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简爱(英文版)-第85部分

小说: 简爱(英文版) 字数: 每页4000字

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“He is a parson。”
I remembered the answer of the old housekeeper at the parsonage; when I had asked to see the clergyman。 “This; then; was his father’s residence?”
“Aye; old Mr。 Rivers lived here; and his father; and grandfather; and gurt (great) grandfather afore him。”
“The name; then; of that gentleman; is Mr。 St。 John Rivers?”
“Aye; St。 John is like his kirstened name。”
“And his sisters are called Diana and Mary Rivers?”
“Yes。”
“Their father is dead?”
“Dead three weeks sin’ of a stroke。”
“They have no mother?”
“The mistress has been dead this mony a year。”
“Have you lived with the family long?”
“I’ve lived here thirty year。 I nursed them all three。”
“That proves you must have been an honest and faithful servant。 I will say so much for you; though you have had the incivility to call me a beggar。”
She again regarded me with a surprised stare。 “I believe;” she said; “I y thoughts of you: but there is so mony cheats goes about; you mun forgie me。”
“And though;” I continued; rather severely; “you wished to turn me from the door; on a night when you should not have shut out a dog。”
“Well; it was hard: but what can a body do? I thought more o’ th’ childer nor of mysel: poor things! They’ve like nobody to tak’ care on ‘em but me。 I’m like to look sharpish。”
I maintained a grave silence for some minutes。
“You munnut think too hardly of me;” she again remarked。
“But I do think hardly of you;” I said; “and I’ll tell you why—not so much because you refused to give me shelter; or regarded me as an impostor; as because you just now made it a species of reproach that I had no ‘brass’ and no house。 Some of the best people that ever lived have been as destitute as I am; and if you are a Christian; you ought not to consider poverty a crime。”
“No more I ought;” said she: “Mr。 St。 John tells me so too; and I see I wor wrang—but I’ve clear a different notion on you now to what I had。 You look a raight down dacent little crater。”
“That will do—I forgive you now。 Shake hands。”
She put her floury and horny hand into mine; another and heartier smile illumined her rough face; and from that moment we were friends。
Hannah was evidently fond of talking。 While I picked the fruit; and she made the paste for the pies; she proceeded to give me sundry details about her deceased master and mistress; and “the childer;” as she called the young people。
Old Mr。 Rivers; she said; was a plain man enough; but a gentleman; and of as ancient a family as could be found。 Marsh End had belonged to the Rivers ever since it was a house: and it was; she affirmed; “aboon two hundred year old—for all it looked but a small; humble place; naught to pare wi’ Mr。 Oliver’s grand hall down i’ Morton Vale。 But she could remember Bill Oliver’s father a journeyman needlemaker; and th’ Rivers wor gentry i’ th’ owd days o’ th’ Henrys; as onybody might see by looking into th’ registers i’ Morton Church vestry。” Still; she allowed; “the owd maister was like other folk—naught mich out o’ t’ mon way: stark mad o’ shooting; and farming; and sich like。” The mistress was different。 She was a great reader; and studied a deal; and the “bairns” had taken after her。 There was nothing like them in these parts; nor ever had been; they had liked learning; all three; almost from the time they could speak; and they had always been “of a mak’ of their own。” Mr。 St。 John; when he grew up; would go to college and be a parson; and the girls; as soon as they left school; would seek places as governesses: for they had told her their father had some years ago lost a great deal of money by a man he had trusted turning bankrupt; and as he was now not rich enough to give them fortunes; they must provide for themselves。 They had lived very little at home for a long while; and were only e now to stay a few weeks on account of their father’s death; but they did so like Marsh End and Morton; and all these moors and hills about。 They had been in London; and many other grand towns; but they always said there was no place like home; and then they were so agreeable with each other—never fell out nor “threaped。” She did not know where there was such a family for being united。
Having finished my task of gooseberry picking; I asked where the two ladies and their brother were now。
“Gone over to Morton for a walk; but they would be back in half…an… hour to tea。”
They returned within the time Hannah had allotted them: they entered by the kitchen door。 Mr。 St。 John; when he saw me; merely bowed and passed through; the two ladies stopped: Mary; in a few words; kindly and calmly expressed the pleasure she felt in seeing me well enough to be able to e down; Diana took my hand: she shook her head at me。
“You should have waited for my leave to descend;” she said。 “You still look very pale—and so thin! Poor child!—poor girl!”
Diana had a voice toned; to my ear; like the cooing of a dove。 She possessed eyes whose gaze I delighted to encounter。 Her whole face seemed to me fill of charm。 Mary’s countenance was equally intelligent—her features equally pretty; but her expression was more reserved; and her manners; though gentle; more distant。 Diana looked and spoke with a certain authority: she had a will; evidently。 It was my nature to feel pleasure in yielding to an authority supported like hers; and to bend; where my conscience and self…respect permitted; to an active will。
“And what business have you here?” she continued。 “It is not your place。 Mary and I sit in the kitchen sometimes; because at home we like to be free; even to license—but you are a visitor; and must go into the parlour。”
“I am very well here。”
“Not at all; with Hannah bustling about and covering you with flour。”
“Besides; the fire is too hot for you;” interposed Mary。
“To be sure;” added her sister。 “e; you must be obedient。” And still holding my hand she made me rise; and led me into the inner room。
“Sit there;” she said; placing me on the sofa; “while we take our things off and get the tea ready; it is another privilege we exercise in our little moorland home—to prepare our own meals when we are so inclined; or when Hannah is baking; brewing; washing; or ironing。”
She closed the door; leaving me solus with Mr。 St。 John; who sat opposite; a book or newspaper in his hand。 I examined first; the parlour; and then its occupant。
The parlour was rather a small room; very plainly furnished; yet fortable; because clean and neat。 The old…fashioned chairs were very bright; and the walnut…wood table was like a looking…glass。 A feen and women of other days decorated the stained walls; a cupboard with glass doors contained some books and an ancient set of china。 There was no superfluous ornament in the room—not one modern piece of furniture; save a brace of workboxes and a lady’s desk in rosewood; which stood on a side…table: everything—including the carpet and curtains—looked at once well worn and well saved。
Mr。 St。 John—sitting as still as one of the dusty pictures on the walls; keeping his eyes fixed on the page he perused; and his lips mutely sealed—was easy enough to examine。 Had he been a statue instead of a man; he could not have been easier。 He was young— perhaps from twenty…eight to thirty—tall; slender; his face riveted the eye; it was like a Greek face; very pure in outline: quite a straight; classic nose; quite an Athenian mouth and chin。 It is seldom; indeed; an English face es so near the antique models as did his。 He might well be a little shocked at the irregularity of my lineaments; his own being so harmonious。 His eyes were large and blue; with brown lashes; his high forehead; colourless as ivory; was partially streaked over by careless locks of fair hair。
This is a gentle delineation; is it not; reader? Yet he whom it describes scarcely impressed one with the idea of a gentle; a yielding; an impressible; or even of a placid nature。 Quiescent as he now sat; there was something about his nostril; his mouth; his brow; which; to my perceptions; indicated elements within either restless; or hard; or eager。 He did not speak to me one word; nor even direct to me one glance; till his sisters returned。 Diana; as she passed in and out; in the course of preparing tea; brought me a little cake; baked on the top of the oven。
“Eat that now;” she said: “you must be hungry。 Hannah says you have had nothing but some gruel since breakfast。”
I did not refuse it; for my appetite was awakened and keen。 Mr。 Rivers now closed his book; approached the table; and; as he took a seat; fixed his blue pictorial…looking eyes full on me。 There was an unceremonious directness; a searching; decided steadfastness in his gaze now; which told that intention; and not diffidence; had hitherto kept it averted from the stranger。
“You are very hungry;” he said。
“I am; sir。” It is my way—it always was my way; by instinct—ever to meet the brief with brevity; the direct with plainness。
“It is well for you that a low fever has forced you to abstain for the last three days: there would have been danger in yielding to the cravings of your appetite at first。 Now you may eat; though still not immoderately。”
“I trust I shall not

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