bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第214章
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approaches softly to the bedside； makes his bow； squares his chest；
and stands； with his face flushed； very heartily ashamed of himself。
“Good Heaven； and it is really George Rouncewell！” exclaims
Sir Leicester。 “Do you remember me； George？”
The trooper needs to look at him； and to separate this sound
from that sound； before he knows what he has said； but doing this；
and being a little helped by his mother； he replies：
“I must have a very bad memory； indeed； Sir Leicester； if I
failed to remember you。”
“When I look at you； George Rouncewell；” Sir Leicester
observes with difficulty； “I see something of a boy at Chesney
Wold—I remember well—very well。”
He looks at the trooper until tears come into his eyes； and then
he looks at the sleet and snow again。
“I ask your pardon； Sir Leicester；” says the trooper； “but would
you accept of my arms to raise you up。 You would lie easier； Sir
Leicester； if you would allow me to move you。”
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“If you please； George Rouncewell； if you will be so good。”
The trooper takes him in his arms like a child； lightly raises
him； and turns him with his face more towards the window。
“Thank you。 You have your mother’s gentleness；” returns Sir
Leicester； “and your own strength。 Thank you。”
He signs to him with his hand not to go away。 George quietly
remains at the bedside； waiting to be spoken to。
“Why did you wish for secrecy？” It takes Sir Leicester some
time to ask this。
“Truly I am not much to boast of； Sir Leicester； and I—I should
still； Sir Leicester； if you was not so indisposed—which I hope you
will not be long—I should still hope for the favour of being allowed
to remain unknown in general。 That involves explanations not
very hard to be guessed at； not very well timed here； and not very
creditable to myself。 However opinions may differ on a variety of
subjects； I should think it would be universally agreed； Sir
Leicester； that I am not much to boast of。”
“You have been a soldier；” observes Sir Leicester； “and a
faithful one。”
George makes his military bow。 “As far as that goes； Sir
Leicester； I have done my duty under discipline； and it was the
least I could do。”
“You find me；” says Sir Leicester； whose eyes are much
attracted towards him； “far from well； George Rouncewell。”
“I am very sorry both to hear it and to see it； Sir Leicester。”
“I am sure you are。 No。 In addition to my older malady； I have
had a sudden and bad attack。 Something that deadens—” making
an endeavour to pass one hand down one side； “and confuses—”
touching his lips。
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George； with a look of assent and sympathy； makes another
bow。 The different times when they were both young men （the
trooper much the younger of the two）； and looked at one another
down at Chesney Wold； arise before them both and soften both。
Sir Leicester； evidently with a great determination to say； in his
own manner； something that is on his mind before relapsing into
silence； tries to raise himself among his pillows a little more。
George observant of the action； takes him in his arms again and
places him as he desires to be。 “Thank you； George。 You are
another self to me。 You have often carried my spare gun at
Chesney Wold； George。 You are familiar to me in these strange
circumstances； very familiar。” He has put Sir Leicester’s sounder
arm over his shoulder in lifting him up； and Sir Leicester is slow in
drawing it away again； as he says these words。
“I was about to add；” he presently goes on； “I was about to add；
respecting this attack； that it was unfortunately simultaneous with
a slight misunderstanding between my Lady and myself。 I do not
mean that there was any difference between us （for there has been
none）； but that there was a misunderstanding of certain
circumstances important only to ourselves； which deprives me； for
a little while； of my Lady’s society。 She has found it necessary to
make a journey；—I trust will shortly return。 Volumnia； do I make
myself intelligible？ The words are not quite under my command；
in the manner of pronouncing them。”
Volumnia understands him perfectly； and in truth he delivers
himself with far greater plainness than could have been supposed
possible a minute ago。 The effort by which he does so； is written in
the anxious and labouring expression of his face。 Nothing but the
strength of his purpose enables him to make it。
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“Therefore； Volumnia； I desire to say in your presence—and in
the presence of my old retainer and friend； Mrs Rouncewell；
whose truth and fidelity no one can question—and in the presence
of her son George； who comes back like a familiar recollection of
my youth in the home of my ancestors at Chesney Wold—in case I
should relapse； in case I should not recover； in case I should lose
both my speech and the power of writing； though I hope for better
things—” The old housekeeper weeping silently； Volumnia in the
greatest agitation； with the freshest bloom on her cheeks； the
trooper with his arms folded and his head a little bent； respectfully
attentive。
“Therefore I desire to say； and to call you all to witness—
beginning； Volumnia； with yourself； most solemnly—that I am on
unaltered terms with Lady Dedlock。 That I assert no cause
whatever of complaint against her。 That I have ever had the
strongest affection for her； and that I retain it undiminished。 Say
this to herself； and to every one。 If you ever say less than this； you
will be guilty of deliberate falsehood to me。”
Volumnia tremblingly protests that she will observe his
injunctions to the letter。
“My Lady is too high in position； too handsome； too
accomplished； too superior in most respects to the best of those by
whom she is surrounded； not to have her enemies and traducers； I
dare say。 Let it be known to them； as I make it known to you； that
being of sound mind； memory； and understanding； I revoke no
disposition I have made in her favour。 I abridge nothing I have
ever bestowed upon her。 I am on unaltered terms with her； and I
recall—having the full power to do it if I were so disposed； as you
see—no act I have done for her advantage and happiness。”
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His formal array of words might have at any other time； as it
has often had； something ludicrous in it； but at this time； it is
serious and affecting。 His noble earnestness； his fidelity； his
gallant shielding of her； his generous conquest of his own wrong
and his own pride for her sake； are simply honourable； manly； and
true。 Nothing less worthy can be seen through the lustre of such
qualities in the commonest mechanic； nothing less worthy can be
seen in the best…born gentleman。 In such a light both aspire alike；
both rise alike； both children of the dust shine equally。
Overpowered by his exertions； he lays his head back on his
pillows； and closes his eyes； for not more than a minute； when he
again resumes his watching of the weather； and his attention to
the muffled sounds。 In the rendering of those little services； and in
the manner of their acceptance； the trooper has become installed
as necessary to him。 Nothing has been said； but it is quite
understood。 He falls a step or two backward to be out of sight； and
mounts guard a little behind his mother’s chair。
The day is now beginning to decline。 The mist； and the sleet
into which the snow has all resolved itself； are darker； and the
blaze begins to tell more vividly upon the room walls and
furniture。 The gloom augments； the bright gas springs up in the
streets； and the pertinacious oil lamps which yet hold their ground
there； with their source of life half frozen and half thawed； twinkle
gaspingly； like fiery fish out of water—as they are。 The world；
which has been rumbling over the straw and pulling at the bell “to
inquire；” begins to go home； begins to dress； to dine； to discuss its
dear friend； with all the last new modes； as already mentioned。
Now； does Sir Leicester become worse； restless； uneasy； and in
great pain。 Volumnia lighting a candle （with a predestined
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aptitude for doing something objectionable） is bidden to put it out
again； for it is not yet dark enough。 Yet it is very dark too； as dark
as it will be all night。 By…and…by she tries again。 No！ Put it out。 It is
not dark enough yet。
His old housekeeper is the first to understand that he is striving
to uphold the fiction with himself that it is not growing late。
“Dear Sir Leicester； my honoured master；” she softly whispers；
“I must； for your own good； and my duty； take the freedom of
begging and praying that you will not lie here in the lone darkness；
watching and w
