简爱(英文版)-第50部分

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se　ray　had　been　my　beacon；　burnt　on　the　table；　and　by　its　light　an　elderly　woman；　somewhat　rough…looking；　but　scrupulously　clean；　like　all　about　her；　was　knitting　a　stocking。
I　noticed　these　objects　cursorily　only—in　them　there　was　nothing　extraordinary。　A　group　of　more　interest　appeared　near　the　hearth；　sitting　still　amidst　the　rosy　peace　and　warmth　suffusing　it。　Two　young；　graceful　women—ladies　in　every　point—sat；　one　in　a　low　rocking…chair；　the　other　on　a　lower　stool；　both　wore　deep　mourning　of　crape　and　bombazeen；　which　sombre　garb　singularly　set　off　very　fair　necks　and　faces：　a　large　old　pointer　dog　rested　its　massive　head　on　the　knee　of　one　girl—in　the　lap　of　the　other　was　cushioned　a　black　cat。
A　strange　place　was　this　humble　kitchen　for　such　occupants！　Who　were　they？　They　could　not　be　the　daughters　of　the　elderly　person　at　the　table；　for　she　looked　like　a　rustic；　and　they　were　all　delicacy　and　cultivation。　I　had　nowhere　seen　such　faces　as　theirs：　and　yet；　as　I　gazed　on　them；　I　seemed　intimate　with　every　lineament。　I　cannot　call　them　handsome—they　were　too　pale　and　grave　for　the　word：　as　they　each　bent　over　a　book；　they　looked　thoughtful　almost　to　severity。　A　stand　between　them　supported　a　second　candle　and　two　great　volumes；　to　paring　them；　seemingly；　with　the　smaller　books　they　held　in　their　hands；　like　people　consulting　a　dictionary　to　aid　them　in　the　task　of　translation。　This　scene　was　as　silent　as　if　all　the　figures　had　been　shadows　and　the　firelit　apartment　a　picture：　so　hushed　was　it；　I　could　hear　the　cinders　fall　from　the　grate；　the　clock　tick　in　its　obscure　corner；　and　I　even　fancied　I　could　distinguish　the　click…　click　of　the　woman’s　knitting…needles。　When；　therefore；　a　voice　broke　the　strange　stillness　at　last；　it　was　audible　enough　to　me。
“Listen；　Diana；”　said　one　of　the　absorbed　students；　“Franz　and　old　Daniel　are　together　in　the　night…time；　and　Franz　is　telling　a　dream　from　which　he　has　awakened　in　terror—listen！”　And　in　a　low　voice　she　read　something；　of　which　not　one　word　was　intelligible　to　me；　for　it　was　in　an　unknown　tongue—neither　French　nor　Latin。　Whether　it　were　Greek　or　German　I　could　not　tell。
“That　is　strong；”　she　said；　when　she　had　finished：　“I　relish　it。”　The　other　girl；　who　had　lifted　her　head　to　listen　to　her　sister；　repeated；　while　she　gazed　at　the　fire；　a　line　of　what　had　been　read。　At　a　later　day；　I　knew　the　language　and　the　book；　therefore；　I　will　here　quote　the　line：　though；　when　I　first　heard　it；　it　was　only　like　a　stroke　on　sounding　brass　to　me—conveying　no　meaning：—
“‘Da　trat　hervor　Einer；　anzusehen　wie　die　Sternen　Nacht。’　Good！　good！”　she　exclaimed；　while　her　dark　and　deep　eye　sparkled。　“There　you　have　a　dim　and　mighty　archangel　fitly　set　before　you！　The　line　is　worth　a　hundred　pages　of　fustian。　‘Ich　wage　die　Gedanken　in　der　Schale　meines　Zornes　und　die　Werke　mit　dem　Gewichte　meines　Grimms。’　I　like　it！”
Both　were　again　silent。
“Is　there　ony　country　where　they　talk　i’　that　way？”　asked　the　old　woman；　looking　up　from　her　knitting。
“Yes；　Hannah—a　far　larger　country　than　England；　where　they　talk　in　no　other　way。”
“Well；　for　sure　case；　I　knawn’t　how　they　can　understand　t’　one　t’other：　and　if　either　o’　ye　went　there；　ye　could　tell　what　they　said；　I　guess？”
“We　could　probably　tell　something　of　what　they　said；　but　not　all—　for　we　are　not　as　clever　as　you　think　us；　Hannah。　We　don’t　speak　German；　and　we　cannot　read　it　without　a　dictionary　to　help　us。”
“And　what　good　does　it　do　you？”
“We　mean　to　teach　it　some　time—or　at　least　the　elements；　as　they　say；　and　then　we　shall　get　more　money　than　we　do　now。”
“Varry　like：　but　give　ower　studying；　ye’ve　done　enough　for　to…　night。”
“I　think　we　have：　at　least　I’m　tired。　Mary；　are　you？”
“Mortally：　after　all；　it’s　tough　work　fagging　away　at　a　language　with　no　master　but　a　lexicon。”
“It　is；　especially　such　a　language　as　this　crabbed　but　glorious　Deutsch。　I　wonder　when　St。　John　will　e　home。”
“Surely　he　will　not　be　long　now：　it　is　just　ten　（looking　at　a　little　gold　watch　she　drew　from　her　girdle）。　It　rains　fast；　Hannah：　will　you　have　the　goodness　to　look　at　the　fire　in　the　parlour？”
The　woman　rose：　she　opened　a　door；　through　which　I　dimly　saw　a　passage：　soon　I　heard　her　stir　a　fire　in　an　inner　room；　she　presently　came　back。
“Ah；　childer！”　said　she；　“it　fair　troubles　me　to　go　into　yond’　room　now：　it　looks　so　lonesome　wi’　the　chair　empty　and　set　back　in　a　corner。”
She　wiped　her　eyes　with　her　apron：　the　two　girls；　grave　before；　looked　sad　now。
“But　he　is　in　a　better　place；”　continued　Hannah：　“we　shouldn’t　wish　him　here　again。　And　then；　nobody　need　to　have　a　quieter　death　nor　he　had。”
“You　say　he　never　mentioned　us？”　inquired　one　of　the　ladies。
“He　hadn’t　time；　bairn：　he　was　gone　in　a　minute；　was　your　father。　He　had　been　a　bit　ailing　like　the　day　before；　but　naught　to　signify；　and　when　Mr。　St。　John　asked　if　he　would　like　either　o’　ye　to　be　sent　for；　he　fair　laughed　at　him。　He　began　again　with　a　bit　of　a　heaviness　in　his　head　the　next　day—that　is；　a　fortnight　sin’—and　he　went　to　sleep　and　niver　wakened：　he　wor　a’most　stark　when　your　brother　went　into　t’　chamber　and　fand　him。　Ah；　childer！　that’s　t’　last　o’　t’　old　stock—for　ye　and　Mr。　St。　John　is　like　of　different　soart　to　them　‘at’s　gone；　for　all　your　mother　wor　mich　i’　your　way；　and　a’most　as　book…learned。　She　wor　the　pictur’　o’　ye；　Mary：　Diana　is　more　like　your　father。”
I　thought　them　so　similar　I　could　not　tell　where　the　old　servant　（for　such　I　now　concluded　her　to　be）　saw　the　difference。　Both　were　fair　plexioned　and　slenderly　made；　both　possessed　faces　full　of　distinction　and　intelligence。　One；　to　be　sure；　had　hair　a　shade　darker　than　the　other；　and　there　was　a　difference　in　their　style　of　wearing　it；　Mary’s　pale　brown　locks　were　parted　and　braided　smooth：　Diana’s　duskier　tresses　covered　her　neck　with　thick　curls。　The　clock　struck　ten。
“Ye’ll　want　your　supper；　I　am　sure；”　observed　Hannah；　“and　so　will　Mr。　St。　John　when　he　es　in。”
And　she　proceeded　to　prepare　the　meal。　The　ladies　rose；　they　seemed　about　to　withdraw　to　the　parlour。　Till　this　moment；　I　had　been　so　intent　on　watching　them；　their　appearance　and　conversation　had　excited　in　me　so　keen　an　interest；　I　had　half…forgotten　my　own　wretched　position：　now　it　recurred　to　me。　More　desolate；　more　desperate　than　ever；　it　seemed　from　contrast。　And　how　impossible　did　it　appear　to　touch　the　inmates　of　this　house　with　concern　on　my　behalf；　to　make　them　believe　in　the　truth　of　my　wants　and　woes—to　induce　them　to　vouchsafe　a　rest　for　my　wanderings！　As　I　groped　out　the　door；　and　knocked　at　it　hesitatingly；　I　felt　that　last　idea　to　be　a　mere　chimera。　Hannah　opened。
“What　do　you　want？”　she　inquired；　in　a　voice　of　surprise；　as　she　surveyed　me　by　the　light　of　the　candle　she　held。
“May　I　speak　to　your　mistresses？”　I　said。
“You　had　better　tell　me　what　you　have　to　say　to　them。　Where　do　you　e　from？”
“I　am　a　stranger。”
“What　is　your　business　here　at　this　hour？”
“I　want　a　night’s　shelter　in　an　out…house　or　anywhere；　and　a　morsel　of　bread　to　eat。”
Distrust；　the　very　feeling　I　dreaded；　appeared　in　Hannah’s　face。　“I’ll　give　you　a　piece　of　bread；”　she　said；　after　a　pause；　“but　we　can’t　take　in　a　vagrant　to　lodge。　It　isn’t　likely。”
“Do　let　me　speak　to　your　mistresses。”
“No；　not　I。　What　can　they　do　for　you？　You　should　not　be　roving　about　now；　it　looks　very　ill。”
“But　where　shall　I　go　if　you　drive　me　away？　What　shall　I　do？”
“Oh；　I’ll　warrant　you　know　where　to　go　and　what　to　do。　Mind　you　don’t　do　wrong；　that’s　all。　Here　is　a　penny；　now　go—”
“A　penny　cannot　feed　me；　and　I　have　no　strength　to　go　farther。　Don’t　shut　the　door：…　oh；　don’t；　for　God’s　sake！”
“I　must；　the　rain　is　driving　in—”
“Tell　the　young　ladies。　Let　me　see　them…　”
“Indeed；　I　will　not。　You　are　not　what　you　ought　to　be；　or　you　wouldn’t　make　such　a　noise。　Move　off。”
“But　I　must　die　if　I　am　turned　away。”
“Not　you。　I’m　fear’d　you　have　some　ill　plans　agate；　that　bring　you　about　folk’s　houses　at　this　time　o’　night。　If　you’ve　any　followers—housebreakers　or　such　like—anywhere　near；　you　may　tell　them　we　are　not　by　ourselves　in　the　house；　we　have　a　gentleman；　and　dogs；　and　guns。”　Here　the　honest　but　inflexible　servant　clapped　the　door　to　and　bolted　it　within。
This　was　the　climax。　A　pang　of　exquisite　suffering—a　throe　of　true　despair—rent　and　heaved　my　heart。　Worn　out；　indeed；　I　was；　not　another　step　could　I　stir。　I　sank　on　the　wet　doorstep：　I　groaned—　I　wrung　my　hands—I　wept　in　utter　anguish。　Oh；　this　spectre　of　death！　Oh；　this　last　hour；　approaching　in　such　horror！　Alas；　this　isolation—this　banishment　from　my　kind！　Not　only　the　anchor　of　hope；　but　the　footing　of　fortitude　was　gone—at　least　for　a　moment；　but　the　last　I　soon　endeavoured　to　regain。
“I　can　but　die；”　I　said；　“and　I　believe　in　God。　Let　me　try　to　wait　His　will　in　silence。”
These　words　I　not　only　thought；　but　uttered；　and　thrusting　back　all　my　misery　into　my　heart；　I　made　an　effort　to　pel　it　to　remain　there—dumb　and　still。
“All　men　must　die；”　said　a　voice　quite　close　at　hand；　“but　all　are　not　condemned　to　meet　a　lingering　and　premature　doom；　such　as　yours　would　be　if　you　perished　here　of　want。”
“Who　or　what　speaks？”　I　asked；　terrified　at　the　unexpected　sound；　and　incapable　now　of　deriving　from　any　occurrence　a　hope　of　aid。　A　form　was　near—what　form；　the　pitch…dark　night　and　my　enfeebled　vision　prevented　me　from　distinguishing。　With　a　loud　long　knock；　the　new…er　appealed　to　the　door。
“Is　it　you；　Mr。　St。　John？”　cried　Hannah。
“Yes—yes；　open　quickly。”
“Well；　how　wet　and　cold　you　must　be；　such　a　wild　night　as　it　is！　e　in—your　sisters　are　quite　uneasy　about　you；　and　I　believe　there　are　bad　folks　about。　There　has　been　a　beggar…woman—I　declare　she　is　not　gone　yet！—laid　down　there。　Get　up！　for　shame！　Move　off；　I　say！”
“Hush；　Hannah！　I　have　a　word　to　say　to　the　woman。　You　have　done　your　duty　in　excluding；　now　let　me　do　mine　in　admitting　her。　I　was　near；　and　listened　to　both　you　and　her。　I　think　this　is　a　peculiar　case—I　must　at　least　examine　into　it。　Young　woman；　rise；　and　pass　before　me　into　the　house。”
With　difficulty　I　obeyed　him。　Presently　I　stood　within　that　clean；　bright　kitchen—on　the　very　hearth—trembling；　sickening；　conscious　of　an　aspect　in　the　last　degree　ghastly；　wild；　and　weather…beaten。　The　two　ladies；　their　brother；　Mr。　St。　John；　the　old　servant；　were　all　gazing　at　me。
“St。　John；　who　is　it？”　I　heard　one　ask。
“I　cannot　tell：　I　found　her　at　the　door；”　was　the　reply。
“She　does　look　white；”　said　Hannah。
“As　white　as　clay　or　death；”　was　responded。　“She　will　fall：　let　her　sit。”
And　indeed　my　head　swam：　I　dropped；　but　a　chair　received　me。　I　still　possessed　my　senses；　though　just　now　I　could　not　speak。
“Perhaps　a　little　water　would　restore　her。　Hannah；　fetch　some。　But　she　is　worn　to　nothing。　How　very　thin；　and　how　very　bloodless！”
“A　mere　spectre！”
“Is　she　ill；　or　only　famished？”
“Famished；　I　think。　Hannah；　is　that　milk？　Give　it　me；　and　a　piece　of　bread。”
Diana　（I　knew　her　by　the　long　curls　which　I　saw　drooping　between　me　and　the　fire　as　she　bent　over　me）　broke　some　bread；　dipped　it　in　milk；　and　put　it　to　my　lips。　Her　face　was　near　mine：　I　saw　there　was　pity　in　it；　and　I　felt　sympathy　in　her　hurried　breathing。　In　her　simple　words；　too；　the　same　balm…like　emotion　spoke：　“Try　to　eat。”
“Yes—try；”　repeated　Mary　gently；　and　Mary’s　hand　removed　my　sodden　bon　and　lifted　my　head。　I　tasted　what　they　offered　me：　feebly　at　first；　eagerly　soon。
“Not　too　much　at　first—restrain　her；”　said　the　brother；　“she　has　had　enough。”　And　he　withdrew　the　cup　of　milk　and　the　plate　of　bread。
“A　little　more；　St。　John—look　at　the　avidity　in　her　eyes。”
“No　more　at　present；　sister。　Try　if　she　can　speak　now—ask　her　her　name。”
I　felt　I　could　speak；　and　I　answered—“My　name　is　Jane　Elliott。”　Anxious　as　ever　to　avoid　discovery；　I　had　before　resolved　to　assume　an　alias。
“And　where　do　you　live？　Where　are　your　friends？”
I　was　silent。
“Can　we　send　for　any　one　you　know？”
I　shook　my　head。
“What　account　can　you　give　of　yourself？”
Somehow；　now　that　I　had　once　crossed　the　threshold　of　this　house；　and　once　was　brought　face　to　face　with　its　owners；　I　felt　no　longer　outcast；　vagrant；　and　disowned　by　the　wide　world。　I　dared　to　put　off　the　mendicant—to　resume　my　natural　manner　and　character。　I　began　once　more　to　know　myself；　and　when　Mr。　St。　John　demanded　an　account—which　at　present　I　was　far　too　weak　to　render—I　said　after　a　brief　pause—
“Sir；　I　can　give　you　no　details　to…night。”
“But　what；　then；”　said　he；　“do　you　expect　me　to　do　for　you？”
“Nothing；”　I　replied。　My　strength　sufficed　for　but　short　answers。　Diana　took　the　word—
“Do　you　mean；”　she　asked；　“that　we　have　now　given　you　ay　dismiss　you　to　the　moor　and　the　rainy　night？”
I　looked　at　her。　She　had；　I　thought；　a　remarkable　countenance；　instinct　both　with　power　and　goodness。　I　took　sudden　courage。　Answering　her　passionate　gate　with　a　smile；　I　said—“I　will　trust　you。　If　I　were　a　masterless　and　stray　dog；　I　know　that　you　would　not　turn　me　from　your　hearth　to…night：　as　it　is；　I　really　have　no　fear。　Do　with　me　and　for　me　as　you　like；　but　excuse　me　from　much　discourse—my　breath　is　short—I　feel　a　spasm　when　I　speak。”　All　three　surveyed　me；　and　all　three　were　silent。
“Hannah；”　said　Mr。　St。　John；　at　last；　“let　her　sit　there　at　present；　and　ask　her　no　questions；　in　ten　minutes　more；　give　her　the　remainder　of　that　milk　and　bread。　Mary　and　Diana；　let　us　go　into　the　parlour　and　talk　the　matter　over。”
They　withdrew。　Very　soon　one　of　the　ladies　returned—I　could　not　tell　which。　A　kind　of　pleasant　stupor　was　stealing　over　me　as　I　sat　by　the　genial　fire。　In　an　undertone　she　gave　some　directions　to　Hannah。　Ere　long；　with　the　servant’s　aid；　I　contrived　to　mount　a　staircase；　my　dripping　clothes　were　removed；　soon　a　warm；　dry　bed　received　me。　I　thanked　God—experienced　amidst　unutterable　exhaustion　a　glow　of　grateful　joy—and　slept。
Chapter　29
The　recollection　of　about　three　days　and　nights　succeeding　this　is　very　dim　in　my　mind。　I　can　recall　some　sensations　felt　in　that　interval；　but　few　thoughts　framed；　and　no　actions　performed。　I　knew　I　was　in　a　small　room　and　in　a　narrow　bed。　To　that　bed　I　seemed　to　have　grown；　I　lay　on　it　motionless　as　a　stone；　and　to　have　torn　me　from　it　would　have　been　almost　to　kill　me。　I　took　no　note　of　the　lapse　of　time—of　the　change　from　morning　to　noon；　from　noon　to　evening。　I　observed　when　any　one　entered　or　left　the　apartment：　I　could　even　tell　who　they　were；　I　could　understand　what　was　said　when　the　speaker　stood　near　to　me；　but　I　could　not　answer；　to　open　my　lips　or　move　my　limbs　possible。　Hannah；　the　servant；　ing　disturbed　me。　I　had　a　feeling　that　she　wished　me　away：　that　she　did　not　understand　me　or　my　circumstances；　that　she　was　prejudiced　against　me。　Diana　and　Mary　appeared　in　the　chamber　once　or　twice　a　day。　They　would　whisper　sentences　of　this　sort　at　my　bedside—
“It　is　very　well　we　took　her　in。”
“Yes；　she　would　certainly　have　been　found　dead　at　the　door　in　the　morning　had　she　been　left　out　all　night。　I　wonder　what　she　has　gone　through？”
“Strange　hardships；　I　imagine—poor；　emaciated；　pallid　wanderer？”
“She　is　not　an　uneducated　person；　I　should