bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第224章
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active police officer； an intelligent man； a person of a peculiarly
directed energy and great subtlety both of conception and
execution； who discovers our friends and enemies for us when
they run away； recovers our property for us when we are robbed；
avenges us comfortably when were are murdered。 This active
police officer and intelligent man has acquired； in the exercise of
his art； a strong faith in money； he finds it very useful to him； and
he makes it very useful to society。 Shall I shake that faith in
Bucket； because I want it myself； shall I deliberately blunt one of
Bucket’s weapons； shall I possibly paralyse Bucket； in his next
detective operation？ And again。 If it is blameable in Skimpole to
take the note； it is blameable in Bucket to offer the note—much
more blameable in Bucket； because he is the knowing man。 Now；
Skimpole wishes to think well of Bucket； Skimpole deems it
essential； in its little place； to the general cohesion of things； that
he should think well of Bucket。 The State expressly asks him to
trust to Bucket。 And he does。 And that’s all he does！”
I had nothing to offer in reply to this exposition； and therefore
took my leave。 Mr Skimpole； however； who was in excellent
spirits； would not hear of my returning home attended only by
“Little Coavinses；” and accompanied me himself。 He entertained
me； on the way； with a variety of delightful conversation； and
assured me； at parting； that he should never forget the fine tact
with which I had found that out for him about our young friends。
As it so happened that I never saw Mr Skimpole again； I may at
once finish what I know of his history。 A coolness arose between
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him and my Guardian； based chiefly on the foregoing grounds；
and on his having heartlessly disregarded my Guardian’s
entreaties （as we afterwards learned from Ada） in reference to
Richard。 His being heavily in my Guardian’s debt； had nothing to
do with their separation。 He died some five years afterwards； and
left a diary behind him； with letters and other materials towards
his Life； which was published； and which showed him to have
been the victim of a combination on the part of mankind against
an amiable child。 It was considered very pleasant reading； but I
never read more of it myself than the sentence on which I chanced
to light on opening the book。 It was this。 “Jarndyce； in common
with most other men I have known； is the Incarnation of
Selfishness。”
And now I come to a part of my story； touching myself very
nearly indeed； and for which I was quite unprepared when the
circumstance occurred。 Whatever little lingerings may have now
and then revived in my mind； associated with my poor old face；
had only revived as belonging to a part of my life that was gone—
gone like my infancy or my childhood。 I have suppressed none of
my many weaknesses on that subject； but have written them as
faithfully as my memory has recalled them。 And I hope to do； and
mean to do； the same down to the last words of these pages； which
I see now； not so very far before me。
The months were gliding away； and my dear girl； sustained by
the hopes she had confided to me； was the same beautiful star in
the miserable corner。 Richard； more worn and haggard； haunted
the Court day after day； listlessly sat there the whole day long；
when he knew there was no remote chance of the suit being
mentioned； and became one of the stock sights of the place。 I
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wonder whether any of the gentlemen remembered him as he was
when he first went there。
So completely was he absorbed in his fixed idea； that he used to
avow in his cheerful moments； that he should never have breathed
the fresh air now “but for Woodcourt。” It was only Mr Woodcourt
who could occasionally divert his attention； for a few hours at a
time； and rouse him； even when he sunk into a lethargy of mind
and body that alarmed us greatly； and the returns of which
became more frequent as the months went on。 My dear girl was
right in saying that he only pursued his errors the more
desperately for her sake。 I have no doubt that his desire to retrieve
what he had lost； was rendered the more intense by his grief for
his young wife； and became like the madness of a gamester。
I was there； as I have mentioned； at all hours。 When I was there
at night； I generally want home with Charley in a coach；
sometimes my Guardian would meet me in the neighbourhood；
and we would walk home together。 One evening； he had arranged
to meet me at eight o’clock。 I could not leave； as I usually did； quite
punctually to the time； for I was working for my dear girl； and had
a few stitches more to do； to finish what I was about； but it was
within a few minutes of the hour； when I bundled up my little
work…basket； gave my darling my last kiss for the night； and
hurried downstairs。 Mr Woodcourt went with me； as it was dusk。
When we came to the usual place of meeting—it was close by；
and Mr Woodcourt had often accompanied me before—my
Guardian was not there。 We waited half an hour； walking up and
down； but there were no signs of him。 We agreed that he was
either prevented from coming； or that he had come； and gone
away； and Mr Woodcourt proposed to walk home with me。
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It was the first walk we had ever taken together； except that
very short one to the usual place of meeting。 We spoke of Richard
and Ada the whole way。 I did not thank him； in words； for what he
had done—my appreciation of it had risen above all words then—
but I hoped he might not be without some understanding of what I
felt so strongly。
Arriving at home and going upstairs； we found that my
Guardian was out； and that Mrs Woodcourt was out too。 We were
in the very same room into which I had brought my blushing girl；
when her youthful lover； now her so altered husband； was the
choice of her young heart； the very same room； from which my
Guardian and I watched them going away through the sunlight； in
the fresh bloom of their hope and promise。
We were standing by the opened window； looking down into the
street； when Mr Woodcourt spoke to me。 I learned in a moment
that he loved me。 I learned in a moment that my scarred face was
all unchanged to him。 I learned in a moment that what I had
thought was pity and compassion； was devoted； generous； faithful
love。 O； too late to know it now； too late； too late。 That was the first
ungrateful thought I had。 Too late。
“When I returned；” he told me； “when I came back； no richer
than I went away； and found you nearly risen from a sick bed； yet
so inspired by sweet consideration for others； and so free from a
selfish thought—”
“O； Mr Woodcourt； forbear； forbear！” I entreated him。 “I do not
deserve your high praise。 I had many selfish thoughts at that time；
many！”
“Heaven knows； beloved of my life；” said he； “that my praise is
not a lover’s praise； but the truth。 You do not know what all
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around you see in Esther Summerson； how many hearts she
touches and awakens； what sacred admiration and what love she
wins。”
“O； Mr Woodcourt；” cried I； “it is a great thing to win love； it is
a great thing to win love！ I am proud of it； and honoured by it； and
the hearing of it causes me to shed these tears of mingled joy and
sorrow—joy that I have won it； sorrow that I have not deserved it
better； but I am not free to think of yours。”
I said it with a stronger heart； for when he praised me thus； and
when I heard his voice thrill with his belief that what he said was
true； I aspired to be more worthy of it。 It was not too late for that。
Although I close this unforeseen page in my life tonight； I could be
worthier of it all through my life。 And it was a comfort to me； and
an impulse to me； and I felt a dignity rise up within me that was
derived from him； when I thought so。
He broke the silence。
“I should poorly show the trust that I have in the dear one who
will evermore be as dear to me as now；” and the deep earnestness
with which he said it； at once strengthened me and made me
weep； “if； after her assurance that she is not free to think of my
love； I urged it。 Dear Esther； let me only tell you that the fond idea
of you which I took abroad； was exalted to the Heavens when I
came home。 I have always hoped； in the first hour when I seemed
to stand in any ray of good fortune； to tell you this。 I have always
feared that I should tell it you in vain。 My hopes and fears are both
fulfilled tonight。 I distress you。 I have said enough。”
Something seemed to pass into my place that was like the Angel
he thought me； and I felt so sorrowful for the loss he had
sustained！ I wished to help him in his trouble； as I had wished to
Charles Dicken
