简爱(英文版)-第28部分

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in　a　lane　noted　for　wild　roses　in　summer；　for　nuts　and　blackberries　in　autumn；　and　even　now　possessing　a　few　coral　treasures　in　hips　and　haws；　but　whose　best　winter　delight　lay　in　its　utter　solitude　and　leafless　repose。　If　a　breath　of　air　stirred；　it　made　no　sound　here；　for　there　was　not　a　holly；　not　an　evergreen　to　rustle；　and　the　stripped　hawthorn　and　hazel　bushes　were　as　still　as　the　white；　worn　stones　which　causewayed　the　middle　of　the　path。　Far　and　wide；　on　each　side；　there　were　only　fields；　where　no　cattle　now　browsed；　and　the　little　brown　birds；　which　stirred　occasionally　in　the　hedge；　looked　like　single　russet　leaves　that　had　forgotten　to　drop。
This　lane　inclined　up…hill　all　the　way　to　Hay；　having　reached　the　middle；　I　sat　down　on　a　stile　which　led　thence　into　a　field。　Gathering　my　mantle　about　me；　and　sheltering　my　hands　in　my　muff；　I　did　not　feel　the　cold；　though　it　froze　keenly；　as　was　attested　by　a　sheet　of　ice　covering　the　causeway；　where　a　little　brooklet；　now　congealed；　had　overflowed　after　a　rapid　thaw　some　days　since。　From　my　seat　I　could　look　down　on　Thornfield：　the　grey　and　battlemented　hall　was　the　principal　object　in　the　vale　below　me；　its　woods　and　dark　rookery　rose　against　the　west。　I　lingered　till　the　sun　went　down　amongst　the　trees；　and　sank　crimson　and　clear　behind　them。　I　then　turned　eastward。
On　the　hill…top　above　me　sat　the　rising　moon；　pale　yet　as　a　cloud；　but　brightening　momentarily；　she　looked　over　Hay；　which；　half　lost　in　trees；　sent　up　a　blue　smoke　from　its　few　chimneys：　it　was　yet　a　mile　distant；　but　in　the　absolute　hush　I　could　hear　plainly　its　thin　murmurs　of　life。　My　ear；　too；　felt　the　flow　of　currents；　in　what　dales　and　depths　I　could　not　tell：　but　there　were　many　hills　beyond　Hay；　and　doubtless　many　becks　threading　their　passes。　That　evening　calm　betrayed　alike　the　tinkle　of　the　nearest　streams；　the　sough　of　the　most　remote。
A　rude　noise　broke　on　these　fine　ripplings　and　whisperings；　at　once　so　far　away　and　so　clear：　a　positive　tramp；　tramp；　a　metallic　clatter；　which　effaced　the　soft　wave…wanderings；　as；　in　a　picture；　the　solid　mass　of　a　crag；　or　the　rough　boles　of　a　great　oak；　drawn　in　dark　and　strong　on　the　foreground；　efface　the　aerial　distance　of　azure　hill；　sunny　horizon；　and　blended　clouds　where　tint　melts　into　tint。
The　din　was　on　the　causeway：　a　horse　was　ing；　the　windings　of　the　lane　yet　hid　it；　but　it　approached。　I　was　just　leaving　the　stile；　yet；　as　the　path　was　narrow；　I　sat　still　to　let　it　go　by。　In　those　days　I　was　young；　and　all　sorts　of　fancies　bright　and　dark　tenanted　my　mind：　the　memories　of　nursery　stories　were　there　amongst　other　rubbish；　and　when　they　recurred；　maturing　youth　added　to　them　a　vigour　and　vividness　beyond　what　childhood　could　give。　As　this　horse　approached；　and　as　I　watched　for　it　to　appear　through　the　dusk；　I　remembered　certain　of　Bessie’s　tales；　wherein　figured　a　North…of…England　spirit　called　a　“Gytrash；”　which；　in　the　form　of　horse；　mule；　or　large　dog；　haunted　solitary　ways；　and　sometimes　came　upon　belated　travellers；　as　this　horse　was　now　ing　upon　me。
It　was　very　near；　but　not　yet　in　sight；　when；　in　addition　to　the　tramp；　tramp；　I　heard　a　rush　under　the　hedge；　and　close　down　by　the　hazel　stems　glided　a　great　dog；　whose　black　and　white　colour　made　him　a　distinct　object　against　the　trees。　It　was　exactly　one　form　of　Bessie’s　Gytrash—a　lion…like　creature　with　long　hair　and　a　huge　head：　it　passed　me；　however；　quietly　enough；　not　staying　to　look　up；　with　strange　pretercanine　eyes；　in　my　face；　as　I　half　expected　it　would。　The　horse　followed；—a　tall　steed；　and　on　its　back　a　rider。　The　man；　the　human　being；　broke　the　spell　at　once。　Nothing　ever　rode　the　Gytrash：　it　was　always　alone；　and　goblins；　to　my　notions；　though　they　might　tenant　the　dumb　carcasses　of　beasts；　could　scarce　covet　shelter　in　the　monplace　human　form。　No　Gytrash　was　this；—only　a　traveller　taking　the　short　cut　to　Millcote。　He　passed；　and　I　went　on；　a　few　steps；　and　I　turned：　a　sliding　sound　and　an　exclamation　of　“What　the　deuce　is　to　do　now？”　and　a　clattering　tumble；　arrested　my　attention。　Man　and　horse　were　down；　they　had　slipped　on　the　sheet　of　ice　which　glazed　the　causeway。　The　dog　came　bounding　back；　and　seeing　his　master　in　a　predicament；　and　hearing　the　horse　groan；　barked　till　the　evening　hills　echoed　the　sound；　which　was　deep　in　proportion　to　his　magnitude。　He　snuffed　round　the　prostrate　group；　and　then　he　ran　up　to　me；　it　was　all　he　could　do；—there　was　no　other　help　at　hand　to　summon。　I　obeyed　him；　and　walked　down　to　the　traveller；　by　this　time　struggling　himself　free　of　his　steed。　His　efforts　were　so　vigorous；　I　thought　he　could　not　be　much　hurt；　but　I　asked　him　the　question—
“Are　you　injured；　sir？”
I　think　he　was　swearing；　but　am　not　certain；　however；　he　was　pronouncing　some　formula　which　prevented　him　from　replying　to　me　directly。
“Can　I　do　anything？”　I　asked　again。
“You　must　just　stand　on　one　side；”　he　answered　as　he　rose；　first　to　his　knees；　and　then　to　his　feet。　I　did；　whereupon　began　a　heaving；　stamping；　clattering　process；　acpanied　by　a　barking　and　baying　which　removed　me　effectually　some　yards’　distance；　but　I　would　not　be　driven　quite　away　till　I　saw　the　event。　This　was　finally　fortunate；　the　horse　was　re…established；　and　the　dog　was　silenced　with　a　“Down；　Pilot！”　The　traveller　now；　stooping；　felt　his　foot　and　leg；　as　if　trying　whether　they　were　sound；　apparently　something　ailed　them；　for　he　halted　to　the　stile　whence　I　had　just　risen；　and　sat　down。
I　was　in　the　mood　for　being　useful；　or　at　least　officious；　I　think；　for　I　now　drew　near　him　again。
“If　you　are　hurt；　and　want　help；　sir；　I　can　fetch　some　one　either　from　Thornfield　Hall　or　from　Hay。”
“Thank　you：　I　shall　do：　I　have　no　broken　bones；—only　a　sprain；”　and　again　he　stood　up　and　tried　his　foot；　but　the　result　extorted　an　involuntary　“Ugh！”
Something　of　daylight　still　lingered；　and　the　moon　was　waxing　bright：　I　could　see　him　plainly。　His　figure　was　enveloped　in　a　riding　cloak；　fur　collared　and　steel　clasped；　its　details　were　not　apparent；　but　I　traced　the　general　points　of　middle　height　and　considerable　breadth　of　chest。　He　had　a　dark　face；　with　stern　features　and　a　heavy　brow；　his　eyes　and　gathered　eyebrows　looked　ireful　and　thwarted　just　now；　he　was　past　youth；　but　had　not　reached　middle…age；　perhaps　he　might　be　thirty…five。　I　felt　no　fear　of　him；　and　but　little　shyness。　Had　he　been　a　handsome；　heroic…looking　young　gentleman；　I　should　not　have　dared　to　stand　thus　questioning　him　against　his　will；　and　offering　my　services　unasked。　I　had　hardly　ever　seen　a　handsome　youth；　never　in　my　life　spoken　to　one。　I　had　a　theoretical　reverence　and　homage　for　beauty；　elegance；　gallantry；　fascination；　but　had　I　met　those　qualities　incarnate　in　masculine　shape；　I　should　have　known　instinctively　that　they　neither　had　nor　could　have　sympathy　with　anything　in　me；　and　should　have　shunned　them　as　one　would　fire；　lightning；　or　anything　else　that　is　bright　but　antipathetic。
If　even　this　stranger　had　smiled　and　been　good…humoured　to　me　when　I　addressed　him；　if　he　had　put　off　my　offer　of　assistance　gaily　and　with　thanks；　I　should　have　gone　on　my　way　and　not　felt　any　vocation　to　renew　inquiries：　but　the　frown；　the　roughness　of　the　traveller；　set　me　at　my　ease：　I　retained　my　station　when　he　waved　to　me　to　go；　and　announced—
“I　cannot　think　of　leaving　you；　sir；　at　so　late　an　hour；　in　this　solitary　lane；　till　I　see　you　are　fit　to　mount　your　horse。”
He　looked　at　me　when　I　said　this；　he　had　hardly　turned　his　eyes　in　my　direction　before。
“I　should　think　you　ought　to　be　at　home　yourself；”　said　he；　“if　you　have　a　home　in　this　neighbourhood：　where　do　you　e　from？”
“From　just　below；　and　I　am　not　at　all　afraid　of　being　out　late　when　it　is　moonlight：　I　will　run　over　to　Hay　for　you　with　pleasure；　if　you　wish　it：　indeed；　I　am　going　there　to　post　a　letter。”
“You　live　just　below—do　you　mean　at　that　house　with　the　battlements？”　pointing　to　Thornfield　Hall；　on　which　the　moon　cast　a　hoary　gleam；　bringing　it　out　distinct　and　pale　from　the　woods　that；　by　contrast　with　the　western　sky；　now　seemed　one　mass　of　shadow。
“Yes；　sir。”
“Whose　house　is　it？”
“Mr。　Rochester’s。”
“Do　you　know　Mr。　Rochester？”
“No；　I　have　never　seen　him。”
“He　is　not　resident；　then？”
“No。”
“Can　you　tell　me　where　he　is？”
“I　cannot。”
“You　are　not　a　servant　at　the　hall；　of　course。　You　are—”　He　stopped；　ran　his　eye　over　my　dress；　ple：　a　black　merino　cloak；　a　black　beaver　bon；　neither　of　them　half　fine　enough　for　a　lady’s…maid。　He　seemed　puzzled　to　decide　what　I　was；　I　helped　him。
“I　am　the　governess。”
“Ah；　the　governess！”　he　repeated；　“deuce　take　me；　if　I　had　not　forgotten！　The　governess！”　and　again　my　raiment　underwent　scrutiny。　In　two　minutes　he　rose　from　the　stile：　his　face　expressed　pain　when　he　tried　to　move。
“I　cannot　mission　you　to　fetch　help；”　he　said；　“but　you　may　help　me　a　little　yourself；　if　you　will　be　so　kind。”
“Yes；　sir。”
“You　have　not　an　umbrella　that　I　can　use　as　a　stick？”
“No。”
“Try　to　get　hold　of　my　horse’s　bridle　and　lead　him　to　me：　you　are　not　afraid？”
I　should　have　been　afraid　to　touch　a　horse　when　alone；　but　when　told　to　do　it；　I　was　disposed　to　obey。　I　put　down　my　muff　on　th