malbone- an oldport romance[1].(马尔布恩)-第24章
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vibrations； sub…noises； that crowded it as completely as do the insect
sounds of midsummer； yet she could only distinguish the ripple beneath
her feet； and the rote on the distant beach； and the busy wash of waters
against every shore and islet of the bay。 The mist was thick around her；
but she knew that above it hung the sleepless stars； and the fancy came
over her that perhaps the whole vast interval； from ocean up to sky； might
be densely filled with the disembodied souls of her departed human
kindred； waiting to see how she would endure that path of grief in which
their steps had gone before。 〃It may be from this influence；〃 she vaguely
mused within herself； 〃that the ocean derives its endless song of sorrow。
Perhaps we shall know the meaning when we understand that of the stars；
and of our own sad lives。〃
She rose again and went to the bedside。 It all seemed like a dream；
and she was able to look at Emilia's existence and at her own and at all
else； as if it were a great way off； as we watch the stars and know that no
speculations of ours can reach those who there live or die untouched。 Here
beside her lay one who was dead； yet living； in her temporary trance； and
to what would she wake； when it should end？ This young creature had
been sent into the world so fresh； so beautiful； so richly gifted； everything
about her physical organization was so delicate and lovely； she had
seemed like heliotrope； like a tube…rose in her purity and her passion （who
was it said； 〃No heart is pure that is not passionate〃？）； and here was the
end！ Nothing external could have placed her where she was； no violence；
no outrage； no evil of another's doing； could have reached her real life
without her own consent； and now what kind of existence； what career；
what possibility of happiness remained？ Why could not God in his
mercy take her； and give her to his holiest angels for schooling； ere it was
yet too late？
Hope went and sat by the window once more。 Her thoughts still
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clung heavily around one thought； as the white fog clung round the house。
Where should she see any light？ What opening for extrication； unless；
indeed； Emilia should die？ There could be no harm in that thought； for she
knew it was not to be； and that the swoon would not last much longer。
Who could devise anything？ No one。 There was nothing。 Almost
always in perplexities there is some thread by resolutely holding to which
one escapes at last。 Here there was none。 There could probably be no
concealment； certainly no explanation。 In a few days John Lambert would
return； and then the storm must break。 He was probably a stern； jealous
man； whose very dulness； once aroused； would be more formidable than if
he had possessed keener perceptions。
Still her thoughts did not dwell on Philip。 He was simply a part of
that dull mass of pain that beset her and made her feel； as she had felt
when drowning； that her heart had left her breast and nothing but will
remained。 She felt now； as then； the capacity to act with more than her
accustomed resolution； though all that was within her seemed boiling up
into her brain。 As for Philip； all seemed a mere negation； there was a
vacuum where his place had been。 At most the thought of him came to
her as some strange； vague thrill of added torture； penetrating her soul and
then passing； just as ever and anon there came the sound of the fog…whistle
on Brenton's Reef； miles away； piercing the dull air with its shrill and
desolate wail； then dying into silence。
What a hopeless cloud lay upon them all forever；upon Kate； upon
Harry； upon their whole house！ Then there was John Lambert； how
could they keep it from him？ how could they tell him？ Who could predict
what he would say？ Would he take the worst and coarsest view of his
young wife's mad action or the mildest？ Would he be strong or weak； and
what would be weakness； and what strength； in a position so strange？
Would he put Emilia from him； send her out in the world desolate； her soul
stained but by one wrong passion； yet with her reputation blighted as if
there were no good in her？ Could he be asked to shield and protect her； or
what would become of her？ She was legally a wife； and could only be
separated from him through convicted shame。
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Then； if separated； she could only marry Philip。 Hope nerved herself
to think of that； and it cost less effort than she expected。
There seemed a numbness on that side； instead of pain。 But granting
that he loved Emilia ever so deeply； was he a man to surrender his life and
his ease and his fair name； in a hopeless effort to remove the ban that the
world would place on her。 Hope knew he would not； knew that even the
simple…hearted and straightforward Harry would be far more capable of
such heroism than the sentimental Malbone。 Here the pang suddenly
struck her； she was not so numb； after all！
As the leaves beside the window drooped motionless in the dank air；
so her mind drooped into a settled depression。 She pitied herself；that
lowest ebb of melancholy self…consciousness。 She went back to Emilia；
and； seating herself； studied every line of the girl's face； the soft texture of
her hair； the veining of her eyelids。 They were so lovely； she felt a sort of
physical impulse to kiss them； as if they belonged to some utter stranger；
whom she might be nursing in a hospital。 Emilia looked as innocent as
when Hope had tended her in the cradle。 What is there； Hope thought； in
sleep； in trance； and in death； that removes all harsh or disturbing
impressions； and leaves only the most delicate and purest traits？ Does
the mind wander； and does an angel keep its place？ Or is there really no
sin but in thought； and are our sleeping thoughts incapable of sin？
Perhaps even when we dream of doing wrong； the dream comes in a shape
so lovely and misleading that we never recognize it for evil； and it makes
no stain。 Are our lives ever so pure as our dreams？
This thought somehow smote across her conscience； always so strong；
and stirred it into a kind of spasm of introspection。 〃How selfish have I；
too； been！〃 she thought。 〃I saw only what I wished to see； did only what
I preferred。 Loving Philip〃 （for the sudden self…reproach left her free to
think of him）； 〃I could not see that I was separating him from one whom
he might perhaps have truly loved。 If he made me blind； may he not
easily have bewildered her； and have been himself bewildered？ How I
tried to force myself upon him； too！ Ungenerous； unwomanly！ What am
I； that I should judge another？〃
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She threw herself on her knees at the bedside。
Still Emilia slept； but now she stirred her head in the slightest possible
way； so that a single tress of silken hair slipped from its companions； and
lay across her face。 It was a faint sign that the trance was waning； the
slight pressure disturbed her nerves； and her lips trembled once or twice；
as if to relieve themselves of the soft annoyance。 Hope watched her in a
vague； distant way； took note of the minutest motion； yet as if some vast
weight hung upon her own limbs and made all interference impossible。
Still there was a fascination of sympathy in dwelling on that atom of
discomfort； that tiny suffering； which she alone could remove。 The very
vastness of this tragedy that hung about the house made it an inexpressible
relief to her to turn and concentrate her thoughts for a moment on this
slight distress； so easily ended。
Strange； by what slender threads our lives are knitted to each other！
Here was one who had taken Hope's whole existence in her hands； crushed
it； and thrown it away。 Hope had soberly said to herself； just before； that
death would be better than life for her young sister。 Yet now it moved her
beyond endurance to see that fair form troubled； even while unconscious；
by a feather's weight of pain； and all the lifelong habit of tenderness
resumed in a moment its sway。
She approached her fingers to the offending tress； very slowly； half
withholding them at the very last； as if the touch would burn her。 She was
almost surprised that it did not。 She looked to see if it did not hurt Emilia。
But it now seemed as if the slumbering girl enjoyed the caressing contact
of the smooth fingers； and turned her head； almost imperceptibly； to meet
them。 This was more than Hope could bear。 It was as if that slight
motion were a puncture to relieve her overburdened heart； a thousand
thoughts swept over her；of their father； of her sister's childhood； of her
years of absent expectation； she thought how young the girl was； how
fascinating； how passionate； how tempted； all this swept across her in a
great wave of nervous reaction； and when Emilia returned to
consciousness； she was lying in her sister's arms； her face bathed in Hope's
tears。
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CHAPTER XIX。
DE PROFUNDIS。
THIS was the history of Emil
