adam bede(亚当[1].比德)-第99章
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being quite aware of the reason； she was less doubtful about
speaking to the driver； who now came forward—a large ruddy
man； with a sack over his shoulders； by way of scarf or mantle。
“Could you take me up in your waggon； if you’re going towards
Ashby？” said Hetty。 “I’ll pay you for it。”
“Aw；” said the big fellow； with that slowly dawning smile which
belongs to heavy faces； “I can take y’ up fawst enough wi’out bein’
paid for ’t if you dooant mind lyin’ a bit closish a…top o’ the wool…
packs。 Where do you coom from？ And what do you want at
Ashby？”
“I come from Stoniton。 I’m going a long way—to Windsor。”
“What！ Arter some service； or what？”
“Going to my brother—he’s a soldier there。”
“Well； I’m going no furder nor Leicester—and fur enough too—
but I’ll take you； if you dooant mind being a bit long on the road。
Th’ hosses wooant feel your weight no more nor they feel the little
doog there； as I puck up on the road a fortni’t agoo。 He war lost； I
b’lieve； an’s been all of a tremble iver sin’。 Come； gi’ us your basket
an’ come behind and let me put y’ in。”
To lie on the wool…packs； with a cranny left between the
curtains of the awning to let in the air； was luxury to Hetty now；
and she half…slept away the hours till the driver came to ask her if
she wanted to get down and have “some victual”； he himself was
going to eat his dinner at this “public。” Late at night they reached
Leicester； and so this second day of Hetty’s journey was past。 She
had spent no money except what she had paid for her food； but
she felt that this slow journeying would be intolerable for her
another day； and in the morning she found her way to a coach…
office to ask about the road to Windsor； and see if it would cost her
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too much to go part of the distance by coach again。 Yes！ The
distance was too great—the coaches were too dear—she must give
them up； but the elderly clerk at the office； touched by her pretty
anxious face； wrote down for her the names of the chief places she
must pass through。 This was the only comfort she got in Leicester；
for the men stared at her as she went along the street； and for the
first time in her life Hetty wished no one would look at her。 She set
out walking again； but this day she was fortunate； for she was soon
overtaken by a carrier’s cart which carried her to Hinckley； and by
the help of a return chaise； with a drunken postilion—who
frightened her by driving like Jehu the son of Nimshi； and
shouting hilarious remarks at her； twisting himself backwards on
his saddle—she was before night in the heart of woody
Warwickshire： but still almost a hundred miles from Windsor； they
told her。 Oh what a large world it was； and what hard work for her
to find her way in it！ She went by mistake to Stratford…on…Avon；
finding Stratford set down in her list of places； and then she was
told she had come a long way out of the right road。 It was not till
the fifth day that she got to Stony Stratford。 That seems but a
slight journey as you look at the map； or remember your own
pleasant travels to and from the meadowy banks of the Avon。 But
how wearily long it was to Hetty！ It seemed to her as if this country
of flat fields； and hedgerows； and dotted houses； and villages； and
market…towns—all so much alike to her indifferent eyes—must
have no end； and she must go on wandering among them for ever；
waiting tired at toll…gates for some cart to come； and then finding
the cart went only a little way—a very little way—to the miller’s a
mile off perhaps； and she hated going into the public houses；
where she must go to get food and ask questions； because there
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were always men lounging there； who stared at her and joked her
rudely。 Her body was very weary too with these days of new
fatigue and anxiety； they had made her look more pale and worn
than all the time of hidden dread she had gone through at home。
When at last she reached Stony Stratford； her impatience and
weariness had become too strong for her economical caution； she
determined to take the coach for the rest of the way； though it
should cost her all her remaining money。 She would need nothing
at Windsor but to find Arthur。 When she had paid the fare for the
last coach； she had only a shilling； and as she got down at the sign
of the Green Man in Windsor at twelve o’clock in the middle of the
seventh day； hungry and faint； the coachman came up； and begged
her to “remember him。” She put her hand in her pocket and took
out the shilling； but the tears came with the sense of exhaustion
and the thought that she was giving away her last means of getting
food； which she really required before she could go in search of
Arthur。 As she held out the shilling； she lifted up her dark tear…
filled eyes to the coachman’s face and said； “Can you give me back
sixpence？”
“No； no；” he said； gruffly； “never mind—put the shilling up
again。”
The landlord of the Green Man had stood near enough to
witness this scene； and he was a man whose abundant feeding
served to keep his good nature； as well as his person； in high
condition。 And that lovely tearful face of Hetty’s would have found
out the sensitive fibre in most men。
“Come； young woman； come in；” he said； “and have a drop o’
something； you’re pretty well knocked up； I can see that。”
He took her into the bar and said to his wife； “Here； missis； take
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this young woman into the parlour； she’s a little overcome”—for
Hetty’s tears were falling fast。 They were merely hysterical tears：
she thought she had no reason for weeping now； and was vexed
that she was too weak and tired to help it。 She was at Windsor at
last； not far from Arthur。
She looked with eager； hungry eyes at the bread and meat and
beer that the landlady brought her； and for some minutes she
forgot everything else in the delicious sensations of satisfying
hunger and recovering from exhaustion。 The landlady sat opposite
to her as she ate； and looked at her earnestly。 No wonder： Hetty
had thrown off her bonnet； and her curls had fallen down。 Her
face was all the more touching in its youth and beauty because of
its weary look； and the good woman’s eyes presently wandered to
her figure； which in her hurried dressing on her journey she had
taken no pains to conceal； moreover； the stranger’s eye detects
what the familiar unsuspecting eye leaves unnoticed。
“Why； you’re not very fit for travelling；” she said； glancing while
she spoke at Hetty’s ringless hand。 “Have you come far？”
“Yes；” said Hetty； roused by this question to exert more self…
command； and feeling the better for the food she had taken。 “I’ve
come a good long way； and it’s very tiring。 But I’m better now。
Could you tell me which way to go to this place？” Here Hetty took
from her pocket a bit of paper： it was the end of Arthur’s letter on
which he had written his address。
While she was speaking； the landlord had come in and had
begun to look at her as earnestly as his wife had done。 He took up
the piece of paper which Hetty handed across the table； and read
the address。
“Why； what do you want at this house？” he said。 It is in the
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nature of innkeepers and all men who have no pressing business
of their own to ask as many questions as possible before giving any
information。
“I want to see a gentleman as is there；” said Hetty。
“But there’s no gentleman there；” returned the landlord。 “It’s
shut up—been shut up this fortnight。 What gentleman is it you
want？ Perhaps I can let you know where to find him。”
“It’s Captain Donnithorne；” said Hetty tremulously； her heart
beginning to beat painfully at this disappointment of her hope that
she should find Arthur at once。
“Captain Donnithorne？ Stop a bit；” said the landlord； slowly。
“Was he in the Loamshire Militia？ A tall young officer with a
fairish skin and reddish whiskers—and had a servant by the name
o’ Pym？”
“Oh yes；” said Hetty； “you know him—where is he？”
“A fine sight o’ miles away from here。 The Loamshire Militia’s
gone to Ireland； it’s been gone this fortnight。”
“Look there！ She’s fainting；” said the landlady； hastening to
support Hetty； who had lost her miserable consciousness and
looked like a beautiful corpse。 They carried her to the sofa and
loosened her dress。
“Here’s a bad business； I suspect；” said the landlord； as he
brought in some water。
“Ah； it’s plain enough what sort of business it is；” said the wife。
“She’s not a common flaunting dratchell； I can see that。 She looks
like a respectable country girl； and she comes from a good way off；
to judge by her tongue。 She talks something like that ostler we had
that come from the north。 He was as honest a fellow as we ever
had about the house—they’re all honest folks in the north。”
George Eliot
