barnaby rudge(巴纳比·卢杰)-第146节
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whom he had unconsciously plunged in such bitter sorrow and
such deep affliction？ Oh； yes。 She was at the heart of all his
cheerful hopes and proud reflections。 It was she whom all this
honour and distinction were to gladden； the joy and profit were for
her。 What delight it gave her to hear of the bravery of her poor
boy！ Ah！ He would have known that； without Hugh’s telling him。
And what a precious thing it was to know she lived so happily； and
heard with so much pride （he pictured to himself her look when
they told her） that he was in such high esteem： bold among the
boldest； and trusted before them all！ And when these frays were
over； and the good lord had conquered his enemies； and they were
all at peace again； and he and she were rich； what happiness they
would have in talking of these troubled times when he was a great
soldier： and when they sat alone together in the tranquil twilight；
and she had no longer reason to be anxious for the morrow； what
pleasure would he have in the reflection that this was his doing—
his—poor foolish Barnaby’s； and in patting her on the cheek； and
saying with a merry laugh； ‘Am I silly now； mother—am I silly
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now？’
With a lighter heart and step； and eyes the brighter for the
happy tear that dimmed them for a moment； Barnaby resumed his
walk； and singing gaily to himself； kept guard upon his quiet post。
His comrade Grip； the partner of his watch； though fond of
basking in the sunshine； preferred to…day to walk about the stable；
having a great deal to do in the way of scattering the straw； hiding
under it such small articles as had been casually left about； and
haunting Hugh’s bed； to which he seemed to have taken a
particular attachment。 Sometimes Barnaby looked in and called
him； and then he came hopping out； but he merely did this as a
concession to his master’s weakness； and soon returned again to
his own grave pursuits： peering into the straw with his bill； and
rapidly covering up the place； as if； Midas…like； he were whispering
secrets to the earth and burying them； constantly busying himself
upon the sly； and affecting； whenever Barnaby came past； to look
up in the clouds and have nothing whatever on his mind： in short；
conducting himself； in many respects； in a more than usually
thoughtful； deep； and mysterious manner。
As the day crept on； Barnaby； who had no directions forbidding
him to eat and drink upon his post； but had been； on the contrary；
supplied with a bottle of beer and a basket of provisions；
determined to break his fast； which he had not done since
morning。 To this end； he sat down on the ground before the door；
and putting his staff across his knees in case of alarm or surprise；
summoned Grip to dinner。
This call； the bird obeyed with great alacrity； crying； as he
sidled up to his master； ‘I’m a devil； I’m a Polly； I’m a kettle； I’m a
Protestant； No Popery！’ Having learnt this latter sentiment from
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the gentry among whom he had lived of late； he delivered it with
uncommon emphasis。
‘Well said； Grip！’ cried his master； as he fed him with the
daintiest bits。 ‘Well said； old boy！’
‘Never say die； bow wow wow； keep up your spirits； Grip Grip
Grip； Holloa！ We’ll all have tea； I’m a Protestant kettle； No
Popery！’ cried the raven。
‘Gordon for ever； Grip！’ cried Barnaby。
The raven； placing his head upon the ground； looked at his
master sideways； as though he would have said； ‘Say that again！’
Perfectly understanding his desire； Barnaby repeated the phrase a
great many times。 The bird listened with profound attention；
sometimes repeating the popular cry in a low voice； as if to
compare the two； and try if it would at all help him to this new
accomplishment； sometimes flapping his wings； or barking； and
sometimes in a kind of desperation drawing a multitude of corks；
with extraordinary viciousness。
Barnaby was so intent upon his favourite； that he was not at
first aware of the approach of two persons on horseback； who were
riding at a foot…pace； and coming straight towards his post。 When
he perceived them； however； which he did when they were within
some fifty yards of him； he jumped hastily up； and ordering Grip
within doors； stood with both hands on his staff； waiting until he
should know whether they were friends or foes。
He had hardly done so； when he observed that those who
advanced were a gentleman and his servant； almost at the same
moment he recognised Lord George Gordon； before whom he
stood uncovered； with his eyes turned towards the ground。
‘Good day！’ said Lord George； not reining in his horse until he
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was close beside him。 ‘Well！’
‘All quiet； sir； all safe！’ cried Barnaby。 ‘The rest are away—they
went by that path—that one。 A grand party！’
‘Ay？’ said Lord George； looking thoughtfully at him。 ‘And you？’
‘Oh！ They left me here to watch—to mount guard—to keep
everything secure till they come back。 I’ll do it； sir； for your sake。
You’re a good gentleman； a kind gentleman—ay； you are。 There
are many against you； but we’ll be a match for them； never fear！’
‘What’s that？’ said Lord George—pointing to the raven who was
peeping out of the stable…door—but still looking thoughtfully； and
in some perplexity； it seemed； at Barnaby。
‘Why； don’t you know！’ retorted Barnaby； with a wondering
laugh。 ‘Not know what he is！ A bird； to be sure。 My bird—my
friend—Grip。’
‘A devil； a kettle； a Grip； a Polly； a Protestant； no Popery！’ cried
the raven。
‘Though； indeed；’ added Barnaby； laying his hand upon the
neck of Lord George’s horse； and speaking softly： ‘you had good
reason to ask me what he is； for sometimes it puzzles me—and I
am used to him—to think he’s only a bird。 He’s my brother； Grip
is—always with me—always talking—always merry—eh； Grip？’
The raven answered by an affectionate croak； and hopping on
his master’s arm； which he held downward for that purpose；
submitted with an air of perfect indifference to be fondled； and
turned his restless； curious eye； now upon Lord George； and now
upon his man。
Lord George； biting his nails in a discomfited manner； regarded
Barnaby for some time in silence； then beckoning to his servant；
said：
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‘Come hither； John。’
John Grueby touched his hat； and came。
‘Have you ever seen this young man before？’ his master asked
in a low voice。
‘Twice； my lord；’ said John。 ‘I saw him in the crowd last night
and Saturday。’
‘Did—did it seem to you that his manner was at all wild or
strange？’ Lord George demanded； faltering。
‘Mad；’ said John； with emphatic brevity。
‘And why do you think him mad； sir？’ said his master； speaking
in a peevish tone。 ‘Don’t use that word too freely。 Why do you
think him mad？’
‘My lord；’ John Grueby answered； ‘look at his dress； look at his
eyes； look at his restless way； hear him cry “No Popery！” Mad； my
lord。’
‘So because one man dresses unlike another；’ returned his
angry master； glancing at himself； ‘and happens to differ fro
