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第21章

hard times(艰难时世)-第21章

小说: hard times(艰难时世) 字数: 每页3500字

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    “How long; Rachael; is’t looked for; that she’ll be so?” 

    “Doctor said she would haply come to her mind tomorrow。” 

    His eyes again fell on the bottle; and a tremble passed over him; 

causing  him  to   shiver   in   every   limb。   She   thought   he   was   chilled 

with the wet。 “No;” he said; “it was not that。 He had had a fright。” 

    “A fright?” 

    “Ay;    ay!   coming     in。  When      I  were    walking。    When      I  were 

thinking。 When I—” It seized him again; and he stood up; holding 

by the mantle…shelf; as he pressed his dank cold hair down with a 

hand that shook as if it were palsied。 

    “Stephen!” 

    She   was   coming   to   him;   but   he   stretched   out   his   arm   to   stop 

her。 

    “No! Don’t please; don’t! Let me see thee setten by the bed。 Let 

me see thee; a’ so good; and so forgiving。 Let me see thee as I have 

seen   thee   when   I   coom   in。   I   can   never   see   thee   better   than   so。 

Never; never; never!” 

    He had a violent fit of trembling; and then sunk into his chair。 

After  a   time   he controlled   himself;   and   resting  with  an   elbow  on 

one     knee;   and    his  head    upon     that   hand;    could    look   toward 

Rachael。 Seen across the dim candle with his moistened eyes; she 

looked as if she had a glory shining round her head。 He could have 

believed she had。 He did believe it; as the noise without shook the 

window;      rattled   at  the   door   below;    and   went   about     the  house 

clamouring and lamenting。 

    “When   she   gets   better;   Stephen;   ’tis   to   be   hoped   she’ll   leave 

thee to thyself again; and do thee no more hurt。 Anyways we will 



Charles Dickens                                                    ElecBook Classics 


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                                    Hard Times                                      113 



hope   so   now。   And   now   I   shall   keep   silence;   for   I   want   thee   to 

sleep。” 

    He   closed   his   eyes;   more   to   please   her   than   to   rest   his   weary 

head; but; by slow degrees as he listened to the great noise of the 

wind;   he ceased   to  hear  it;   or   it   changed   into   the   working   of   his 

loom; or even into the voices of the day (his own included) saying 

what     had    been    really   said。  Even     this  imperfect     consciousness 

faded away at last; and he dreamed a long; troubled dream。 

    He thought that he; and some one on whom his heart had long 

been set—but she was not Rachael; and that surprised him; even 

in   the   midst    of  his  imaginary      happiness—stood          in  the   church 

being married。 While the ceremony was performing; and while he 

recognised among the witnesses some whom he knew to be living; 

and     many     whom       he   knew     to  be    dead;    darkness      came     on; 

succeeded by the shining of a tremendous light。 It broke from one 

line   in   the   table   of   commandments   at   the   altar;   and   illuminated 

the    building    with    the  words。     They    were    sounded      through     the 

church too; as if there were voices in the fiery  letters。   Upon  this; 

the   whole   appearance   before   him   and   around   him   changed;   and 

nothing   was   left   as   it   had   been;   but   himself   and   the   clergyman。 

They  stood   in   the   daylight   before   a   crowd   so   vast;   that   if   all   the 

people   in   the   world   could   have   been   brought   together   into   one 

space;   they   could   not   have   looked;   he   thought;   more   numerous; 

and     they   all  abhorred     him;    and   there    was   not   one   pitying    or 

friendly eye among the millions that were fastened on his face。 He 

stood on a raised stage; under his own loom; and; looking up at the 

shape the loom took; and hearing the burial service distinctly read; 

he knew that he was there to suffer death。 In an instant what he 

stood on fell below him; and he was gone。 



Charles Dickens                                                      ElecBook Classics 


… Page 114…

                                    Hard Times                                     114 



    Out   of   what   mystery   he   came   back   to   his     usual   life;  and  to 

places that he knew; he was unable to consider; but he was back in 

those   places   by   some   means;   and   with   this   condemnation   upon 

him; that he was never; in this world or the next; through all the 

unimaginable   ages   of   eternity;   to   look   on   Rachael’s   face   or   hear 

her   voice。   Wandering   to   fro;   unceasingly;   without   hope;   and   in 

search of he knew not what (he only knew that he was doomed to 

seek it); he was the subject of a nameless; horrible dread; a mortal 

fear of one particular shape which everything took。 Whatsoever he 

looked   at;   grew   into   that   form   sooner   or   later。   The   object   of   his 

miserable      existence     was   to  prevent     its  recognition    by   any   one 

among the various people he encountered。 Hopeless labour! If he 

led   them   out   of   rooms   where   it   was;   if   he   shut   up   drawers   and 

closets where it stood; if he drew the curious from places where he 

knew it to be secreted; and got them out into the streets; the very 

chimneys   of   the   mills   assumed   that   shape;   and   round   them   was 

the printed word。 

    The    wind    was    blowing     again;   the   rain   was   beating     on   the 

housetops;   and   the   larger   spaces   through   which   he   had   strayed 

contracted to the four walls of his room。 Saving that the fire   had 

died out; it was as his eyes had closed upon it。 Rachael seemed to 

have fallen into a dose; in the chair by the bed。 She sat wrapped in 

her shawl; perfectly still。 The table stood in the same place; close 

by the bedside; and on it; in its real proportions and appearance; 

was the shape so often repeated。 

    He thought he saw the curtain move。 He looked again; and he 

was sure it moved。 He saw a hand come forth; and grope about a 

little。 Then the curtain moved more perceptibly; and the woman in 

the bed put it back; and sat up。 



Charles Dickens                                                     ElecBook Classics 


… Page 115…

                                    Hard Times                                      115 



    With her woeful eyes; so haggard and wild; so heavy and large; 

she   looked   all   round   the   room;   and   passed   the   corner   where   he 

slept  in   his   chair。   Her   eyes   returned   to   that   corner;   and   she   put 

her hand over them as a shade; while she looked into it。 Again they 

went   all   round   the   room;   scarcely   heeding   Rachael   if   at   all;   and 

returned   to   that   corner。   He   thought;   as   she   once   more   shaded 

them—not   so   much   looking   at   him;   as         looking    for  him    with   a 

brutish instinct that he was there—that no single trace was left in 

those   debauched   features;   or   in   the   mind   that   went   along   with 

them;   of   the   woman   he   had   married   eighteen   years   before。   But 

that he had seen her come to this by inches; he never could have 

believed her to be the same。 

    All this time; as if a spell were on him; he was motionless and 

powerless; except to watch her。 

    Stupidly   dozing;   or   communing   with   her   incapable   self   about 

nothing; she sat for a little while with her hands at her ears; and 

her   head     resting   on   them。    Presently;     she   resumed      her   staring 

round the room。 And now; for the   first  time;   her  eyes   stopped   at 

the table with the bottles on it。 

    Straightway   she   turned   her   eyes   back   to   his   corner;   with   the 

defiance      of  last  night;   and;   moving     very    cautiously     and   softly; 

stretched out her greedy hand。 She drew a mug into the bed; and 

sat   for   a   while   considering   which   of   the   two   bottles   she   should 

choose。 Finally; she laid her insensate grasp upon   the bottle  that 

had swift and certain death in it; and; before his eyes; pulled out 

the cork with her teeth。 

    Dream or reality; he had no voice; nor had he power to stir。 If 

this be real; and her allotted time be not yet come; wake; Rachael; 

wake! 



Charles Dickens                                                      ElecBook Classics 


… Page 116…

                                   Hard Times                                     116 



    She    thought     of  that;  too。  She    looked    at  Rachael;     and   very 

slowly; very cautiously; poured out the contents。 The draught was 

at her lips。 A moment and she would be past all help; let the whole 

world   wake   and   come   about   her   with   its   utmost   power。   But;   in 

that    moment      Rachael     started    up   with   a  suppressed      cry。   The 

creature struggled; struck her; seized her by the hair; but Rachael 

had the cup。 

    Stephen      broke    out   of  his   chair。   “Rachael;     am   I  wakin’    or 

dreamin’ this dreadfo’ night?” 

    “’Tis   all   well;   Stephen。   I   have   been   asleep   myself。   ’Tis   near 

three。 Hush! I hear the bells。” 

    The    wind     brought     the  sounds     of  the   church     clock   to   the 

window。 They listened; and it struck three。 Stephen looked at her; 

saw how pale she was; noted the disorder of her hair; and the red 

marks of fingers on her forehead; and felt assured that his senses 

of   sight   and   hearing   had   been   awake。   She   held   the   cup   in   her 

hand even now。 

    “I thought it must be near three;” she said; calmly pouring from 

the   cup   into   the   basin;   and   steeping   the   linen   as   before。   “I   am 

thankful I stayed! ’Tis done now; when I have put this on。 There! 

And   now   she’s   quiet   again。   The   few   drops   in   the   basin   I’ll   pour 

away; for ’tis bad stuff to leave about; though ever so little of it。” As 

she spoke as she drained the basin into the ashes of the fire; and 

broke the bottle on the hearth。 

    She had nothing to do; then; but to cover herself with her shawl 

before going out into the wind and rain。 

    “Thou’lt let me walk wi’ thee at this hour; Rachael?” 

    “No; Stephen。 ’Tis but a minute and I’m home。” 

    “Thou’rt not fearfo’;” he said it in a low voice; as they went out 



Charles Dickens                                                    ElecBook Classics 


… Page 117…

                                   Hard Times                                     117 



at the door; “to leave me alone wi’ her!” 

   As she looked at him; saying “Stephen?” he went down on

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