low　voice；　but　he　leaned　over　the　table　and　required　an　answer　by　a　second　firm　and　piercing　look。
“The　name　of　the　place　where；　and　of　the　person　with　whom　I　lived；　is　my　secret；”　I　replied　concisely。
“Which；　if　you　like；　you　have；　in　my　opinion；　a　right　to　keep；　both　from　St。　John　and　every　other　questioner；”　remarked　Diana。
“Yet　if　I　know　nothing　about　you　or　your　history；　I　cannot　help　you；”　he　said。　“And　you　need　help；　do　you　not？”
“I　need　it；　and　I　seek　it　so　far；　sir；　that　some　true　philanthropist　will　put　me　in　the　way　of　getting　work　which　I　can　do；　and　the　remuneration　for　which　will　keep　me；　if　but　in　the　barest　necessaries　of　life。”
“I　know　not　whether　I　am　a　true　philanthropist；　yet　I　am　willing　to　aid　you　to　the　utmost　of　my　power　in　a　purpose　so　honest。　First；　then；　tell　me　what　you　have　been　accustomed　to　do；　and　what　you　can　do。”
I　had　now　swallowed　my　tea。　I　was　mightily　refreshed　by　the　beverage；　as　much　so　as　a　giant　with　wine：　it　gave　new　tone　to　my　unstrung　nerves；　and　enabled　me　to　address　this　perating　young　judge　steadily。
“Mr。　Rivers；”　I　said；　turning　to　him；　and　looking　at　him；　as　he　looked　at　me；　openly　and　without　diffidence；　“you　and　your　sisters　have　done　me　a　great　service—the　greatest　man　can　do　his　fellow…　being；　you　have　rescued　me；　by　your　noble　hospitality；　from　death。　This　benefit　conferred　gives　you　an　unlimited　claim　on　my　gratitude；　and　a　claim；　to　a　certain　extent；　on　my　confidence。　I　will　tell　you　as　much　of　the　history　of　the　wanderer　you　have　harboured；　as　I　can　tell　without　promising　my　own　peace　of　mind—my　own　security；　moral　and　physical；　and　that　of　others。
“I　am　an　orphan；　the　daughter　of　a　clergyman。　My　parents　died　before　I　could　know　them。　I　was　brought　up　a　dependant；　educated　in　a　charitable　institution。　I　will　even　tell　you　the　name　of　the　establishment；　where　I　passed　six　years　as　a　pupil；　and　two　as　a　teacher—Lowood　Orphan　Asylum；—shire：　you　will　have　heard　of　it；　Mr。　Rivers？—the　Rev。　Robert　Brocklehurst　is　the　treasurer。”
“I　have　heard　of　Mr。　Brocklehurst；　and　I　have　seen　the　school。”
“I　left　Lowood　nearly　a　year　since　to　bee　a　private　governess。　I　obtained　a　good　situation；　and　was　happy。　This　place　I　was　obliged　to　leave　four　days　before　I　came　here。　The　reason　of　my　departure　I　cannot　and　ought　not　to　explain：　it　would　be　useless；　dangerous；　and　would　sound　incredible。　No　blame　attached　to　me：　I　am　as　free　from　culpability　as　any　one　of　you　three。　Miserable　I　am；　and　must　be　for　a　time；　for　the　catastrophe　which　drove　me　from　a　house　I　had　found　a　paradise　was　of　a　strange　and　direful　nature。　I　observed　but　two　points　in　planning　my　departure—speed；　secrecy：　to　secure　these；　I　had　to　leave　behind　me　everything　I　possessed　except　a　small　parcel；　which；　in　my　hurry　and　trouble　of　mind；　I　forgot　to　take　out　of　the　coach　that　brought　me　to　Whitcross。　To　this　neighbourhood；　then；　I　came；　quite　destitute。　I　slept　two　nights　in　the　open　air；　and　wandered　about　two　days　without　crossing　a　threshold：　but　twice　in　that　space　of　time　did　I　taste　food；　and　it　was　when　brought　by　hunger；　exhaustion；　and　despair　almost　to　the　last　gasp；　that　you；　Mr。　Rivers；　forbade　me　to　perish　of　want　at　your　door；　and　took　me　under　the　shelter　of　your　roof。　I　know　all　your　sisters　have　done　for　me　since—for　I　have　not　been　insensible　during　my　seeming　torpor—and　I　owe　to　their　spontaneous；　genuine；　genial　passion　as　large　a　debt　as　to　your　evangelical　charity。”
“Don’t　make　her　talk　any　more　now；　St。　John；”　said　Diana；　as　I　paused；　“she　is　evidently　not　yet　fit　for　excitement。　e　to　the　sofa　and　sit　down　now；　Miss　Elliott。”
I　gave　an　involuntary　half　start　at　hearing　the　alias：　I　had　forgotten　my　new　name。　Mr。　Rivers；　whom　nothing　seemed　to　escape；　noticed　it　at　once。
“You　said　your　name　was　Jane　Elliott？”　he　observed。
“I　did　say　so；　and　it　is　the　name　by　which　I　think　it　expedient　to　be　called　at　present；　but　it　is　not　my　real　name；　and　when　I　hear　it；　it　sounds　strange　to　me。”
“Your　real　name　you　will　not　give？”
“No：　I　fear　discovery　above　all　things；　and　whatever　disclosure　would　lead　to　it；　I　avoid。”
“You　are　quite　right；　I　am　sure；”　said　Diana。　“Now　do；　brother；　let　her　be　at　peace　a　while。”
But　when　St。　John　had　mused　a　few　moments　he　remenced　as　imperturbably　and　with　as　much　acumen　as　ever。
“You　would　not　like　to　be　long　dependent　on　our　hospitality—you　would　wish；　I　see；　to　dispense　as　soon　as　may　be　with　my　sisters’　passion；　and；　above　all；　with　my　charity　（I　am　quite　sensible　of　the　distinction　drawn；　nor　do　I　resent　it—it　is　just）：　you　desire　to　be　independent　of　us？”
“I　do：　I　have　already　said　so。　Show　me　how　to　work；　or　how　to　seek　work：　that　is　all　I　now　ask；　then　let　me　go；　if　it　be　but　to　the　meanest　cottage；　but　till　then；　allow　me　to　stay　here：　I　dread　another　essay　of　the　horrors　of　homeless　destitution。”
“Indeed　you　shall　stay　here；”　said　Diana；　putting　her　white　hand　on　my　head。　“You　shall；”　repeated　Mary；　in　the　tone　of　undemonstrative　sincerity　which　seemed　natural　to　her。
“My　sisters；　you　see；　have　a　pleasure　in　keeping　you；”　said　Mr。　St。　John；　“as　they　would　have　a　pleasure　in　keeping　and　cherishing　a　half…frozen　bird；　some　wintry　wind　might　have　driven　through　their　casement。　I　feel　more　inclination　to　put　you　in　the　way　of　keeping　yourself；　and　shall　endeavour　to　do　so；　but　observe；　my　sphere　is　narrow。　I　am　but　the　incumbent　of　a　poor　country　parish：　my　aid　must　be　of　the　humblest　sort。　And　if　you　are　inclined　to　despise　the　day　of　small　things；　seek　some　more　efficient　succour　than　such　as　I　can　offer。”
“She　has　already　said　that　she　is　willing　to　do　anything　honest　she　can　do；”　answered　Diana　for　me；　“and　you　know；　St。　John；　she　has　no　choice　of　helpers：　she　is　forced　to　put　up　with　such　crusty　people　as　you。”
“I　will　be　a　dressmaker；　I　will　be　a　plain…workwoman；　I　will　be　a　servant；　a　nurse…girl；　if　I　can　be　no　better；”　I　answered。
“Right；”　said　Mr。　St。　John；　quite　coolly。　“If　such　is　your　spirit；　I　promise　to　aid　you；　in　my　own　time　and　way。”
He　now　resumed　the　book　with　which　he　had　been　occupied　before　tea。　I　soon　withdrew；　for　I　had　talked　as　much；　and　sat　up　as　long；　as　my　present　strength　would　permit。
Chapter　30
The　more　I　knew　of　the　inmates　of　Moor　House；　the　better　I　liked　them。　In　a　few　days　I　had　so　far　recovered　my　health　that　I　could　sit　up　all　day；　and　walk　out　sometimes。　I　could　join　with　Diana　and　Mary　in　all　their　occupations；　converse　with　them　as　much　as　they　wished；　and　aid　them　when　and　where　they　would　allow　me。　There　was　a　reviving　pleasure　in　this　intercourse；　of　a　kind　now　tasted　by　me　for　the　first　time…the　pleasure　arising　from　perfect　congeniality　of　tastes；　sentiments；　and　principles。
I　liked　to　read　what　they　liked　to　read：　what　they　enjoyed；　delighted　me；　what　they　approved；　I　reverenced。　They　loved　their　sequestered　home。　I；　too；　in　the　grey；　small；　antique　structure；　with　its　low　roof；　its　latticed　casements；　its　mouldering　walls；　its　avenue　of　aged　firs—all　grown　aslant　under　the　stress　of　mountain　winds；　its　garden；　dark　with　yew　and　holly—and　where　no　flowers　but　of　the　hardiest　species　would　bloom—found　a　charm　both　potent　and　permanent。　They　clung　to　the　purple　moors　behind　and　around　their　dwelling—to　the　hollow　vale　into　which　the　pebbly　bridle…path　leading　from　their　gate　descended；　and　which　wound　between　fern…　banks　first；　and　then　amongst　a　few　of　the　wildest　little　pasture…　fields　that　ever　bordered　a　wilderness　of　heath；　or　gave　sustenance　to　a　flock　of　grey　moorland　sheep；　with　their　little　mossy…faced　lambs：…　they　clung　to　this　scene；　I　say；　with　a　perfect　enthusiasm　of　attachment。　I　could　prehend　the　feeling；　and　share　both　its　strength　and　truth。　I　saw　the　fascination　of　the　locality。　I　felt　the　consecration　of　its　loneliness：　my　eye　feasted　on　the　outline　of　swell　and　sweep—on　the　wild　colouring　municated　to　ridge　and　dell　by　moss；　by　heath…bell；　by　flower…sprinkled　turf；　by　brilliant　bracken；　and　mellow　granite　crag。　These　details　were　just　to　me　what　they　were　to　them—so　many　pure　and　sweet　sources　of　pleasure。　The　strong　blast　and　the　soft　breeze；　the　rough　and　the　halcyon　day；　the　hours　of　sunrise　and　sunset；　the　moonlight　and　the　clouded　night；　developed　for　me；　in　these　regions；　the　same　attraction　as　for　them—wound　round　my　faculties　the　same　spell　that　entranced　theirs。
Indoors　we　agreed　equally　well。　They　were　both　more　acplished　and　better　read　than　I　was；　but　with　eagerness　I　followed　in　the　path　of　knowledge　they　had　trodden　before　me。　I　devoured　the　books　they　lent　me：　then　it　was　full　satisfaction　to　discuss　with　them　in　the　evening　what　I　had　perused　during　the　day。　Thought　fitted　thought；　opinion　met　opinion：　we　coincided；　in　short；　perfectly。
If　in　our　trio　there　was　a　superior　and　a　leader；　it　was　Diana。　Physically；　she　far　excelled　me：　she　was　handsome；　she　was　vigorous。　In　her　animal　spirits　there　was　an　affluence　of　life　and　certainty　of　flow；　such　as　excited　my　wonder；　while　it　baffled　my　prehension。　I　could　talk　a　while　when　the　evening　menced；　but　the　first　gush　of　vivacity　and　fluency　gone；　I　was　fain　to　sit　on　a　stool　at　Diana’s　feet；　to　rest　my　head　on　her　knee；　and　listen　alternately　to　her　and　Mary；　while　they　sounded　thoroughly　the　topic　on　which　I　had　but　touched。　Diana　offered　to　teach　me　German。　I　liked　to　learn　of　her：　I　saw　the　part　of　instructress　pleased　and　suited　her；　that　of　scholar　pleased　and　suited　me　no　less。　Our　natures　dovetailed：　mutual　affection—of　the　strongest　kind—was　the　result。　They　discovered　I　could　draw：　their　pencils　and　colour…boxes　were　immediately　at　my　service。　My　skill；　greater　in　this　one　point　than　theirs；　surprised　and　charmed　them。　Mary　would　sit　and　watch　me　by　the　hour　together：　then　she　would　take　lessons；　and　a　docile；　intelligent；　assiduous　pupil　she　made。　Thus　occupied；　and　mutually　entertained；　days　passed　like　hours；　and　weeks　like　days。
As　to　Mr。　St　John；　the　intimacy　which　had　arisen　so　naturally　and　rapidly　between　me　and　his　sisters　did　not　extend　to　him。　One　reason　of　the　distance　yet　observed　between　us　was；　that　he　was　paratively　seldom　at　home：　a　large　proportion　of　his　time　appeared　devoted　to　visiting　the　sick　and　poor　among　the　scattered　population　of　his　parish。
No　weather　seemed　to　hinder　him　in　these　pastoral　excursions：　rain　or　fair；　he　would；　when　his　hours　of　morning　study　were　over；　take　his　hat；　and；　followed　by　his　father’s　old　pointer；　Carlo；　go　out　on　his　mission　of　love　or　duty—I　scarcely　know　in　which　light　he　regarded　it。　Sometimes；　when　the　day　was　very　unfavourable；　his　sisters　would　expostulate。　He　would　then　say；　with　a　peculiar　smile；　more　solemn　than　cheerful—
“And　if　I　let　a　gust　of　wind　or　a　sprinkling　of　rain　turn　me　aside　from　these　easy　tasks；　what　preparation　would　such　sloth　be　for　the　future　I　propose　to　myself？”
Diana　and　Mary’s　general　answer　to　this　question　was　a　sigh；　and　some　minutes　of　apparently　mournful　meditation。
But　besides　his　frequent　absences；　there　was　another　barrier　to　friendship　with　him：　he　seemed　of　a　reserved；　an　abstracted；　and　even　of　a　brooding　nature。　Zealous　in　his　ministerial　labours；　blameless　in　his　life　and　habits；　he　yet　did　not　appear　to　enjoy　that　mental　serenity；　that　inward　content；　which　should　bet　he　reward　of　every　sincere　Christian　and　practical　philanthropist。　Often；　of　an　evening；　when　he　sat　at　the　window；　his　desk　and　papers　before　him；　he　would　cease　reading　or　writing；　rest　his　chin　on　his　hand；　and　deliver　himself　up　to　I　know　not　what　course　of　thought；　but　that　it　was　perturbed　and　exciting　might　be　seen　in　the　frequent　flash　and　changeful　dilation　of　his　eye。
I　think；　moreover；　that　Nature　was　not　to　him　that　treasury　of　delight　it　was　to　his　sisters。　He　expressed　once；　and　but　once　in　my　hearing；　a　strong　sense　of　the　rugged　charm　of　the　hills；　and　an　inborn　affection　for　the　dark　roof　and　hoary　walls　he　called　his　home；　but　there　was　more　of　gloom　than　pleasure　in　the　tone　and　words　in　which　the　sentiment　was　manifested；　and　never　did　he　seem　to　roam　the　moors　for　the　sake　of　their　soothing　silence—never　seek　out　or　dwell　upon　the　thousand　peaceful　delights　they　could　yield。
Inmunicative　as　he　was；　some　time　elapsed　before　I　had　an　opportunity　of　gauging　his　mind。　I　first　got　an　idea　of　its　calibre　when　I　heard　him　preach　in　his　own　church　at　Morton。　I　wish　I　could　describe　that　sermon：　but　it　is　past　my　power。　I　cannot　even　render　faithfully　the　effect　it　produced　on　me。
It　began　calm—and　indeed；　as　far　as　delivery　and　pitch　of　voice　went；　it　was　calm　to　the　end：　an　earnestly　felt；　yet　strictly　restrained　zeal　breathed　soon　in　the　distinct　accents；　and　prompted　the　nervous　language。　This　grew　to　force—pressed；　condensed；　controlled。　The　heart　was　thrilled；　the　mind　astonished；　by　the　power　of　the　preacher：　neither　were　softened。　Throughout　there　was　a　strange　bitterness；　an　absence　of　consolatory　gentleness；　stern　allusions　to　Calvinistic　doctrines—election；　predestination；　reprobation—were　frequent；　and　each　reference　to　these　points　sounded　like　a　sentence　pronounced　for　doom。　When　he　had　done；　instead　of　feeling　better；　calmer；　more　enlightened　by　his　discourse；　I　experienced　an　inexpressible　sadness；　for　it　seemed　to　me—I　know　not　whether　equally　so　to　others—that　the　eloquence　to　which　I　had　been　listening　had　sprung　from　a　depth　where　lay　turbi