bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第31节
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you know！”
As no one present takes any especial interest in Mr Guppy’s
dreams； the probability is not pursued。 But he still remains so
absorbed by the portrait； that he stands immoveable before it until
the young gardener has closed the shutters； when he comes out of
the room in a dazed state； that is an odd though a sufficient
substitute for interest； and follows into the succeeding rooms with
a confused stare； as if he were looking everywhere for Lady
Dedlock again。
He sees no more of her。 He sees her rooms； which are the last
shown； as being very elegant； and he looks out of the windows
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from which she looked out； not long ago； upon the weather that
bored her to death。 All things have an end—even houses that
people take infinite pains to see； and are tired of before they begin
to see them。 He has come to the end of the sight； and the fresh
village beauty to the end of her description； which is always this：
“The terrace below is much admired。 It is called； from an old
story in the family； The Ghost’s Walk？”
“No？” says Mr Guppy； greedily curious； “what’s the story；
miss？ Is it anything about a picture？”
“Pray tell us the story；” says Watt； in a half whisper。
“I don’t know it； sir。” Rosa is shyer than ever。
“It is not related to visitors； it is almost forgotten；” says the
housekeeper； advancing。 “It has never been more than a family
anecdote。”
“You’ll excuse my asking again if it has anything to do with a
picture； ma’am；” observes Mr Guppy； “because I do assure you
that the more I think of that picture the better I know it； without
knowing how I know it！”
The story has nothing to do with a picture； the housekeeper can
guarantee that。 Mr Guppy is obliged to her for the information；
and is moreover generally obliged。 He retires with his friend；
guided down another staircase by the young gardener； and
presently is heard to drive away。 It is now dusk。 Mrs Rouncewell
can trust to the discretion of her two young hearers； and may tell
them how the terrace came to have that ghostly name。 She seats
herself in a large chair by the fast…darkening window； and tells
them：
“In the wicked days； my dears； of King Charles the First—I
mean； of course； in the wicked days of the rebels who leagued
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themselves against that excellent King—Sir Morbury Dedlock was
the owner of Chesney Wold。 Whether there was any account of a
ghost in the family before those days； I can’t say。 I should think it
very likely indeed。”
Mrs Rouncewell holds this opinion； because she considers that
a family of such antiquity and importance has a right to a ghost。
She regards a ghost as one of the privileges of the upper classes； a
genteel distinction to which the common people have no claim。
“Sir Morbury Dedlock；” says Mrs Rouncewell； “was； I have no
occasion to say； on the side of the blessed martyr。 But is supposed
that his lady； who had none of the family blood in her veins；
favoured the bad cause。 It is said that she had relations among
King Charles’s enemies； that she was in correspondence with
them； and that she gave them information。 When any of the
country gentlemen who followed His Majesty’s cause met here； it
is said that my Lady was always nearer to the door of their
council…room than they supposed。 Do you hear a sound like a
footstep passing along the terrace； Watt？”
Rosa draws nearer to the housekeeper。
“I hear the rain drip on the stones；” replies the young man；
“and I hear a curious echo—I suppose an echo—which is very like
a halting step。”
The housekeeper gravely nods and continues：
“Partly on account of this division between them； and partly on
other accounts； Sir Morbury and his Lady led a troubled life。 She
was a lady of a haughty temper。 They were not well suited to each
other in age or character； and they had no children to moderate
between them。 After her favourite brother； a young gentleman；
was killed in the civil wars （by Sir Morbury’s near kinsman）； her
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feeling was so violent that she hated the race into which she had
married。 When the Dedlocks were about to ride out from Chesney
Wold in the King’s cause； she is supposed to have more than once
stolen down into the stables in the dead of night； and lamed their
horses； and the story is； that once； at such an hour； her husband
saw her gliding down the stairs； and followed her into the stall
where his own favourite horse stood。 There he seized her by the
wrist： and in a struggle or in a fall； or through the horse being
frightened and lashing out； she was lamed in the hip； and from
that hour began to pine away。”
The housekeeper has dropped her voice to little more than a
whisper。
“She had been a lady of a handsome figure and a noble
carriage。 She never complained of the change； she never spoke to
any one of being crippled； or of being in pain； but； day by day； she
tried to walk upon the terrace； and with the help of a stick； and
with the help of the stone balustrade； went up and down； up and
down； up and down； in sun and shadow； with greater difficulty
every day。 At last； one afternoon； her husband （to whom she had
never； on any persuasion； opened her lips since that night）；
standing at the great south window； saw her drop upon the
pavement。 He hastened down to raise her； but she repulsed him as
he bent over her； and looking at him fixedly and coldly； said ‘I will
die here where I have walked。 And I will walk here； though I am in
my grave。 I will walk here； until the pride of this house is humbled。
And when calamity； or when disgrace is coming to it； let the
Dedlocks listen for my step！’” Watt looks at Rosa。 Rosa in the
deepening gloom looks down upon the ground； half frightened and
half shy。
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“There and then she died。 And from those days；” says Mrs
Rouncewell； “the name has come down—The Ghost’s Walk。 If the
tread is an echo； it is an echo that is only heard after dark； and is
often unheard for a long while together。 But it comes back from
time to time； and so sure as there is sickness or death in the
family； it will be heard then。”
“—And disgrace； grandmother—” says Watt。
“Disgrace never comes to Chesney Wold；” returns the
housekeeper。
Her grandson apologises； with “True。 True。”
“That is the story。 Whatever the sound is； it is a worrying
sound；” said Mrs Rouncewell； getting up from her chair； “and
what is to be noticed in it； is； that it must be heard。 My lady； who is
afraid of nothing； admits that when it is there； it must be heard。
You cannot shut it out。 Watt； there is a tall French clock behind
you （placed there； ’a purpose） that has a loud beat when it is in
motion； and can play music。 You understand how those things are
managed？”
“Pretty well； grandmother； I think。”
“Set it a going。”
Watt sets it a…going—music and all。
“Now； come
