简爱(英文版)-第35部分

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　hated　it　the　first　time　I　set　my　eyes　on　it—a　sickly；　whining；　pining　thing！　It　would　wail　in　its　cradle　all　night　long—not　screaming　heartily　like　any　other　child；　but　whimpering　and　moaning。　Reed　pitied　it；　and　he　used　to　nurse　it　and　notice　it　as　if　it　had　been　his　own：　more；　indeed；　than　he　ever　noticed　his　own　at　that　age。　He　would　try　to　make　my　children　friendly　to　the　little　beggar：　the　darlings　could　not　bear　it；　and　he　was　angry　with　them　when　they　showed　their　dislike。　In　his　last　illness；　he　had　it　brought　continually　to　his　bedside；　and　but　an　hour　before　he　died；　he　bound　me　by　vow　to　keep　the　creature。　I　would　as　soon　have　been　charged　with　a　pauper　brat　out　of　a　workhouse：　but　he　was　weak；　naturally　weak。　John　does　not　at　all　resemble　his　father；　and　I　am　glad　of　it：　John　is　like　me　and　like　my　brothers—he　is　quite　a　Gibson。　Oh；　I　wish　he　would　cease　tormenting　me　with　letters　for　money？　I　have　no　more　money　to　give　him：　we　are　getting　poor。　I　must　send　away　half　the　servants　and　shut　up　part　of　the　house；　or　let　it　off。　I　can　never　submit　to　do　that—yet　how　are　we　to　get　on？　Two…thirds　of　my　ine　goes　in　paying　the　interest　of　mortgages。　John　gambles　dreadfully；　and　always　loses—poor　boy！　He　is　beset　by　sharpers：　John　is　sunk　and　degraded—his　look　is　frightful—I　feel　ashamed　for　him　when　I　see　him。”
She　was　getting　much　excited。　“I　think　I　had　better　leave　her　now；”　said　I　to　Bessie；　who　stood　on　the　other　side　of　the　bed。
“Perhaps　you　had；　Miss：　but　she　often　talks　in　this　way　towards　night—in　the　morning　she　is　calmer。”
I　rose。　“Stop！”　exclaimed　Mrs。　Reed；　“there　is　another　thing　I　wished　to　say。　He　threatens　me—he　continually　threatens　me　with　his　own　death；　or　mine：　and　I　dream　sometimes　that　I　see　him　laid　out　with　a　great　wound　in　his　throat；　or　with　a　swollen　and　blackened　face。　I　am　e　to　a　strange　pass：　I　have　heavy　troubles。　What　is　to　be　done？　How　is　the　money　to　be　had？”
Bessie　now　endeavoured　to　persuade　her　to　take　a　sedative　draught：　she　succeeded　with　difficulty。　Soon　after；　Mrs。　Reed　grew　more　posed；　and　sank　into　a　dozing　state。　I　then　left　her。
More　than　ten　days　elapsed　before　I　had　again　any　conversation　with　her。　She　continued　either　delirious　or　lethargic；　and　the　doctor　forbade　everything　which　could　painfully　excite　her。　Meantime；　I　got　on　as　well　as　I　could　with　Georgiana　and　Eliza。　They　were　very　cold；　indeed；　at　first。　Eliza　would　sit　half　the　day　sewing；　reading；　or　writing；　and　scarcely　utter　a　word　either　to　me　or　her　sister。　Georgiana　would　chatter　nonsense　to　her　canary　bird　by　the　hour；　and　take　no　notice　of　me。　But　I　was　determined　not　to　seem　at　a　loss　for　occupation　or　amusement：　I　had　brought　my　drawing　materials　with　me；　and　they　served　me　for　both。
Provided　with　a　case　of　pencils；　and　some　sheets　of　paper；　I　used　to　take　a　seat　apart　from　them；　near　the　window；　and　busy　myself　in　sketching　fancy　vigtes；　representing　any　scene　that　happened　momentarily　to　shape　itself　in　the　ever…shifting　kaleidoscope　of　imagination：　a　glimpse　of　sea　between　two　rocks；　the　rising　moon；　and　a　ship　crossing　its　disk；　a　group　of　reeds　and　water…flags；　and　a　naiad’s　head；　crowned　with　lotus…flowers；　rising　out　of　them；　an　elf　sitting　in　a　hedge…sparrow’s　nest；　under　a　wreath　of　hawthorn…　bloom
One　morning　I　fell　to　sketching　a　face：　what　sort　of　a　face　it　was　to　be；　I　did　not　care　or　know。　I　took　a　soft　black　pencil；　gave　it　a　broad　point；　and　worked　away。　Soon　I　had　traced　on　the　paper　a　broad　and　prominent　forehead　and　a　square　lower　outline　of　visage：　that　contour　gave　me　pleasure；　my　fingers　proceeded　actively　to　fill　it　with　features。　Strongly…marked　horizontal　eyebrows　must　be　traced　under　that　brow；　then　followed；　naturally；　a　well…defined　nose；　with　a　straight　ridge　and　full　nostrils；　then　a　flexible…　looking　mouth；　by　no　means　narrow；　then　a　firm　chin；　with　a　decided　cleft　down　the　middle　of　it：　of　course；　some　black　whiskers　were　wanted；　and　some　jetty　hair；　tufted　on　the　temples；　and　waved　above　the　forehead。　Now　for　the　eyes：　I　had　left　them　to　the　last；　because　they　required　the　most　careful　working。　I　drew　them　large；　I　shaped　them　well：　the　eyelashes　I　traced　long　and　sombre；　the　irids　lustrous　and　large。　“Good！　but　not　quite　the　thing；”　I　thought；　as　I　surveyed　the　effect：　“they　want　more　force　and　spirit；”　and　I　wrought　the　shades　blacker；　that　the　lights　might　flash　more　brilliantly—a　happy　touch　or　two　secured　success。　There；　I　had　a　friend’s　face　under　my　gaze；　and　what　did　it　signify　that　those　young　ladies　turned　their　backs　on　me？　I　looked　at　it；　I　smiled　at　the　speaking　likeness：　I　was　absorbed　and　content。
“Is　that　a　portrait　of　some　one　you　know？”　asked　Eliza；　who　had　approached　me　unnoticed。　I　responded　that　it　was　merely　a　fancy　head；　and　hurried　it　beneath　the　other　sheets。　Of　course；　I　lied：　it　was；　in　fact；　a　very　faithful　representation　of　Mr。　Rochester。　But　what　was　that　to　her；　or　to　any　one　but　myself？　Georgiana　also　advanced　to　look。　The　other　drawings　pleased　her　much；　but　she　called　that　“an　ugly　man。”　They　both　seemed　surprised　at　my　skill。　I　offered　to　sketch　their　portraits；　and　each；　in　turn；　sat　for　a　pencil　outline。　Then　Georgiana　produced　her　album。　I　promised　to　contribute　a　water…colour　drawing：　this　put　her　at　once　into　good　humour。　She　proposed　a　walk　in　the　grounds。　Before　we　had　been　out　two　hours；　we　were　deep　in　a　confidential　conversation：　she　had　favoured　me　with　a　description　of　the　brilliant　winter　she　had　spent　in　London　two　seasons　ago—of　the　admiration　she　had　there　excited—　the　attention　she　had　received；　and　I　even　got　hints　of　the　titled　conquest　she　had　made。　In　the　course　of　the　afternoon　and　evening　these　hints　were　enlarged　on：　various　soft　conversations　were　reported；　and　sentimental　scenes　represented；　and；　in　short；　a　volume　of　a　novel　of　fashionable　life　was　that　day　improvised　by　her　for　my　benefit。　The　munications　were　renewed　from　day　to　day：　they　always　ran　on　the　same　theme—herself；　her　loves；　and　woes。　It　was　strange　she　never　once　adverted　either　to　her　mother’s　illness；　or　her　brother’s　death；　or　the　present　gloomy　state　of　the　family　prospects。　Her　mind　seemed　wholly　taken　up　with　reminiscences　of　past　gaiety；　and　aspirations　after　dissipations　to　e。　She　passed　about　five　minutes　each　day　in　her　mother’s　sick…room；　and　no　more。
Eliza　still　spoke　little：　she　had　evidently　no　time　to　talk。　I　never　saw　a　busier　person　than　she　seemed　to　be；　yet　it　was　difficult　to　say　what　she　did：　or　rather；　to　discover　any　result　of　her　diligence。　She　had　an　alarm　to　call　her　up　early。　I　know　not　how　she　occupied　herself　before　breakfast；　but　after　that　meal　she　divided　her　time　into　regular　portions；　and　each　hour　had　its　allotted　task。　Three　times　a　day　she　studied　a　little　book；　which　I　found；　on　inspection；　was　a　mon　Prayer　Book。　I　asked　her　once　what　was　the　great　attraction　of　that　volume；　and　she　said；　“the　Rubric。”　Three　hours　she　gave　to　stitching；　with　gold　thread；　the　border　of　a　square　crimson　cloth；　almost　large　enough　for　a　carpet。　In　answer　to　my　inquiries　after　the　use　of　this　article；　she　informed　me　it　was　a　covering　for　the　altar　of　a　new　church　lately　erected　near　Gateshead。　Two　hours　she　devoted　to　her　diary；　two　to　working　by　herself　in　the　kitchen…garden；　and　one　to　the　regulation　of　her　accounts。　She　seemed　to　want　no　pany；　no　conversation。　I　believe　she　was　happy　in　her　way：　this　routine　sufficed　for　her；　and　nothing　annoyed　her　so　much　as　the　occurrence　of　any　incident　which　forced　her　to　vary　its　clockwork　regularity。
She　told　me　one　evening；　when　more　disposed　to　be　municative　than　usual；　that　John’s　conduct；　and　the　threatened　ruin　of　the　family；　had　been　a　source　of　profound　affliction　to　her：　but　she　had　now；　she　said；　settled　her　mind；　and　formed　her　resolution。　Her　own　fortune　she　had　taken　care　to　secure；　and　when　her　mother　died—and　it　was　wholly　improbable；　she　tranquilly　remarked；　that　she　should　either　recover　or　linger　long—she　would　execute　a　long…cherished　project：　seek　a　retirement　where　punctual　habits　would　be　permanently　secured　from　disturbance；　and　place　safe　barriers　between　herself　and　a　frivolous　world。　I　asked　if　Georgiana　would　acpany　her。
“Of　course　not。　Georgiana　and　she　had　nothing　in　mon：　they　never　had　had。　She　would　not　be　burdened　with　her　society　for　any　consideration。　Georgiana　should　take　her　own　course；　and　she；　Eliza；　would　take　hers。”
Georgiana；　when　not　unburdening　her　heart　to　me；　spent　most　of　her　time　in　lying　on　the　sofa；　fretting　about　the　dulness　of　the　house；　and　wishing　over　and　over　again　that　her　aunt　Gibson　would　send　her　an　invitation　up　to　town。　“It　would　be　so　much　better；”　she　said；　“if　she　could　only　get　out　of　the　way　for　a　month　or　two；　till　all　was　over。”　I　did　not　ask　what　she　meant　by　“all　being　over；”　but　I　suppose　she　referred　to　the　expected　decease　of　her　mother　and　the　gloomy　sequel　of　funeral　rites。　Eliza　generally　took　no　more　notice　of　her　sister’s　indolence　and　plaints　than　if　no　such　murmuring；　lounging　object　had　been　before　her。　One　day；　however；　as　she　put　away　her　account…book　and　unfolded　her　embroidery；　she　suddenly　took　her　up　thus—
“Georgiana；　a　more　vain　and　absurd　animal　than　you　was　certainly　never　allowed　to　cumber　the　earth。　You　had　no　right　to　be　born；　for　you　make　no　use　of　life。　Instead　of　living　for；　in；　and　with　yourself；　as　a　reasonable　being　ought；　you　seek　only　to　fasten　your　feebleness　on　some　other　person’s　strength：　if　no　one　can　be　found　willing　to　burden　her　or　himself　with　such　a　fat；　weak；　puffy；　useless　thing；　you　cry　out　that　you　are　ill…treated；　neglected；　miserable。　Then；　too；　existence　for　you　must　be　a　scene　of　continual　change　and　excitement；　or　else　the　world　is　a　dungeon：　you　must　be　admired；　you　must　be　courted；　you　must　be　flattered—you　must　have　music；　dancing；　and　society—or　you　languish；　you　die　away。　Have　you　no　sense　to　devise　a　system　which　will　make　you　independent　of　all　efforts；　and　all　wills；　but　your　own？　Take　one　day；　share　it　into　sections；　to　each　section　apportion　its　task：　leave　no　stray　unemployed　quarters　of　an　hour；　ten　minutes；　five　minutes—include　all；　do　each　piece　of　business　in　its　turn　with　method；　with　rigid　regularity。　The　day　will　close　almost　before　you　are　aware　it　has　begun；　and　you　are　indebted　to　no　one　for　helping　you　to　get　rid　of　one　vacant　moment：　you　have　had　to　seek　no　one’s　pany；　conversation；　sympathy；　forbearance；　you　have　lived；　in　short；　as　an　independent　being　ought　to　do。　Take　this　advice：　the　first　and　last　I　shall　offer　you；　then　you　will　not　want　me　or　any　one　else；　happen　what　may。　Neglect　it—go　on　as　heretofore；　craving；　whining；　and　idling—and　suffer　the　results　of　your　idiocy；　however　bad　and　insuperable　they　may　be。　I　tell　you　this　plainly；　and　listen：　for　though　I　shall　no　more　repeat　what　I　am　now　about　to　say；　I　shall　steadily　act　on　it。　After　my　mother’s　death；　I　wash　my　hands　of　you：　from　the　day　her　coffin　is　carried　to　the　vault　in　Gateshead　Church；　you　and　I　will　be　as　separate　as　if　we　had　never　known　each　other。　You　need　not　think　that　because　we　chanced　to　be　born　of　the　same　parents；　I　shall　suffer　you　to　fasten　me　down　by　even　the　feeblest　claim：　I　can　tell　you　this—if　the　whole　human　race；　ourselves　excepted；　were　swept　away；　and　we　two　stood　alone　on　the　earth；　I　would　leave　you　in　the　old　world；　and　betake　myself　to　the　new。”
She　closed　her　lips。
“You　might　have　spared　yourself　the　trouble　of　delivering　that　tirade；”　answered　Georgiana。　“Everybody　knows　you　are　the　most　selfish；　heartless　creature　in　existence：　and　I　know　your　spiteful　hatred　towards　me：　I　have　had　a　specimen　of　it　before　in　the　trick　you　played　me　about　Lord　Edwin　Vere：　you　could　not　bear　me　to　be　raised　above　you；　to　have　a　title；　to　be　received　into　circles　where　you　dare　not　show　your　face；　and　so　you　acted　the　spy　and　informer；　and　ruined　my　prospects　for　ever。”　Georgiana　took　out　her　handkerchief　and　blew　her　nose　for　an　hour　afterwards；　Eliza　sat　cold；　impassable；　and　assiduously　industrious。
True；　generous　feeling　is　made　small　account　of　by　some；　but　here　were　two　natures　rendered；　the　one　intolerably　acrid；　the　other　despicably　savourless　for　the　want　of　it。　Feeling　without　judgment　is　a　washy　draught　indeed；　but　judgment　untempered　by　feeling　is　too　bitter　and　husky　a　morsel　for　human　deglutition。
It　was　a　wet　and　windy　afternoon：　Georgiana　had　fallen　asleep　on　the　sofa　over　the　perusal　of　a　novel；　Eliza　was　gone　to　attend　a　saint’s…day　service　at　the　new　church—for　in　matters　of　religion　she　was　a　rigid　formalist：　no　weather　ever　prevented　the　punctual　discharge　of　what　she　considered　her　devotional　duties；　fair　or　foul；　she　went　to　church　thrice　every　Sunday；　and　as　often　on　week…　days　as　there　were　prayers。
I　bethought　myself　to　go　upstairs　and　see　how　the　dying　woman　sped；　who　lay　there　almost　unheeded：　the　very　servants　paid　her　but　a　remittent　attention：　the　hired　nurse；　being　little　looked　after；　would　slip　out　of　the　room　whenever　she　could。　Bessie　was　faithful；　but　she　had　her　own　family　to　mind；　and　could　only　e　occasionally　to　the　hall。　I　found　the　sick…room　unwatched；　as　I　had　expected：　no　nurse　was　there；　the　patient　lay　still；　and　seemingly　lethargic；　her　livid　face　sunk　in　the　pillows：　the　fire　was　dying　in　the　grate。　I　renewed　the　fuel；　re…arranged　the　bedclothes；　gazed　awhile　on　her　who　could　not　now　gaze　on　me；　and　then　I　moved　away　to　the　window。
The　rain　beat　strongly　against　the　panes；　the　wind　blew　tempestuously：　“One　lies　there；”　I　thought；　“who　will　soon　be　beyond　the　war　of　earthly　elements。　Whither　will　that　spirit—noaterial　tenement—flit　when　at　length　released？”
In　pondering　the　great　mystery；　I　thought　of　Helen　Burns；　recalled　her　dying　words—her　faith—her　doctrine　of　the　equality　of　disembodied　souls。　I　was　still　listening　in　thought　to　her　well…　remembered　tones—still　picturing　her　pale　and　spiritual　aspect；　her　wasted　face　and　sublime　gaze；　as　she　lay　on　her　placid　deathbed；　and　whispered　her　longing　to　be　restored　to　her　divine　Father’s　bosom—　when　a　feeble　voice　murmured　from　the　couch　behind：　“Who　is　that？”
I　knew　Mrs。　Reed　had　not　spoken　for　days：　was　she　reviving？　I　went　up　to　her。
“It　is　I；　Aunt　Reed。”
“Who—I？”　was　her　answer。　“Who　are　you？”　looking　at　me　with　surprise　and　a　sort　of　alarm；　but　still　not　e—where　is　Bessie？”
“She　is　at　the　lodge；　aunt。”
“Aunt；”　she　repeated。　“Who　calls　me　aunt？　You　are　not　one　of　the　Gibsons；　and　yet　I　know　you—that　face；　and　the　eyes　and　forehead；　are　quiet　familiar　to　me：　you　are　like—why；　you　are　like　Jane　Eyre！”
I　said　nothing：　I　was　afraid　of　occasioning　some　shock　by　declaring　my　identity。
“Yet；”　said　she；　“I　am　afraid　it　is　a　mistake：　my　thoughts　deceive　me。　I　wished　to　see　Jane　Eyre；　and　I　fancy　a　likeness　where　none　exists：　besides；　in　eight　years　she　must　be　so　changed。”　I　now　gently　assured　her　that　I　was　the　person　she　supposed　and　desired　me　to　be：　and　seeing　that　I　was　understood；　and　that　her　senses　were　quite　collected；　I　explained　how　Bessie　had　sent　her　husband　to　fetch　me　from　Thornfield。
“I　am　very　ill；　I　know；”　she　said　ere　long。　“I　was　trying　to　turn　myself　a　few　minutes　since；　and　find　I　cannot　move　a　limb。　It　is　as　well　I　should　ease　my　mind　before　I　die：　what　we　th