bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第262节
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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 waiting； and dragging through the time。 Let me
draw the curtains and light the candles； and make things more
comfortable about you。 The church…clocks will strike the hours
just the same； Sir Leicester； and the night will pass away just the
same。 My Lady will come back just the same。”
“I know it； Mrs Rouncewell； but I am weak—and he has been so
long gone。”
“Not so very long； Sir Leicester。 Not twenty…four hours yet。”
“But that is a long time。 O it is a long time！”
He says it with a groan that wrings her heart。
She knows that this is not a period for bringing the rough light
upon him； she thinks his tears too sacred to be seen； even by her。
Therefore； she sits in the darkness for a while； without a word；
then gently begins to move about； now stirring the fire； now
standing at the dark window looking out。 Finally he tells her； with
recovered self…command； “As you say； Mrs Rouncewell； it is no
worse for being confessed。 It is getting late； and they are not come。
Light the room！” When it is lighted； and the weather shut out； it is
only left to him to listen。
But they find that； however dejected and ill he is； he brightens
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when a quiet pretence is made of looking at the fires in her rooms；
and being sure that everything is ready to receive her。 Poor
pretence as it is； these allusions to her being expected keep up
hope within him。
Midnight comes； and with it the same blank。 The carriages in
the streets are few； and other late sounds in that neighbourhood
there are none； unless a man so very nomadically drunk as to stray
into the frigid zone goes brawling and bellowing along the
pavement。 Upon this wintry night it is so still； that listening to the
intense silence is like looking at intense darkness。 If any distant
sound be audible in this case； it departs through the gloom like a
feeble light in that； and all is heavier than before。
The corporation of servants are dismissed to bed （not unwilling
to go； for they were up all last night）； and only Mrs Rouncewell
and George keep watch in Sir Leicester’s room。 As the night lags
tardily on—or rather when it seems to stop altogether； at between
two and three o’clock—they find a restless craving on him to know
more about the weather； now he cannot see it。 Hence George；
patrolling regularly every half hour to the rooms so carefully
looked after； extends his march to the hall…door； looks about him；
and brings back the best report he can make of the worst of nights；
the sleet still falling； and even the stone footways lying ankle…deep
in icy sludge。
Volumnia in her room up a retired landing on the staircase—
the second turning past the end of the carving and gilding—a
cousinly room containing a fearful abortion of a portrait of Sir
Leicester； banished for its crimes； and commanding in the day a
solemn yard； planted with dried…up shrubs like antediluvian
specimens of black tea—is a prey to horrors of many kinds。 Not
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last nor least among them； possibly； is a horror of what may befall
her little income； in
