简爱(英文版)-第54部分

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ty　will　be　to　develop　these　germs：　surely　I　shall　find　some　happiness　in　discharging　that　office。　Much　enjoyment　I　do　not　expect　in　the　life　opening　before　me：　yet　it　will；　doubtless；　if　I　regulate　my　mind；　and　exert　my　powers　as　I　ought；　yield　me　enough　to　live　on　from　day　to　day。
Was　I　very　gleeful；　settled；　content；　during　the　hours　I　passed　in　yonder　bare；　humble　schoolroom　this　morning　and　afternoon？　Not　to　deceive　myself；　I　must　reply—No：　I　felt　desolate　to　a　degree。　I　felt—yes；　idiot　that　I　am—I　felt　degraded。　I　doubted　I　had　taken　a　step　which　sank　instead　of　raising　me　in　the　scale　of　social　existence。　I　was　weakly　dismayed　at　the　ignorance；　the　poverty；　the　coarseness　of　all　I　heard　and　saw　round　me。　But　let　me　not　hate　and　despise　myself　too　much　for　these　feelings；　I　know　them　to　be　wrong—that　is　a　great　step　gained；　I　shall　strive　to　overe　them。　To…　morrow；　I　trust；　I　shall　get　the　better　of　them　partially；　and　in　a　few　weeks；　perhaps；　they　will　be　quite　subdued。　In　a　few　months；　it　is　possible；　the　happiness　of　seeing　progress；　and　a　change　for　the　better　in　my　scholars　may　substitute　gratification　for　disgust。
Meantime；　let　me　ask　myself　one　question—Which　is　better？—To　have　surrendered　to　temptation；　listened　to　passion；　made　no　painful　effort—no　struggle；—but　to　have　sunk　down　in　the　silken　snare；　fallen　asleep　on　the　flowers　covering　it；　wakened　in　a　southern　clime；　amongst　the　luxuries　of　a　pleasure　villa：　to　have　been　now　living　in　France；　Mr。　Rochester’s　mistress；　delirious　with　his　love　half　my　time—for　he　would—oh；　yes；　he　would　have　loved　me　well　for　a　while。　He　did　love　me—no　one　will　ever　love　me　so　again。　I　shall　never　more　know　the　sweet　homage　given　to　beauty；　youth；　and　grace—for　never　to　any　one　else　shall　I　seem　to　possess　these　charms。　He　was　fond　and　proud　of　me—it　is　what　no　man　besides　will　ever　be。—But　where　am　I　wandering；　and　what　am　I　saying；　and　above　all；　feeling？　Whether　is　it　better；　I　ask；　to　be　a　slave　in　a　fool’s　paradise　at　Marseilles—fevered　with　delusive　bliss　one　hour—suffocating　with　the　bitterest　tears　of　remorse　and　shame　the　next—or　to　be　a　village…schoolmistress；　free　and　honest；　in　a　breezy　mountain　nook　in　the　healthy　heart　of　England？
Yes；　I　feel　now　that　I　was　right　when　I　adhered　to　principle　and　law；　and　scorned　and　crushed　the　insane　promptings　of　a　frenzied　moment。　God　directed　me　to　a　correct　choice：　I　thank　His　providence　for　the　guidance！
Having　brought　my　eventide　musings　to　this　point；　I　rose；　went　to　my　door；　and　looked　at　the　sunset　of　the　harvest…day；　and　at　the　quiet　fields　before　my　cottage；　which；　with　the　school；　was　distant　half　a　mile　from　the　village。　The　birds　were　singing　their　last　strains—
“The　air　was　mild；　the　dew　was　balm。”
While　I　looked；　I　thought　myself　happy；　and　was　surprised　to　find　myself　ere　long　weeping—and　why？　For　the　doom　which　had　reft　me　from　adhesion　to　my　master：　for　him　I　was　no　more　to　see；　for　the　desperate　grief　and　fatal　fury—consequences　of　my　departure—which　might　now；　perhaps；　be　dragging　him　from　the　path　of　right；　too　far　to　leave　hope　of　ultimate　restoration　thither。　At　this　thought；　I　turned　my　face　aside　from　the　lovely　sky　of　eve　and　lonely　vale　of　Morton—I　say　lonely；　for　in　that　bend　of　it　visible　to　me　there　was　no　building　apparent　save　the　church　and　the　parsonage；　half…hid　in　trees；　and；　quite　at　the　extremity；　the　roof　of　Vale　Hall；　where　the　rich　Mr。　Oliver　and　his　daughter　lived。　I　hid　my　eyes；　and　leant　my　head　against　the　stone　frame　of　my　door；　but　soon　a　slight　noise　near　the　wicket　which　shut　in　my　tiny　garden　from　the　meadow　beyond　it　made　me　look　up。　A　dog—old　Carlo；　Mr。　Rivers’　pointer；　as　I　saw　in　a　moment—was　pushing　the　gate　with　his　nose；　and　St。　John　himself　leant　upon　it　with　folded　arms；　his　brow　knit；　his　gaze；　grave　almost　to　displeasure；　fixed　on　me。　I　asked　him　to　e　in。
“No；　I　cannot　stay；　I　have　only　brought　you　a　little　parcel　my　sisters　left　for　you。　I　think　it　contains　a　colour…box；　pencils；　and　paper。”
I　approached　to　take　it：　a　wele　gift　it　was。　He　examined　my　face；　I　thought；　with　austerity；　as　I　came　near：　the　traces　of　tears　were　doubtless　very　visible　upon　it。
“Have　you　found　your　first　day’s　work　harder　than　you　expected？”　he　asked。
“Oh；　no！　On　the　contrary；　I　think　in　time　I　shall　get　on　with　my　scholars　very　well。”
“But　perhaps　your　acmodations—your　cottage—your　furniture—have　disappointed　your　expectations？　They　are；　in　truth；　scanty　enough；　but—”　I　interrupted—
“My　cottage　is　clean　and　weather…proof；　my　furniture　sufficient　and　modious。　All　I　see　has　made　me　thankful；　not　despondent。　I　am　not　absolutely　such　a　fool　and　sensualist　as　to　regret　the　absence　of　a　carpet；　a　sofa；　and　silver　plate；　besides；　five　weeks　ago　I　had　nothing—I　was　an　outcast；　a　beggar；　a　vagrant；　noe；　a　business。　I　wonder　at　the　goodness　of　God；　the　generosity　of　my　friends；　the　bounty　of　my　lot。　I　do　not　repine。”
“But　you　feel　solitude　an　oppression？　The　little　house　there　behind　you　is　dark　and　empty。”
“I　have　hardly　had　time　yet　to　enjoy　a　sense　of　tranquillity；　much　less　to　grow　impatient　under　one　of　loneliness。”
“Very　well；　I　hope　you　feel　the　content　you　express：　at　any　rate；　your　good　sense　will　tell　you　that　it　is　too　soon　yet　to　yield　to　the　vacillating　fears　of　Lot’s　wife。　What　you　had　left　before　I　saw　you；　of　course　I　do　not　know；　but　I　counsel　you　to　resist　firmly　every　temptation　which　would　incline　you　to　look　back：　pursue　your　present　career　steadily；　for　some　months　at　least。”
“It　is　what　I　mean　to　do；”　I　answered。　St。　John　continued—
“It　is　hard　work　to　control　the　workings　of　inclination　and　turn　the　bent　of　nature；　but　that　it　may　be　done；　I　know　from　experience。　God　has　given　us；　in　a　measure；　the　power　to　make　our　own　fate；　and　when　our　energies　seem　to　demand　a　sustenance　they　cannot　get—when　our　will　strains　after　a　path　we　may　not　follow—we　need　neither　starve　from　inanition；　nor　stand　still　in　despair：　we　have　but　to　seek　another　nourishment　for　the　mind；　as　strong　as　the　forbidden　food　it　longed　to　taste—and　perhaps　purer；　and　to　hew　out　for　the　adventurous　foot　a　road　as　direct　and　broad　as　the　one　Fortune　has　blocked　up　against　us；　if　rougher　than　it。
“A　year　ago　I　was　myself　intensely　miserable；　because　I　thought　I　had　made　a　mistake　in　entering　the　ministry：　its　uniform　duties　wearied　me　to　death。　I　burnt　for　the　more　active　life　of　the　world—for　the　more　exciting　toils　of　a　literary　career—for　the　destiny　of　an　artist；　author；　orator；　anything　rather　than　that　of　a　priest：　yes；　the　heart　of　a　politician；　of　a　soldier；　of　a　votary　of　glory；　a　lover　of　renown；　a　luster　after　power；　beat　under　my　curate’s　surplice。　I　considered；　my　life　was　so　wretched；　it　must　be　changed；　or　I　must　die。　After　a　season　of　darkness　and　struggling；　light　broke　and　relief　fell：　my　cramped　existence　all　at　once　spread　out　to　a　plain　without　bounds—my　powers　heard　a　call　from　heaven　to　rise；　gather　their　full　strength；　spread　their　wings；　and　mount　beyond　ken。　God　had　an　errand　for　me；　to　bear　which　afar；　to　deliver　it　well；　skill　and　strength；　courage　and　eloquence；　the　best　qualifications　of　soldier；　statesman；　and　orator；　were　all　needed：　for　these　all　centre　in　the　good　missionary。
“A　missionary　I　resolved　to　be。　From　that　moment　my　state　of　mind　changed；　the　fetters　dissolved　and　dropped　from　every　faculty；　leaving　nothing　of　bondage　but　its　galling　soreness—which　time　only　can　heal。　My　father；　indeed；　imposed　the　determination；　but　since　his　death；　I　have　not　a　legitimate　obstacle　to　contend　with；　some　affairs　settled；　a　successor　for　Morton　provided；　an　entanglement　or　two　of　the　feelings　broken　through　or　cut　asunder—a　last　conflict　with　human　weakness；　in　which　I　know　I　shall　overe；　because　I　have　vowed　that　I　will　overe—and　I　leave　Europe　for　the　East。”
He　said　this；　in　his　peculiar；　subdued；　yet　emphatic　voice；　looking；　when　he　had　ceased　speaking；　not　at　me；　but　at　the　setting　sun；　at　which　I　looked　too。　Both　he　and　I　had　our　backs　towards　the　path　leading　up　the　field　to　the　wicket。　We　had　heard　no　step　on　that　grass…grown　track；　the　water　running　in　the　vale　was　the　one　lulling　sound　of　the　hour　and　scene；　we　might　well　then　start　when　a　gay　voice；　sweet　as　a　silver　bell；　exclaimed—
“Good　evening；　Mr。　Rivers。　And　good　evening；　old　Carlo。　Your　dog　is　quicker　to　recognise　his　friends　than　you　are；　sir；　he　pricked　his　ears　and　wagged　his　tail　when　I　was　at　the　bottom　of　the　field；　and　you　have　your　back　towards　me　now。”
It　was　true。　Though　Mr。　Rivers　had　started　at　the　first　of　those　musical　accents；　as　if　a　thunderbolt　had　split　a　cloud　over　his　head；　he　stood　yet；　at　the　close　of　the　sentence；　in　the　same　attitude　in　which　the　speaker　had　surprised　him—his　arm　resting　on　the　gate；　his　face　directed　towards　the　west。　He　turned　at　last；　with　measured　deliberation。　A　vision；　as　it　seemed　to　me；　had　risen　at　his　side。　There　appeared；　within　three　feet　of　him；　a　form　clad　in　pure　white—a　youthful；　graceful　form：　full；　yet　fine　in　contour；　and　when；　after　bending　to　caress　Carlo；　it　lifted　up　its　head；　and　threw　back　a　long　veil；　there　bloomed　under　his　glance　a　face　of　perfect　beauty。　Perfect　beauty　is　a　strong　expression；　but　I　do　not　retrace　or　qualify　it：　as　sweet　features　as　ever　the　temperate　clime　of　Albion　moulded；　as　pure　hues　of　rose　and　lily　as　ever　her　humid　gales　and　vapoury　skies　generated　and　screened；　justified；　in　this　instance；　the　term。　No　charm　was　wanting；　no　defect　was　perceptible；　the　young　girl　had　regular　and　delicate　lineaments；　eyes　shaped　and　coloured　as　we　see　them　in　lovely　pictures；　large；　and　dark；　and　full；　the　long　and　shadowy　eyelash　which　encircles　a　fine　eye　with　so　soft　a　fascination；　the　pencilled　brow　which　gives　such　clearness；　the　white　smooth　forehead；　which　adds　such　repose　to　the　livelier　beauties　of　tint　and　ray；　the　cheek　oval；　fresh；　and　smooth；　the　lips；　fresh　too；　ruddy；　healthy；　sweetly　formed；　the　even　and　gleaming　teeth　without　flaw；　the　small　dimpled　chin；　the　ornament　of　rich；　plenteous　tresses—all　advantages；　in　short；　which；　bined；　realise　the　ideal　of　beauty；　were　fully　hers。　I　wondered；　as　I　looked　at　this　fair　creature：　I　admired　her　with　my　whole　heart。　Nature　had　surely　formed　her　in　a　partial　mood；　and；　forgetting　her　usual　stinted　step…mother　dole　of　gifts；　had　endowed　this；　her　darling；　with　a　grand…dame’s　bounty。
What　did　St。　John　Rivers　think　of　this　earthly　angel？　I　naturally　asked　myself　that　question　as　I　saw　him　turn　to　her　and　look　at　her；　and；　as　naturally；　I　sought　the　answer　to　the　inquiry　in　his　countenance。　He　had　already　withdrawn　his　eye　from　the　Peri；　and　was　looking　at　a　humble　tuft　of　daisies　which　grew　by　the　wicket。
“A　lovely　evening；　but　late　for　you　to　be　out　alone；”　he　said；　as　he　crushed　the　snowy　heads　of　the　closed　flowers　with　his　foot。
“Oh；　I　only　came　home　from　S…”　（she　mentioned　the　name　of　a　large　town　some　twenty　miles　distant）　“this　afternoon。　Papa　told　me　you　had　opened　your　school；　and　that　the　new　mistress　was　e；　and　so　I　put　on　my　bon　after　tea；　and　ran　up　the　valley　to　see　her：　this　is　she？”　pointing　to　me。
“It　is；”　said　St。　John。
“Do　you　think　you　shall　like　Morton？”　she　asked　of　me；　with　a　direct　and　naive　simplicity　of　tone　and　manner；　pleasing；　if　child…like。
“I　hope　I　shall。　I　have　many　inducements　to　do　so。”
“Did　you　find　your　scholars　as　attentive　as　you　expected？”
“Quite。”
“Do　you　like　your　house？”
“Very　much。”
“Have　I　furnished　it　nicely？”
“Very　nicely；　indeed。”
“And　made　a　good　choice　of　an　attendant　for　you　in　Alice　Wood？”
“You　have　indeed。　She　is　teachable　and　handy。”　（This　then；　I　thought；　is　Miss　Oliver；　the　heiress；　favoured；　it　seems；　in　the　gifts　of　fortune；　as　well　as　in　those　of　nature！　What　happy　bination　of　the　plas　presided　over　her　birth；　I　wonder？）
“I　shall　e　up　and　help　you　to　teach　sometimes；”　she　added。　“It　will　be　a　change　for　me　to　visit　you　now　and　then；　and　I　like　a　change。　Mr。　Rivers；　I　have　been　SO　gay　during　my　stay　at　S…。　　night；　or　rather　this　morning；　I　was　dancing　till　two　o’clock。　The—th　regiment　are　stationed　there　since　the　riots；　and　the　officers　are　the　most　agreeable　men　in　the　world：　they　put　all　our　young　knife…grinders　and　scissor　merchants　to　shame。”
It　seemed　to　me　that　Mr。　St。　John’s　under　lip　protruded；　and　his　upper　lip　curled　a　moment。　His　mouth　certainly　looked　a　good　deal　pressed；　and　the　lower　part　of　his　face　unusually　stern　and　square；　as　the　laughing　girl　gave　him　this　information。　He　lifted　his　gaze；　too；　from　the　daisies；　and　turned　it　on　her。　An　unsmiling；　a　searching；　a　meaning　gaze　it　was。　She　answered　it　with　a　second　laugh；　and　laughter　well　became　her　youth；　her　roses；　her　dimples；　her　bright　eyes。
As　he　stood；　mute　and　grave；　she　again　fell　to　caressing　Carlo。　“Poor　Carlo　loves　me；”　said　she。　“He　is　not　stern　and　distant　to　his　friends；　and　if　he　could　speak；　he　would　not　be　silent。”
As　she　patted　the　dog’s　head；　bending　with　native　grace　before　his　young　and　austere　master；　I　saw　a　glow　rise　to　that　master’s　face。　I　saw　his　solemn　eye　melt　with　sudden　fire；　and　flicker　with　resistless　emotion。　Flushed　and　kindled　thus；　he　looked　nearly　as　beautiful　for　a　man　as　she　for　a　woman。　His　chest　heaved　once；　as　if　his　large　heart；　weary　of　despotic　constriction；　had　expanded；　despite　the　will；　and　made　a　vigorous　bound　for　the　attainment　of　liberty。　But　he　curbed　it；　I　think；　as　a　resolute　rider　would　curb　a　rearing　steed。　He　responded　neither　by　word　nor　movement　to　the　gentle　advances　made　him。
“Papa　says　you　never　e　to　see　us　now；”　continued　Miss　Oliver；　looking　up。　“You　are　quite　a　stranger　at　Vale　Hall。　He　is　alone　this　evening；　and　not　very　well：　will　you　return　with　me　and　visit　him？”
“It　is　not　a　seasonable　hour　to　intrude　on　Mr。　Oliver；”　answered　St。　John。
“Not　a　seasonable　hour！　But　I　declare　it　is。　It　is　just　the　hour　when　papa　most　wants　pany：　when　the　works　are　closed　and　he　has　no　business　to　occupy　him。　Now；　Mr。　Rivers；　do　e。　Why　are　you　so　very　shy；　and　so　very　sombre？”　She　filled　up　the　hiatus　his　silence　left　by　a　reply　of　her　own。
“I　forgot！”　she　exclaimed；　shaking　her　beautiful　curled　head；　as　if　shocked　at　herself。　“I　am　so　giddy　and　thoughtless！　Do　excuse　me。　It　had　slipped　my　memory　that　you　have　good　reasons　to　be　indisposed　for　joining　in　my　chatter。　Diana　and　Mary　have　left　you；　and　Moor　House　is　shut　up；　and　you　are　so　lonely。　I　am　sure　I　pity　you。　Do　e　and　see　papa。”
“Not　to…night；　Miss　Rosamond；　not　to…night。”
Mr。　St。　John　spoke　almost　like　an　automaton：　himself　only　knew　the　effort　it　cost　him　thus　to　refuse。
“Well；　if　you　are　so　obstinate；　I　will　leave　you；　for　I　dare　not　stay　any　longer：　the　dew　begins　to　fall。　Good　evening！”
She　held　out　her　hand。　He　just　touched　it。　“Good　evening！”　he　repeated；　in　a　voice　low　and　hollow　as　an　echo。　She　turned；　but　in　a　moment　returned。
“Are　you　well？”　she　asked。　Well　might　she　put　the　question：　his　face　was　blanched　as　her　gown。
“Quite　well；”　he　enunciated；　and；　with　a　bow；　he　left　the　gate。　She　went　one　way；　he　another。　She　turned　twice　to　gaze　after　him　as　she　tripped　fairy…like　down　the　field；　he；　as　he　strode　firmly　across；　never　turned　at　all。
This　spectacle　of　another’s　suffering　and　sacrifice　rapt