adam bede(亚当[1].比德)-第89章
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
she had once eyed and fingered so fondly as the earnest of her
future paradise of finery； she lived back in the moments when they
had been given to her with such tender caresses； such strangely
George Eliot ElecBook Classics
… Page 439…
Adam Bede 439
pretty words； such glowing looks； which filled her with a
bewildering delicious surprise—they were so much sweeter than
she had thought anything could be。 And the Arthur who had
spoken to her and looked at her in this way； who was present with
her now—whose arm she felt round her； his cheek against hers；
his very breath upon her—was the cruel； cruel Arthur who had
written that letter； that letter which she snatched and crushed and
then opened again； that she might read it once more。 The half…
benumbed mental condition which was the effect of the last
night’s violent crying made it necessary to her to look again and
see if her wretched thoughts were actually true—if the letter was
really so cruel。 She had to hold it close to the window； else she
could not have read it by the faint light。 Yes！ It was worse—it was
more cruel。 She crushed it up again in anger。 She hated the writer
of that letter—hated him for the very reason that she hung upon
him with all her love—all the girlish passion and vanity that made
up her love。
She had no tears this morning。 She had wept them all away last
night； and now she felt that dry…eyed morning misery； which is
worse than the first shock because it has the future in it as well as
the present。 Every morning to come； as far as her imagination
could stretch； she would have to get up and feel that the day would
have no joy for her。 For there is no despair so absolute as that
which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow；
when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be
healed； to have despaired and to have recovered hope。 As Hetty
began languidly to take off the clothes she had worn all the night；
that she might wash herself and brush her hair； she had a
sickening sense that her life would go on in this way。 She should
George Eliot ElecBook Classics
… Page 440…
Adam Bede 440
always be doing things she had no pleasure in； getting up to the
old tasks of work； seeing people she cared nothing about； going to
church； and to Treddleston； and to tea with Mrs。 Best； and
carrying no happy thought with her。 For her short poisonous
delights had spoiled for ever all the little joys that had once made
the sweetness of her life—the new frock ready for Treddleston
Fair； the party at Mr。 Britton’s at Broxton wake； the beaux that
she would say “No” to for a long while； and the prospect of the
wedding that was to come at last when she would have a silk gown
and a great many clothes all at once。 These things were all flat and
dreary to her now； everything would be a weariness； and she
would carry about for ever a hopeless thirst and longing。
She paused in the midst of her languid undressing and leaned
against the dark old clothes…press。 Her neck and arms were bare；
her hair hung down in delicate rings—and they were just as
beautiful as they were that night two months ago； when she
walked up and down this bed…chamber glowing with vanity and
hope。 She was not thinking of her neck and arms now； even her
own beauty was indifferent to her。 Her eyes wandered sadly over
the dull old chamber； and then looked out vacantly towards the
growing dawn。 Did a remembrance of Dinah come across her
mind？ Of her foreboding words； which had made her angry？ Of
Dinah’s affectionate entreaty to think of her as a friend in trouble？
No； the impression had been too slight to recur。 Any affection or
comfort Dinah could have given her would have been as
indifferent to Hetty this morning as everything else was except her
bruised passion。 She was only thinking she could never stay here
and go on with the old life—she could better bear something quite
new than sinking back into the old everyday round。 She would like
George Eliot ElecBook Classics
… Page 441…
Adam Bede 441
to run away that very morning； and never see any of the old faces
again。 But Hetty’s was not a nature to face difficulties—to dare to
loose her hold on the familiar and rush blindly on some unknown
condition。 Hers was a luxurious and vain nature—not a passionate
one—and if she were ever to take any violent measure； she must
be urged to it by the desperation of terror。 There was not much
room for her thoughts to travel in the narrow circle of her
imagination； and she soon fixed on the one thing she would do to
get away from her old life： she would ask her uncle to let her go to
be a lady’s maid。 Miss Lydia’s maid would help her to get a
situation； if she krew Hetty had her uncle’s leave。
When she had thought of this； she fastened up her hair and
began to wash： it seemed more possible to her to go downstairs
and try to behave as usual。 She would ask her uncle this very day。
On Hetty’s blooming health it would take a great deal of such
mental suffering as hers to leave any deep impress； and when she
was dressed as neatly as usual in her working…dress； with her hair
tucked up under her little cap； an indifferent observer would have
been more struck with the young roundness of her cheek and neck
and the darkness of her eyes and eyelashes than with any signs of
sadness about her。 But when she took up the crushed letter and
put it in her drawer； that she might lock it out of sight； hard
smarting tears； having no relief in them as the great drops had
that fell last night； forced their way into her eyes。 She wiped them
away quickly： she must not cry in the day…time。 Nobody should
find out how miserable she was； nobody should know she was
disappointed about anything； and the thought that the eyes of her
aunt and uncle would be upon her gave her the self…command
which often accompanies a great dread。 For Hetty looked out from
George Eliot ElecBook Classics
… Page 442…
Adam Bede 442
her secret misery towards the possibility of their ever knowing
what had happened； as the sick and weary prisoner might think of
the possible pillory。 They would think her conduct shameful； and
shame was torture。 That was poor little Hetty’s conscience。
So she locked up her drawer and went away to her early work。
In the evening； when Mr。 Poyser was smoking his pipe； and his
good…nature was therefore at its superlative moment； Hetty seized
the opportunity of her aunt’s absence to say； “Uncle； I wish you’d
let me go for a lady’s maid。”
Mr。 Poyser took the pipe from his mouth and looked at Hetty in
mild surprise for some moments。 She was sewing； and went on
with her work industriously。
“Why； what’s put that into your head； my wench？” he said at
last； after he had given one conservative puff。
“I should like it—I should like it better than farm…work。”
“Nay； nay； you fancy so because you donna know it； my wench。
It wouldn’t be half so good for your health； nor for your luck i’ life。
I’d like you to stay wi’ us till you’ve got a good husband： you’re my
own niece； and I wouldn’t have you go to service； though it was a
gentleman’s house； as long as I’ve got a home for you。”
Mr。 Poyser paused； and puffed away at his pipe。
“I like the needlework；” said Hetty； “and I should get good
wages。”
“Has your aunt been a bit sharp wi’ you？” said Mr。 Poyser； not
noticing Hetty’s further argument。 “You mustna mind that； my
wench—she does it for your good。 She wishes you well； an’ there
isn’t many aunts as are no kin to you ’ud ha’ done by you as she
has。”
“No； it isn’t my aunt；” said Hetty； “but I should like the work
George Eliot ElecBook Classics
… Page 443…
Adam Bede 443
better。”
“It was all very well for you to learn the work a bit—an’ I gev
my consent to that fast enough； sin’ Mrs。 Pomfret was willing to
teach you。 For if anything was t’ happen； it’s well to know how to
turn your hand to different sorts o’ things。 But I niver meant you
to go to service； my wench； my family’s ate their own bread and
cheese as fur back as anybody knows； hanna they； Father？ You
wouldna like your grand…child to take wage？”
“Na…a…y；” said old Martin； with an elongation of the word；
meant to make it bitter as well as negative； while he leaned
forward and looked down on the floor。 “But the wench takes arter
her mother。 I’d hard work t’ hould her in； an’ she married i’ spite o’
me—a feller wi’ on’y two head o’ stock when there should ha’ been
ten on’s farm—she might well die o’ th’ inflammation afore she
war thirty。”
It was seldom the old man made so long a speech； but his son’s
question had fallen like a bit of dry fuel on the embers of a long
unextinguished resentment； which had always made the
gran
