Лучшие романы Уилки Коллинза / The Best of Wilkie Collins. Уилки Коллинз

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СКАЧАТЬ glorious voice) thundered through the sacred edifice. I said to Rachel, when we came out, “Has it found its way to your heart, dear?” And she answered, “No; it has only made my head ache.” This might have been discouraging to some people; but, once embarked on a career of manifest usefulness, nothing discourages Me.

      We found Aunt Ablewhite and Mr. Bruff at luncheon. When Rachel declined eating anything, and gave as a reason for it that she was suffering from a headache, the lawyer’s cunning instantly saw, and seized, the chance that she had given him.

      “There is only one remedy for a headache,” said this horrible old man. “A walk, Miss Rachel, is the thing to cure you. I am entirely at your service, if you will honour me by accepting my arm.”

      “With the greatest pleasure. A walk is the very thing I was longing for.”

      “It’s past two,” I gently suggested. “And the afternoon service, Rachel, begins at three.”

      “How can you expect me to go to church again,” she asked, petulantly, “with such a headache as mine?”

      Mr. Bruff officiously opened the door for her. In another minute more they were both out of the house. I don’t know when I have felt the solemn duty of interfering so strongly as I felt it at that moment. But what was to be done? Nothing was to be done but to interfere at the first opportunity, later in the day.

      On my return from the afternoon service I found that they had just got back. One look at them told me that the lawyer had said what he wanted to say. I had never before seen Rachel so silent and so thoughtful. I had never before seen Mr. Bruff pay her such devoted attention, and look at her with such marked respect. He had (or pretended that he had) an engagement to dinner that day – and he took an early leave of us all; intending to go back to London by the first train the next morning.

      “Are you sure of your own resolution?” he said to Rachel at the door.

      “Quite sure,” she answered – and so they parted.

      The moment his back was turned, Rachel withdrew to her own room. She never appeared at dinner. Her maid (the person with the cap-ribbons) was sent down-stairs to announce that her headache had returned. I ran up to her and made all sorts of sisterly offers through the door. It was locked, and she kept it locked. Plenty of obstructive material to work on here! I felt greatly cheered and stimulated by her locking the door.

      When her cup of tea went up to her the next morning, I followed it in. I sat by her bedside and said a few earnest words. She listened with languid civility. I noticed my serious friend’s precious publications huddled together on a table in a corner. Had she chanced to look into them? – I asked. Yes – and they had not interested her. Would she allow me to read a few passages of the deepest interest, which had probably escaped her eye? No, not now – she had other things to think of. She gave these answers, with her attention apparently absorbed in folding and refolding the frilling on her nightgown. It was plainly necessary to rouse her by some reference to those worldly interests which she still had at heart.

      “Do you know, love,” I said, “I had an odd fancy, yesterday, about Mr. Bruff? I thought, when I saw you after your walk with him, that he had been telling you some bad news.”

      Her fingers dropped from the frilling of her nightgown, and her fierce black eyes flashed at me.

      “Quite the contrary!” she said. “It was news I was interested in hearing – and I am deeply indebted to Mr. Bruff for telling me of it.”

      “Yes?” I said, in a tone of gentle interest.

      Her fingers went back to the frilling, and she turned her head sullenly away from me. I had been met in this manner, in the course of plying the good work, hundreds of times. She merely stimulated me to try again. In my dauntless zeal for her welfare, I ran the great risk, and openly alluded to her marriage engagement.

      “News you were interested in hearing?” I repeated. “I suppose, my dear Rachel, that must be news of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite?”

      She started up in the bed, and turned deadly pale. It was evidently on the tip of her tongue to retort on me with the unbridled insolence of former times. She checked herself – laid her head back on the pillow – considered a minute – and then answered in these remarkable words:

      “I SHALL NEVER MARRY MR. GODFREY ABLEWHITE.”

      It was my turn to start at that.

      “What can you possibly mean?” I exclaimed. “The marriage is considered by the whole family as a settled thing!”

      “Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite is expected here to-day,” she said doggedly. “Wait till he comes – and you will see.”

      “But my dear Rachel —”

      She rang the bell at the head of her bed. The person with the cap-ribbons appeared.

      “Penelope! my bath.”

      Let me give her her due. In the state of my feelings at that moment, I do sincerely believe that she had hit on the only possible way of forcing me to leave the room.

      By the mere worldly mind my position towards Rachel might have been viewed as presenting difficulties of no ordinary kind. I had reckoned on leading her to higher things by means of a little earnest exhortation on the subject of her marriage. And now, if she was to be believed, no such event as her marriage was to take place at all. But ah, my friends! a working Christian of my experience (with an evangelising prospect before her) takes broader views than these. Supposing Rachel really broke off the marriage, on which the Ablewhites, father and son, counted as a settled thing, what would be the result? It could only end, if she held firm, in an exchanging of hard words and bitter accusations on both sides. And what would be the effect on Rachel when the stormy interview was over? A salutary moral depression would be the effect. Her pride would be exhausted, her stubbornness would be exhausted, by the resolute resistance which it was in her character to make under the circumstances. She would turn for sympathy to the nearest person who had sympathy to offer. And I was that nearest person – brimful of comfort, charged to overflowing with seasonable and reviving words. Never had the evangelising[82] prospect looked brighter, to my eyes, than it looked now.

      She came down to breakfast, but she ate nothing, and hardly uttered a word.

      After breakfast she wandered listlessly from room to room – then suddenly roused herself, and opened the piano. The music she selected to play was of the most scandalously profane sort, associated with performances on the stage which it curdles one’s blood to think of. It would have been premature to interfere with her at such a time as this. I privately ascertained the hour at which Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was expected, and then I escaped the music by leaving the house.

      Being out alone, I took the opportunity of calling upon my two resident friends. It was an indescribable luxury to find myself indulging in earnest conversation with serious persons. Infinitely encouraged and refreshed, I turned my steps back again to the house, in excellent time to await the arrival of our expected visitor. I entered the dining-room, always empty at that hour of the day, and found myself face to face with Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite!

      He made no attempt to fly the place. Quite the contrary. He advanced to meet me with the utmost eagerness.

      “Dear Miss Clack, I have been only waiting to see you! Chance set me free of my London engagements to-day sooner than I had expected, and I have got here, in consequence, earlier than my appointed time.”

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