bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第161节
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Bagnet； who has all this time been staring at the ceiling； and who
puts his hands on his bald head again； under this new verbal
shower…bath； and seems exceedingly in need of the old girl
through whom to express his sentiments。 The trooper then takes
from his breast…pocket a folded paper； which he lays with an
unwilling hand at the lawyer’s elbow。 “‘Tis only a letter of
instructions； sir。 The last I ever had from him。”
Look at a millstone； Mr George； for some change in its
expression； and you will find it quite as soon as in the face of Mr
Tulkinghorn when he opens and reads the letter！ He refolds it；
and lays it in his desk； with a countenance as imperturbable as
Death。
Nor has he anything more to say or do； but to nod once in the
same frigid and discourteous manner； and to say briefly； “You can
go。 Show these men out； there！” Being shown out； they repair to
Mr Bagnet’s residence to dine。
Boiled beef and greens constitute the day’s variety on the
former repast of boiled pork and greens； and Mrs Bagnet serves
out the meal in the same way； and seasons it with the best of
temper： being that rare sort of old girl that she receives Good to
her arms without a hint that it might be Better； and catches light
from any little spot of darkness near her。 The spot on this occasion
is the darkened brow of Mr George； he is unusually thoughtful and
depressed。 At first Mrs Bagnet trusts to the combined
endearments of Quebec and Malta to restore him； but finding
those young ladies sensible that their existing Bluffy is not the
Bluffy of their usual frolicsome acquaintance； she winks off the
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light infantry； and leaves him to deploy at leisure on the open
ground of the domestic hearth。
But he does not。 He remains in close order； clouded and
depressed。 During the lengthy cleaning up and pattening process；
when he and Mr Bagnet are supplied with their pipes； he is no
better than he was at dinner。 He forgets to smoke； looks at the fire
and ponders； lets his pipe out； fills the breast of Mr Bagnet with
perturbation and dismay； by showing he has no enjoyment of
tobacco。
Therefore when Mrs Bagnet at last appears； rosy from the
invigorating pail； and sits down to her work； Mr Bagnet growls
“Old girl！” and winks monitions to her to find out what’s the
matter。
“Why； George！” says Mrs Bagnet； quietly threading her needle。
“How low you are！”
“Am I？ Not good company？ Well； I am afraid I am not。”
“He ain’t at all like Bluffy； mother！” cries little Malta。
“Because he ain’t well； I think； mother！” adds Quebec。
“Sure that’s a bad sign not to be like Bluffy； too！” returns the
trooper； kissing the young damsels。 “But it’s true；” with a sigh—
“true； I am afraid。 These little ones are always right！”
“George；” says Mrs Bagnet； working busily； “if I thought you
cross enough to think of anything that a shrill old soldier’s wife—
who could have bitten her tongue off afterwards； and ought to
have done it almost—said this morning； I don’t know what I
should say to you now。”
“My kind soul of a darling；” returns the trooper。 “Not a morsel
of it。”
“Because really and truly； George； what I said and meant to
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say； was that I trusted Lignum to you； and was sure you’d bring
him through it。 And you have brought him through it； noble！”
“Thank’ee； my dear；” says George。 “I am glad of your good
opinion。”
In giving Mrs Bagnet’s hand； with her work in it； a friendly
shake—for she took her seat beside him—the trooper’s attention is
attracted to her face。 After looking at it for a little while as she
plies her needle； he looks to young Woolwich； sitting on his stool in
the corner； and beckons that fifer to him。
“See there； my boy；” says George； very gently smoothing the
mother’s hair with his hand； “there’s a good loving forehead for
you！ All bright with love of you； my boy。 A little touched by the sun
and the weather through following your father about and taking
care of you； but as fresh and wholesome as a ripe apple on a tree。”
Mr Bagnet’s face expresses； so far as in its wooden material lies；
the highest approbation and acquiescence。
“The time will come； my boy；” pursues the trooper； “when this
hair of your mother’s will be grey； and this forehead all crossed
and recrossed with wrinkles—and a fine old lady she’ll be then。
Take care； while you are young； that you can think in those days； ‘I
never whitened a hair of her dear head； I never marked a
sorrowful line in her face！’ For of all the many things that you can
think of when you are a man； you had better have that by you；
Woolwich！”
Mr George concludes by rising from his chair； seating the boy
besides his mother in it； and saying； with something of a hurry
about him； that he’ll smoke his pipe in the street a bit。
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Chapter 35
Esther’s Narrative
lay ill through several weeks； and the usual tenor of my life
became like an old remembrance。 But this was not the effect
I
of time； so much as of the change in all my habits； made by
the helplessness and inaction of a sick room。 Before I had been
confined to it many days； everything else seemed to have retired
into a remote distance； where there was little or no separation
between the various stages of my life which had been really
divided by years。 In falling ill； I seemed to have crossed a dark
lake； and to have left all my experiences； mingled together by the
great distance； on the healthy shore。
My housekeeping duties； though at first it caused me great
anxiety to think that they were unperformed； were soon as far off
as the oldest of the old duties at Greenleaf； or the summer
afternoons when I went home from school with my portfolio under
my arm； and my childish shadow at my side； to my godmother’s
house。 I had never known before how short life really was； and
into how small a space the mind could put it。
While I was very ill； the way in which these divisions of time
became confused with one another； distressed my mind
exceedingly。 At once a child； an elder girl； and the little woman I
had been so happy as； I was not only oppressed by cares and
difficulties adapted to each station； but by the great perplexity of
endlessly trying to reconcile them。 I suppose that few who have
not been in such a condition can quite understand what I mean； or
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what painful unrest arose from this source。
For the same reason I am almost afraid to hint at that time in
my disorder—it seemed one long night； but I believe there were
both nights and days in it—when I laboured up colossal staircases；
ever striving to reach the top； and ever turned； as I have seen a
