乐文小说网

第4部分（第1页）

Chapter　3

The　next　thing　I　remember　is；　waking　up　with　a　feeling　as　if　I　had　had　a　frightful　nightmare；　and　seeing　before　me　a　terrible　red　glare；　crossed　with　thick　black　bars。　I　heard　voices；　too；　speaking　with　a　hollow　sound；　and　as　if　muffled　by　a　rush　of　wind　or　water：　agitation；　uncertainty；　and　an　all…predominating　sense　of　terror　confused　my　faculties。　Ere　long；　I　became　aware　that　some　one　was　handling　me；　lifting　me　up　and　supporting　me　in　a　sitting　posture；　and　that　more　tenderly　than　I　had　ever　been　raised　or　upheld　before。　I　rested　my　head　against　a　pillow　or　an　arm；　and　felt　easy。

In　five　minutes　more　the　cloud　of　bewilderment　dissolved：　I　knew　quite　well　that　I　was　in　my　own　bed；　and　that　the　red　glare　was　the　nursery　fire。　It　was　night：　a　candle　burnt　on　the　table；　Bessie　stood　at　the　bed…foot　with　a　basin　in　her　hand；　and　a　gentleman　sat　in　a　chair　near　my　pillow；　leaning　over　me。

I　felt　an　inexpressible　relief；　a　soothing　conviction　of　protection　and　security；　when　I　knew　that　there　was　a　stranger　in　the　room；　an　individual　not　belonging　to　Gateshead。；　and　not　related　to　Mrs。　Reed。　Turning　from　Bessie　（though　her　presence　was　far　less　obnoxious　to　me　than　that　of　Abbot；　for　instance；　would　have　been）；　I　scrutinised　the　face　of　the　gentleman：　I　knew　him；　it　was　Mr。　Lloyd；　an　apothecary；　sometimes　called　in　by　Mrs。　Reed　when　the　servants　were　ailing：　for　herself　and　the　children　she　employed　a　physician。

“Well；　who　am　I？”　he　asked。

I　pronounced　his　name；　offering　him　at　the　same　time　my　hand：　he　took　it；　smiling　and　saying；　“We　shall　do　very　well　by…and…by。”　Then　he　laid　me　down；　and　addressing　Bessie；　charged　her　to　be　very　careful　that　I　was　not　disturbed　during　the　night。　Having　given　some　further　directions；　and　intimates　that　he　should　call　again　the　next　day；　he　departed；　to　my　grief：　I　felt　so　sheltered　and　befriended　while　he　sat　in　the　chair　near　my　pillow；　and　as　he　closed　the　door　after　him；　all　the　room　darkened　and　my　heart　again　sank：　inexpressible　sadness　weighed　it　down。

“Do　you　feel　as　if　you　should　sleep；　Miss？”　asked　Bessie；　rather　softly。

Scarcely　dared　I　answer　her；　for　I　feared　the　next　sentence　might　be　rough。　“I　will　try。”

“Would　you　like　to　drink；　or　could　you　eat　anything？”

“No；　thank　you；　Bessie。”

“Then　I　think　I　shall　go　to　bed；　for　it　is　past　twelve　o’clock；　but　you　may　call　me　if　you　want　anything　in　the　night。”

Wonderful　civility　this！　It　emboldened　me　to　ask　a　question。

“Bessie；　what　is　the　matter　with　me？　Am　I　ill？”

“You　fell　sick；　I　suppose；　in　the　red…room　with　crying；　you’ll　be　better　soon；　no　doubt。”

Bessie　went　into　the　housemaid’s　apartment；　which　was　near。　I　heard　her　say—

“Sarah；　e　and　sleep　with　me　in　the　nursery；　I　daren’t　for　my　life　be　alone　with　that　poor　child　to…night：　she　might　die；　it’s　such　a　strange　thing　she　should　have　that　fit：　I　wonder　if　she　saw　anything。　Missis　was　rather　too　hard。”

Sarah　came　back　with　her；　they　both　went　to　bed；　they　were　whispering　together　for　half…an…hour　before　they　fell　asleep。　I　caught　scraps　of　their　conversation；　from　which　I　was　able　only　too　distinctly　to　infer　the　main　subject　discussed。

“Something　passed　her；　all　dressed　in　white；　and　vanished”—“A　great　black　dog　behind　him”—“Three　loud　raps　on　the　chamber　door”—“A　light　in　the　churchyard　just　over　his　grave；”　&c。　&c。

At　last　both　slept：　the　fire　and　the　candle　went　out。　For　me；　the　watches　of　that　long　night　passed　in　ghastly　wakefulness；　strained　by　dread：　such　dread　as　children　only　can　feel。

No　severe　or　prolonged　bodily　illness　followed　this　incident　of　the　red…room；　it　only　gave　my　nerves　a　shock　of　which　I　feel　the　reverberation　to　this　day。　Yes；　Mrs。　Reed；　to　you　I　owe　some　fearful　pangs　of　mental　suffering；　but　I　ought　to　forgive　you；　for　you　knew　not　what　you　did：　while　rending　my　heart…strings；　you　thought　you　were　only　uprooting　my　bad　propensities。

Next　day；　by　noon；　I　was　up　and　dressed；　and　sat　wrapped　in　a　shawl　by　the　nursery　hearth。　I　felt　physically　weak　and　broken　down：　but　my　worse　ailment　was　an　unutterable　wretchedness　of　mind：　a　wretchedness　which　kept　drawing　from　me　silent　tears；　no　sooner　had　I　wiped　one　salt　drop　from　my　cheek　than　another　followed。　Yet；　I　thought；　I　ought　to　have　been　happy；　for　none　of　the　Reeds　were　there；　they　were　all　gone　out　in　the　carriage　with　their　mama。　Abbot；　too；　was　sewing　in　another　room；　and　Bessie；　as　she　moved　hither　and　thither；　putting　away　toys　and　arranging　drawers；　addressed　to　me　every　now　and　then　a　word　of　unwonted　kindness。　This　state　of　things　should　have　been　to　me　a　paradise　of　peace；　accustomed　as　I　was　to　a　life　of　ceaseless　reprimand　and　thankless　fagging；　but；　in　fact；　my　racked　nerves　were　now　in　such　a　state　that　no　calm　could　soothe；　and　no　pleasure　excite　them　agreeably。

Bessie　had　been　down　into　the　kitchen；　and　she　brought　up　with　her　a　tart　on　a　certain　brightly　painted　china　plate；　whose　bird　of　paradise；　nestling　in　a　wreath　of　convolvuli　and　rosebuds；　had　been　wont　to　stir　in　me　a　most　enthusiastic　sense　of　admiration；　and　which　plate　I　had　often　petitioned　to　be　allowed　to　take　in　my　hand　in　order　to　examine　it　more　closely；　but　had　always　hitherto　been　deemed　unworthy　of　such　a　privilege。　This　precious　vessel　was　now　placed　on　my　knee；　and　I　was　cordially　invited　to　eat　the　circlet　of　delicate　pastry　upon　it。　Vain　favour！　ing；　like　most　other　favours　long　deferred　and　often　wished　for；　too　late！　I　could　not　eat　the　tart；　and　the　plumage　of　the　bird；　the　tints　of　the　flowers；　seemed　strangely　faded：　I　put　both　plate　and　tart　away。　Bessie　asked　if　I　would　have　a　book：　the　word　BOOK　acted　as　a　transient　stimulus；　and　I　begged　her　to　fetch　Gulliver’s　Travels　from　the　library。　This　book　I　had　again　and　again　perused　with　delight。　I　considered　it　a　narrative　of　facts；　and　discovered　in　it　a　vein　of　interest　deeper　than　what　I　found　in　fairy　tales：　for　as　to　the　elves；　having　sought　them　in　vain　among　foxglove　leaves　and　bells；　under　mushrooms　and　beneath　the　ground…ivy　mantling　old　wall…nooks；　I　had　at　length　made　up　my　mind　to　the　sad　truth；　that　they　were　all　gone　out　of　England　to　some　savage　country　where　the　woods　were　wilder　and　thicker；　and　the　population　more　scant；　whereas；　Lilliput　and　Brobdignag　being；　in　my　creed；　solid　parts　of　the　earth’s　surface；　I　doubted　not　that　I　might　one　day；　by　taking　a　long　voyage；　see　with　my　own　eyes　the　little　fields；　houses；　and　trees；　the　diminutive　people；　the　tiny　cows；　sheep；　and　birds　of　the　one　realm；　and　the　corn…fields　forest…high；　the　mighty　mastiffs；　the　monster　cats；　the　tower…like　men　and　women；　of　the　other。　Yet；　when　this　cherished　volume　was　now　placed　in　my　hand—when　I　turned　over　its　leaves；　and　sought　in　its　marvellous　pictures　the　charm　I　had；　till　now；　never　failed　to　find—all　was　eerie　and　dreary；　the　giants　were　gaunt　goblins；　the　pigmies　malevolent　and　fearful　imps；　Gulliver　a　most　desolate　wanderer　in　most　dread　and　dangerous　regions。　I　closed　the　book；　which　I　dared　no　longer　peruse；　and　put　it　on　the　table；　beside　the　untasted　tart。

Bessie　had　now　finished　dusting　and　tidying　the　room；　and　having　washed　her　hands；　she　opened　a　certain　little　drawer；　full　of　splendid　shreds　of　silk　and　satin；　and　began　making　a　new　bon　for　Georgiana’s　doll。　Meantime　she　sang：　her　song　was—

“In　the　days　when　we　went　gipsying；

A　long　time　ago。”

I　had　often　heard　the　song　before；　and　always　with　lively　delight；　for　Bessie　had　a　sweet　voice；—at　least；　I　thought　so。　But　now；　though　her　voice　was　still　sweet；　I　found　in　its　melody　an　indescribable　sadness。　Sometimes；　preoccupied　with　her　work；　she　sang　the　refrain　very　low；　very　lingeringly；　“A　long　time　ago”　came　out　like　the　saddest　cadence　of　a　funeral　hymn。　She　passed　into　another　ballad；　this　time　a　really　doleful　one。

“My　feet　they　are　sore；　and　my　limbs　they　are　weary；

Long　is　the　way；　and　the　mountains　are　wild；

Soon　will　the　twilight　close　moonless　and　dreary

Over　the　path　of　the　poor　orphan　child。

Why　did　they　send　me　so　far　and　so　lonely；

Up　where　the　moors　spread　and　grey　rocks　are　piled？

Men　are　hard…hearted；　and　kind　angels　only

Watch　o’er　the　steps　of　a　poor　orphan　child。

Yet　distant　and　soft　the　night　breeze　is　blowing；

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