The Mystery of Edwin Drood. Чарльз Диккенс

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СКАЧАТЬ be my guardian? I’ll tell you, sir. I suppose you know that we come (my sister and I) from Ceylon?’

      ‘Indeed, no.’

      ‘I wonder at that. We lived with a stepfather there. Our mother died there, when we were little children. We have had a wretched existence. She made him our guardian, and he was a miserly wretch who grudged us food to eat, and clothes to wear. At his death, he passed us over to this man; for no better reason that I know of, than his being a friend or connexion of his, whose name was always in print and catching his attention.’

      ‘That was lately, I suppose?’

      ‘Quite lately, sir. This stepfather of ours was a cruel brute as well as a grinding one. It is well he died when he did, or I might have killed him.’

      Mr. Crisparkle stopped short in the moonlight and looked at his hopeful pupil in consternation.

      ‘I surprise you, sir?’ he said, with a quick change to a submissive manner.

      ‘You shock me; unspeakably shock me.’

      The pupil hung his head for a little while, as they walked on, and then said: ‘You never saw him beat your sister. I have seen him beat mine, more than once or twice, and I never forgot it.’

      ‘Nothing,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, ‘not even a beloved and beautiful sister’s tears under dastardly ill-usage;’ he became less severe, in spite of himself, as his indignation rose; ‘could justify those horrible expressions that you used.’

      ‘I am sorry I used them, and especially to you, sir. I beg to recall them. But permit me to set you right on one point. You spoke of my sister’s tears. My sister would have let him tear her to pieces, before she would have let him believe that he could make her shed a tear.’

      Mr. Crisparkle reviewed those mental notes of his, and was neither at all surprised to hear it, nor at all disposed to question it.

      ‘Perhaps you will think it strange, sir,’—this was said in a hesitating voice—‘that I should so soon ask you to allow me to confide in you, and to have the kindness to hear a word or two from me in my defence?’

      ‘Defence?’ Mr. Crisparkle repeated. ‘You are not on your defence, Mr. Neville.’

      ‘I think I am, sir. At least I know I should be, if you were better acquainted with my character.’

      ‘Well, Mr. Neville,’ was the rejoinder. ‘What if you leave me to find it out?’

      ‘Since it is your pleasure, sir,’ answered the young man, with a quick change in his manner to sullen disappointment: ‘since it is your pleasure to check me in my impulse, I must submit.’

      There was that in the tone of this short speech which made the conscientious man to whom it was addressed uneasy. It hinted to him that he might, without meaning it, turn aside a trustfulness beneficial to a mis-shapen young mind and perhaps to his own power of directing and improving it. They were within sight of the lights in his windows, and he stopped.

      ‘Let us turn back and take a turn or two up and down, Mr. Neville, or you may not have time to finish what you wish to say to me. You are hasty in thinking that I mean to check you. Quite the contrary. I invite your confidence.’

      ‘You have invited it, sir, without knowing it, ever since I came here. I say “ever since,” as if I had been here a week. The truth is, we came here (my sister and I) to quarrel with you, and affront you, and break away again.’

      ‘Really?’ said Mr. Crisparkle, at a dead loss for anything else to say.

      ‘You see, we could not know what you were beforehand, sir; could we?’

      ‘Clearly not,’ said Mr. Crisparkle.

      ‘And having liked no one else with whom we have ever been brought into contact, we had made up our minds not to like you.’

      ‘Really?’ said Mr. Crisparkle again.

      ‘But we do like you, sir, and we see an unmistakable difference between your house and your reception of us, and anything else we have ever known. This—and my happening to be alone with you—and everything around us seeming so quiet and peaceful after Mr. Honeythunder’s departure—and Cloisterham being so old and grave and beautiful, with the moon shining on it—these things inclined me to open my heart.’

      ‘I quite understand, Mr. Neville. And it is salutary to listen to such influences.’

      ‘In describing my own imperfections, sir, I must ask you not to suppose that I am describing my sister’s. She has come out of the disadvantages of our miserable life, as much better than I am, as that Cathedral tower is higher than those chimneys.’

      Mr. Crisparkle in his own breast was not so sure of this.

      ‘I have had, sir, from my earliest remembrance, to suppress a deadly and bitter hatred. This has made me secret and revengeful. I have been always tyrannically held down by the strong hand. This has driven me, in my weakness, to the resource of being false and mean. I have been stinted of education, liberty, money, dress, the very necessaries of life, the commonest pleasures of childhood, the commonest possessions of youth. This has caused me to be utterly wanting in I don’t know what emotions, or remembrances, or good instincts—I have not even a name for the thing, you see!—that you have had to work upon in other young men to whom you have been accustomed.’

      ‘This is evidently true. But this is not encouraging,’ thought Mr. Crisparkle as they turned again.

      ‘And to finish with, sir: I have been brought up among abject and servile dependents, of an inferior race, and I may easily have contracted some affinity with them. Sometimes, I don’t know but that it may be a drop of what is tigerish in their blood.’

      ‘As in the case of that remark just now,’ thought Mr. Crisparkle.

      ‘In a last word of reference to my sister, sir (we are twin children), you ought to know, to her honour, that nothing in our misery ever subdued her, though it often cowed me. When we ran away from it (we ran away four times in six years, to be soon brought back and cruelly punished), the flight was always of her planning and leading. Each time she dressed as a boy, and showed the daring of a man. I take it we were seven years old when we first decamped; but I remember, when I lost the pocket-knife with which she was to have cut her hair short, how desperately she tried to tear it out, or bite it off. I have nothing further to say, sir, except that I hope you will bear with me and make allowance for me.’

      ‘Of that, Mr. Neville, you may be sure,’ returned the Minor Canon. ‘I don’t preach more than I can help, and I will not repay your confidence with a sermon. But I entreat you to bear in mind, very seriously and steadily, that if I am to do you any good, it can only be with your own assistance; and that you can only render that, efficiently, by seeking aid from Heaven.’

      ‘I will try to do my part, sir.’

      ‘And, Mr. Neville, I will try to do mine. Here is my hand on it. May God bless our endeavours!’

      They were now standing at his house-door, and a cheerful sound of voices and laughter was heard within.

      ‘We will СКАЧАТЬ