简爱(英文版)-第49部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


“No；　Sam；　return　to　the　kitchen：　I　am　not　in　the　least　afraid。”　Nor　was　I；　but　I　was　a　good　deal　interested　and　excited。
Chapter　19
The　library　looked　tranquil　enough　as　I　entered　it；　and　the　Sibyl—　if　Sibyl　she　were—was　seated　snugly　enough　in　an　easy…chair　at　the　chimney…corner。　She　had　on　a　red　cloak　and　a　black　bon：　or　rather；　a　broad…brimmed　gipsy　hat；　tied　down　with　a　striped　handkerchief　under　her　chin。　An　extinguished　candle　stood　on　the　table；　she　was　bending　over　the　fire；　and　seemed　reading　in　a　little　black　book；　like　a　prayer…book；　by　the　light　of　the　blaze：　she　muttered　the　words　to　herself；　as　most　old　women　do；　while　she　read；　she　did　not　desist　immediately　on　my　entrance：　it　appeared　she　wished　to　finish　a　paragraph。
I　stood　on　the　rug　and　warmed　my　hands；　which　were　rather　cold　with　sitting　at　a　distance　from　the　drawing…room　fire。　I　felt　now　as　posed　as　ever　I　did　in　my　life：　there　was　nothing　indeed　in　the　gipsy’s　appearance　to　trouble　one’s　calm。　She　shut　her　book　and　slowly　looked　up；　her　hat…brim　partially　shaded　her　face；　yet　I　could　see；　as　she　raised　it；　that　it　was　a　strange　one。　It　looked　all　brown　and　black：　elf…locks　bristled　out　from　beneath　a　white　band　which　passed　under　her　chin；　and　came　half　over　her　cheeks；　or　rather　jaws：　her　eye　confronted　me　at　once；　with　a　bold　and　direct　gaze。
“Well；　and　you　want　your　fortune　told？”　she　said；　in　a　voice　as　decided　as　her　glance；　as　harsh　as　her　features。
“I　don’t　care　about　it；　mother；　you　may　please　yourself：　but　I　ought　to　warn　you；　I　have　no　faith。”
“It’s　like　your　impudence　to　say　so：　I　expected　it　of　you；　I　heard　it　in　your　step　as　you　crossed　the　threshold。”
“Did　you？　You’ve　a　quick　ear。”
“I　have；　and　a　quick　eye　and　a　quick　brain。”
“You　need　them　all　in　your　trade。”
“I　do；　especially　when　I’ve　customers　like　you　to　deal　with。　Why　don’t　you　tremble？”
“I’m　not　cold。”
“Why　don’t　you　turn　pale？”
“I　am　not　sick。”
“Why　don’t　you　consult　my　art？”
“I’m　not　silly。”
The　old　crone　“nichered”　a　laugh　under　her　bon　and　bandage；　she　then　drew　out　a　short　black　pipe；　and　lighting　it　began　to　smoke。　Having　indulged　a　while　in　this　sedative；　she　raised　her　bent　body；　took　the　pipe　from　her　lips；　and　while　gazing　steadily　at　the　fire；　said　very　deliberately—“You　are　cold；　you　are　sick；　and　you　are　silly。”
“Prove　it；”　I　rejoined。
“I　will；　in　few　words。　You　are　cold；　because　you　are　alone：　no　contact　strikes　the　fire　from　you　that　is　in　you。　You　are　sick；　because　the　best　of　feelings；　the　highest　and　the　sweetest　given　to　man；　keeps　far　away　from　you。　You　are　silly；　because；　suffer　as　you　may；　you　will　not　beckon　it　to　approach；　nor　will　you　stir　one　step　to　meet　it　where　it　waits　you。”
She　again　put　her　short　black　pipe　to　her　lips；　and　renewed　her　smoking　with　vigour。
“You　might　say　all　that　to　almost　any　one　who　you　knew　lived　as　a　solitary　dependent　in　a　great　house。”
“I　might　say　it　to　almost　any　one：　but　would　it　be　true　of　almost　any　one？”
“In　my　circumstances。”
“Yes；　just　so；　in　your　circumstances：　but　find　me　another　precisely　placed　as　you　are。”
“It　would　be　easy　to　find　you　thousands。”
“You　could　scarcely　find　me　one。　If　you　knew　it；　you　are　peculiarly　situated：　very　near　happiness；　yes；　within　reach　of　it。　The　materials　are　all　prepared；　there　only　wants　a　movement　to　bine　them。　Chance　laid　them　somewhat　apart；　let　them　be　once　approached　and　bliss　results。”
“I　don’t　understand　enigmas。　I　never　could　guess　a　riddle　in　my　life。”
“If　you　wish　me　to　speak　more　plainly；　show　me　your　palm。”
“And　I　must　cross　it　with　silver；　I　suppose？”
“To　be　sure。”
I　gave　her　a　shilling：　she　put　it　into　an　old　stocking…foot　which　she　took　out　of　her　pocket；　and　having　tied　it　round　and　returned　it；　she　told　me　to　hold　out　my　hand。　I　did。　She　ached　her　face　to　the　palm；　and　pored　over　it　without　touching　it。
“It　is　too　fine；”　said　she。　“I　can　make　nothing　of　such　a　hand　as　that；　almost　without　lines：　besides；　what　is　in　a　palm？　Destiny　is　not　written　there。”
“I　believe　you；”　said　I。
“No；”　she　continued；　“it　is　in　the　face：　on　the　forehead；　about　the　eyes；　in　the　lines　of　the　mouth。　Kneel；　and　lift　up　your　head。”
“Ah！　now　you　are　ing　to　reality；”　I　said；　as　I　obeyed　her。　“I　shall　begin　to　put　some　faith　in　you　presently。”
I　knelt　within　half　a　yard　of　her。　She　stirred　the　fire；　so　that　a　ripple　of　light　broke　from　the　disturbed　coal：　the　glare；　however；　as　she　sat；　only　threw　her　face　into　deeper　shadow：　mine；　it　illumined。
“I　wonder　with　what　feelings　you　came　to　me　to…night；”　she　said；　when　she　had　examined　me　a　while。　“I　wonder　what　thoughts　are　busy　in　your　heart　during　all　the　hours　you　sit　in　yonder　room　with　the　fine　people　flitting　before　you　like　shapes　in　a　magic…lantern：　just　as　little　sympathetic　munion　passing　between　you　and　them　as　if　they　were　really　mere　shadows　of　human　forms；　and　not　the　actual　substance。”
“I　feel　tired　often；　sleepy　sometimes；　but　seldom　sad。”
“Then　you　have　some　secret　hope　to　buoy　you　up　and　please　you　with　whispers　of　the　future？”
“Not　I。　The　utmost　I　hope　is；　to　save　money　enough　out　of　my　earnings　to　set　up　a　school　some　day　in　a　little　house　rented　by　myself。”
“A　mean　nutriment　for　the　spirit　to　exist　on：　and　sitting　in　that　window…seat　（you　see　I　know　your　habits　）—”
“You　have　learned　them　from　the　servants。”
“Ah！　you　think　yourself　sharp。　Well；　perhaps　I　have：　to　speak　truth；　I　have　an　acquaintance　with　one　of　them；　Mrs。　Poole—”
I　started　to　my　feet　when　I　heard　the　name。
“You　have—have　you？”　thought　I；　“there　is　diablerie　in　the　business　after　all；　then！”
“Don’t　be　alarmed；”　continued　the　strange　being；　“she’s　a　safe　hand　is　Mrs。　Poole：　close　and　quiet；　any　one　may　repose　confidence　in　her。　But；　as　I　was　saying：　sitting　in　that　window…seat；　do　you　think　of　nothing　but　your　future　school？　Have　you　no　present　interest　in　any　of　the　pany　who　occupy　the　sofas　and　chairs　before　you？　Is　there　not　one　face　you　study？　one　figure　whose　movements　you　follow　with　at　least　curiosity？”
“I　like　to　observe　all　the　faces　and　all　the　figures。”
“But　do　you　never　single　one　from　the　rest—or　it　may　be；　two？”
“I　do　frequently；　when　the　gestures　or　looks　of　a　pair　seem　telling　a　tale：　it　amuses　me　to　watch　them。”
“What　tale　do　you　like　best　to　hear？”
“Oh；　I　have　not　much　choice！　They　generally　run　on　the　same　theme—　courtship；　and　promise　to　end　in　the　same　catastrophe—marriage。”
“And　do　you　like　that　monotonous　theme？”
“Positively；　I　don’t　care　about　it：　it　is　nothing　to　me。”
“Nothing　to　you？　When　a　lady；　young　and　full　of　life　and　health；　charming　with　beauty　and　endowed　with　the　gifts　of　rank　and　fortune；　sits　and　smiles　in　the　eyes　of　a　gentleman　you—”
“I　what？”
“You　know—and　perhaps　think　well　of。”
“I　don’t　know　the　gentlemen　here。　I　have　scarcely　interchanged　a　syllable　with　one　of　them；　and　as　to　thinking　well　of　them；　I　consider　some　respectable；　and　stately；　and　middle…aged；　and　others　young；　dashing；　handsome；　and　lively：　but　certainly　they　are　all　at　liberty　to　be　the　recipients　of　whose　smiles　they　please；　without　my　feeling　disposed　to　consider　the　transaction　of　any　moment　to　me。”
“You　don’t　know　the　gentlemen　here？　You　have　not　exchanged　a　syllable　with　one　of　them？　Will　you　say　that　of　the　master　of　the　house！”
“He　is　not　at　home。”
“A　profound　remark！　A　most　ingenious　quibble！　He　went　to　Millcote　this　morning；　and　will　be　back　here　to…night　or　to…morrow：　does　that　circumstance　exclude　him　from　the　list　of　your　acquaintance—　blot　him；　as　it　were；　out　of　existence？”
“No；　but　I　can　scarcely　see　what　Mr。　Rochester　has　to　do　with　the　theme　you　had　introduced。”
“I　was　talking　of　ladies　smiling　in　the　eyes　of　gentlemen；　and　of　late　so　many　smiles　have　been　shed　into　Mr。　Rochester’s　eyes　that　they　overflow　like　two　cups　filled　above　the　brim：　have　you　never　remarked　that？”
“Mr。　Rochester　has　a　right　to　enjoy　the　society　of　his　guests。”
“No　question　about　his　right：　but　have　you　never　observed　that；　of　all　the　tales　told　here　about　matrimony；　Mr。　Rochester　has　been　favoured　with　the　most　lively　and　the　most　continuous？”
“The　eagerness　of　a　listener　quickens　the　tongue　of　a　narrator。”　I　said　this　rather　to　myself　than　to　the　gipsy；　whose　strange　talk；　voice；　manner；　had　by　this　time　wrapped　me　in　a　kind　of　dream。　One　unexpected　sentence　came　from　her　lips　after　another；　till　I　got　involved　in　a　web　of　mystification；　and　wondered　what　unseen　spirit　had　been　sitting　for　weeks　by　my　heart　watching　its　workings　and　taking　record　of　every　pulse。
“Eagerness　of　a　listener！”　repeated　she：　“yes；　Mr。　Rochester　has　sat　by　the　hour；　his　ear　inclined　to　the　fascinating　lips　that　took　such　delight　in　their　task　of　municating；　and　Mr。　Rochester　was　so　willing　to　receive　and　looked　so　grateful　for　the　pastime　given　him；　you　have　noticed　this？”
“Grateful！　I　cannot　remember　detecting　gratitude　in　his　face。”
“Detecting！　You　have　analysed；　then。　And　what　did　you　detect；　if　not　gratitude？”
I　said　nothing。
“You　have　seen　love：　have　you　not？—and；　looking　forward；　you　have　seen　him　married；　and　beheld　his　bride　happy？”
“Humph！　Not　exactly。　Your