hard times(艰难时世)-第66节
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light upon the darkness of the other。
Louisa raised the hand that it might clasp her neck； and join its
fellow there。 She fell upon her knees； and clinging to this stroller’s
child looked up at her almost with veneration。
“Forgive me； pity me； help me！ Have compassion on my great
need； and let me lay this head of mine upon a loving heart！”
“O lay it here！” cried Sissy。 “Lay it here； my dear。”
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Chapter 2
Very Ridiculous
r James Harthouse passed a whole night and a day in a
state of so much hurry； that the World； with its best
M
glass in its eye； would scarcely have recognised him
during that insane interval； as the brother Jem of the honourable
and jocular member。 He was positively agitated。 He several times
spoke with an emphasis； similar to the vulgar manner。 He went in
and went out in an unaccountable way； like a man without an
object。 He rode like a highwayman。 In a word； he was so horribly
bored by existing circumstances； that he forgot to go in for
boredom in the manner prescribed by the authorities。
After putting his horse at Coketown through the storm； as if it
were a leap； he waited up all night： from time to time ringing his
bell with the greatest fury； charging the porter who kept watch
with delinquency in withholding letters or messages that could not
fail to have been entrusted to him； and demanding restitution on
the spot。 The dawn coming； the morning coming； and the day
coming； and neither message nor letter coming with either； he
went down to the country…house。 There； the report was； Mr
Bounderby away； and Mrs Bounderby in town。 Left for town
suddenly last evening。 Not even known to be gone until receipt of
message； importing that her return was not to be expected for the
present。
In these circumstances he had nothing for it but to follow her to
town。 He went to the house in town。 Mrs Bounderby not there。 He
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looked in at the Bank。 Mr Bounderby away； and Mrs Sparsit away。
Mrs Sparsit away？ Who could have been reduced to sudden
extremity for the company of that griffin！
“Well！ I don’t know；” said Tom； who had his own reasons for
being uneasy about it。 “She was off somewhere at daybreak this
morning。 She’s always full of mystery； I hate her。 So I do that
white chap； he’s always got his blinking eyes upon a fellow。”
“Where were you last night； Tom？”
“Where was I last night！” said Tom。 “Come！ I like that。 I was
waiting for you； Mr Harthouse； till it came down as I never saw it
come down before。 Where was I too！ Where were you； you mean。”
“I was prevented from coming—detained。”
“Detained！” murmured Tom。 “Two of us were detained。 I was
detained looking for you； till I lost every train but the mail。 It
would have been a pleasant job to go down by that on such a night；
and have to walk home through a pond。 I was obliged to sleep in
town after all。”
“Where？”
“Where？ Why； in my own bed at Bounderby’s。”
“Did you see your sister？”
“How the deuce；” returned Tom； staring； “could I see my sister
when she was fifteen miles off？”
Cursing these quick retorts of the young gentleman to whom he
was so true a friend； Mr Harthouse disembarrassed himself of that
interview with the smallest conceivable amount of ceremony； and
debated for the hundredth time what all this could mean？ He
made only one thing clear。 It was； that whether she was in town or
out of town； whether he had been premature with her who was so
hard to comprehend； or she had lost courage； or they were
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discovered； or some mischance or mistake； at present
incomprehensible had occurred； he must remain to confront his
fortune； whatever it was。 The hotel where he was known to live
when condemned to that region of blackness； was the stake to
which he was tied。 As to all the rest—What will be； will be。
“So； whether I am waiting for a hostile message； or an
assignation； or a penitent remonstrance； or an impromptu wrestle
with my friend Bounderby in the Lancashire manner—which
would seem as likely as anything else in the present state of
affairs—I’ll dine；” said Mr James Harthouse。 “Bounderby has the
advantage in point of weight； and if anything of a British nature is
to come off between us； it may be as well to be in training。”
Therefore he rang the bell； and tossing himself negligently on a
sofa； ordered “Some dinner at six—with a beefsteak in it；” and got
through the intervening time as well as he could。 That was not
particularly well； for he remained in the greatest perplexity； and；
as the hours went on； and no kind of explanation offered itself； his
perplexity augmented at compound interest。
However； he took affairs as coolly as it was in human nature to
do； and entertained himself with the facetious idea of the training
more than once。 “It wouldn’t be bad；” he yawned at one time； “to
give the waiter five shillings； and throw him。” At another time it
occurred to him； “Or a fellow of about thirteen or fourteen stone
might be hired by the hour。” But these jests did not tell materially
on the afternoon； or his suspense； and； sooth to say； they both
lagged fearfully。
It was impossible； even before dinner； to avoid often walking
about in the pattern of the carpet； looking out of the window；
listening at the door for footsteps； and occasionally becoming
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rather hot when any steps approached that room。 But； after
dinner； when the day turned to twilight； and the twilight turned to
night； and still no communication was made to him； it began to be
as he expressed it； “like the Holy Office and slow torture”。
However； still true to his conviction that indifference was the
genuine high…breeding （the only conviction he had）； he seized this
crisis as the opportunity for ordering candles and a newspaper。
He had been trying in vain； for half an hour； to read this
newspaper； when the waiter appeared and said； at once
mysteriously and apologetically：
“Beg your pardon； sir。 You’re wanted； sir； if you please。”
A general recollection that this was the kind of thing the Police
said to the swell mob； caused Mr Harthouse to ask the waiter in
return； with bristling indignation； what the Devil he meant by
“wanted”？
“Beg your pardon； sir。 Young lady outside； sir； wishes to see
you。”
“Outside？ Where？”
“Outside this door； sir。”
Giving the waiter to the personage before…mentioned； as a
blockhead duly qualified for that consignment； Mr Harthouse
hurried into the gallery。 A young woman whom he had never seen
stood there。 Plainly dressed； very quiet； very pretty。 As he
conducted her into the room and placed a chair for her； he
observed； by the light of the candles； that she was even prettier
than he had at first believed。 Her face was innocent and youthful；
and its expression remarkably pleasant。 She was not afraid of him；
or in any way disconcerted； she seemed to have her mind entirely
preoccupied with the occasion of her visit； and to have substituted
Charles D
