the more i knew of the 1 of 2 house, the better i liked them. in a few days i had so far recovered my health that i could sit up all day, and walk out sometimes. i could join with diana and mary in all their occupations; 3 with them as much as they wished, and aid them when and where they would allow me. there was a reviving pleasure in this 4, of a kind now tasted by me for the first time-the pleasure arising from perfect congeniality of tastes, sentiments, and principles.
i liked to read what they liked to read: what they enjoyed, delighted me; what they approved, i 5. they loved their 6 home. i, too, in the grey, small, antique structure, with its low roof, its latticed 7, its 8 walls, its avenue of 9 firs--all grown 10 under the stress of mountain winds; its garden, dark with 11 and holly--and where no flowers but of the 12 species would bloom--found a charm both 13 and permanent. they clung to the purple 14 behind and around their dwelling--to the hollow vale into which the 15 bridle-path leading from their gate 16, and which wound between fern- banks first, and then amongst a few of the wildest little pasture- fields that ever bordered a 17 of heath, or gave 18 to a flock of grey moorland sheep, with their little mossy-faced lambs:- they clung to this scene, i say, with a perfect enthusiasm of 20. i could comprehend the feeling, and share both its strength and truth. i saw the 21 of the locality. i felt the 22 of its loneliness: my eye feasted on the outline of 23 and sweep--on the wild colouring communicated to 24 and dell by 19, by heath-bell, by flower-sprinkled turf, by brilliant bracken, and 25 26 crag. these details were just to me what they were to them--so many pure and sweet sources of pleasure. the strong blast and the soft breeze; the rough and the 27 day; the hours of sunrise and sunset; the moonlight and the clouded night, developed for me, in these regions, the same attraction as for them--wound round my 28 the same spell that entranced theirs.
indoors we agreed equally well. they were both more 29 and better read than i was; but with eagerness i followed in the path of knowledge they had trodden before me. i 30 the books they lent me: then it was full satisfaction to discuss with them in the evening what i had 31 during the day. thought fitted thought; opinion met opinion: we coincided, in short, 32.
if in our trio there was a superior and a leader, it was diana. 33, she far excelled me: she was handsome; she was vigorous. in her animal spirits there was an 34 of life and certainty of flow, such as excited my wonder, while it baffled my comprehension. i could talk a while when the evening commenced, but the first 35 of 36 and 37 gone, i was fain to sit on a stool at diana's feet, to rest my head on her knee, and listen alternately to her and mary, while they sounded 38 the topic on which i had but touched. diana offered to teach me german. i liked to learn of her: i saw the part of instructress pleased and suited her; that of scholar pleased and suited me no less. our natures dovetailed: 39 affection--of the strongest kind--was the result. they discovered i could draw: their pencils and colour-boxes were immediately at my service. my skill, greater in this one point than theirs, surprised and charmed them. mary would sit and watch me by the hour together: then she would take lessons; and a 40, intelligent, assiduous pupil she made. thus occupied, and mutually entertained, days passed like hours, and weeks like days.
as to mr. st john, the 41 which had arisen so naturally and rapidly between me and his sisters did not extend to him. one reason of the distance yet observed between us was, that he was comparatively seldom at home: a large proportion of his time appeared 42 to visiting the sick and poor among the 43 population of his parish.
no weather seemed to hinder him in these pastoral excursions: rain or fair, he would, when his hours of morning study were over, take his hat, and, followed by his father's old pointer, carlo, go out on his mission of love or duty--i scarcely know in which light he regarded it. sometimes, when the day was very unfavourable, his sisters would expostulate. he would then say, with a 44 smile, more solemn than cheerful -
"and if i let a 45 of wind or a sprinkling of rain turn me aside from these easy tasks, what preparation would such 46 be for the future i propose to myself?"
diana and mary's general answer to this question was a sigh, and some minutes of 47 mournful 48.
but besides his frequent absences, there was another barrier to friendship with him: he seemed of a reserved, an abstracted, and even of a brooding nature. 50 in his ministerial labours, blameless in his life and habits, he yet did not appear to enjoy that mental 52, that inward content, which should bet he reward of every sincere 53 and practical philanthropist. often, of an evening, when he sat at the window, his desk and papers before him, he would cease reading or writing, rest his chin on his hand, and deliver himself up to i know not what course of thought; but that it was 54 and exciting might be seen in the frequent flash and changeful 55 of his eye.
i think, moreover, that nature was not to him that 56 of delight it was to his sisters. he expressed once, and but once in my hearing, a strong sense of the 57 charm of the hills, and an 58 affection for the dark roof and 59 walls he called his home; but there was more of gloom than pleasure in the tone and words in which the sentiment was manifested; and never did he seem to roam the moors for the sake of their 60 silence--never seek out or dwell upon the thousand peaceful delights they could yield.
incommunicative as he was, some time elapsed before i had an opportunity of 61 his mind. i first got an idea of its calibre when i heard him preach in his own church at morton. i wish i could describe that sermon: but it is past my power. i cannot even render faithfully the effect it produced on me.
it began calm--and indeed, as far as delivery and pitch of voice went, it was calm to the end: an earnestly felt, yet 62 restrained 49 breathed soon in the distinct accents, and prompted the nervous language. this grew to force--compressed, condensed, controlled. the heart was thrilled, the mind astonished, by the power of the preacher: neither were 63. throughout there was a strange bitterness; an absence of 64 gentleness; stern 65 to calvinistic doctrines--election, predestination, reprobation--were frequent; and each reference to these points sounded like a sentence pronounced for 66. when he had done, instead of feeling better, calmer, more enlightened by his 67, i experienced an inexpressible sadness; for it seemed to me--i know not whether equally so to others--that the 68 to which i had been listening had sprung from a depth where lay 69 dregs of disappointment--where moved troubling impulses of insatiate yearnings and 70 71. i was sure st. john rivers-- pure-lived, 72, zealous as he was--had not yet found that peace of god which passeth all understanding: he had no more found it, i thought, than had i with my 74 and racking regrets for my broken 75 and lost elysium--regrets to which i have latterly avoided referring, but which 76 me and tyrannised over me ruthlessly.
meantime a month was gone. diana and mary were soon to leave moor house, and return to the far different life and scene which awaited them, as governesses in a large, fashionable, south-of-england city, where each held a situation in families by whose wealthy and 77 members they were regarded only as 78 79, and who neither knew nor sought out their 80 81, and appreciated only their acquired 82 as they appreciated the skill of their cook or the taste of their waiting-woman. mr. st. john had said nothing to me yet about the employment he had promised to obtain for me; yet it became urgent that i should have a 83 of some kind. one morning, being left alone with him a few minutes in the parlour, i ventured to approach the window-recess-- which his table, chair, and desk 84 as a kind of study--and i was going to speak, though not very well knowing in what words to frame my inquiry--for it is at all times difficult to break the ice of reserve glassing over such natures as his--when he saved me the trouble by being the first to commence a dialogue.
looking up as i drew near--"you have a question to ask of me?" he said.
"yes; i wish to know whether you have heard of any service i can offer myself to undertake?"
"i found or devised something for you three weeks ago; but as you seemed both useful and happy here--as my sisters had evidently become attached to you, and your society gave them unusual pleasure- -i deemed it inexpedient to break in on your mutual comfort till their approaching departure from 85 end should render yours necessary."
"and they will go in three days now?" i said.
"yes; and when they go, i shall return to the parsonage at morton: hannah will accompany me; and this old house will be shut up."
i waited a few moments, expecting he would go on with the subject first 86: but he seemed to have entered another train of reflection: his look denoted abstraction from me and my business. i was obliged to recall him to a theme which was of necessity one of close and anxious interest to me.
"what is the employment you had in view, mr. rivers? i hope this delay will not have increased the difficulty of securing it."
"oh, no; since it is in employment which depends only on me to give, and you to accept."
he again paused: there seemed a 87 to continue. i grew impatient: a restless movement or two, and an eager and 88 glance fastened on his face, conveyed the feeling to him as effectually as words could have done, and with less trouble.
"you need be in no hurry to hear," he said: "let me 89 tell you, i have nothing 90 or profitable to suggest. before i explain, recall, if you please, my notice, clearly given, that if i helped you, it must be as the blind man would help the 51. i am poor; for i find that, when i have paid my father's debts, all the 91 remaining to me will be this 92 grange, the row of 93 firs behind, and the patch of 94 soil, with the yew- trees and holly-bushes in front. i am obscure: rivers is an old name; but of the three sole descendants of the race, two earn the dependant's crust among strangers, and the third considers himself an alien from his native country--not only for life, but in death. yes, and deems, and is bound to deem, himself honoured by the lot, and 95 but after the day when the cross of separation from fleshly ties shall be laid on his shoulders, and when the head of that church-militant of whose humblest members he is one, shall give the word, 'rise, follow me!'"
st. john said these words as he pronounced his sermons, with a quiet, deep voice; with an unflushed cheek, and a 96 radiance of glance. he resumed -
"and since i am myself poor and obscure, i can offer you but a service of poverty and obscurity. you may even think it degrading-- for i see now your habits have been what the world calls refined: your tastes lean to the ideal, and your society has at least been amongst the educated; but i consider that no service degrades which can better our race. i hold that the more 97 and unreclaimed the soil where the christian labourer's task of tillage is appointed him--the 98 the meed his 99 brings--the higher the honour. his, under such circumstances, is the destiny of the pioneer; and the first pioneers of the gospel were the apostles--their captain was jesus, the redeemer, himself."
"well?" i said, as he again paused--"proceed."
he looked at me before he proceeded: indeed, he seemed 100 to read my face, as if its features and lines were characters on a page. the conclusions 101 from this 102 he 103 expressed in his succeeding observations.
"i believe you will accept the post i offer you," said he, "and hold it for a while: not 104, though: any more than i could permanently keep the narrow and narrowing--the 105, hidden office of english country 106; for in your nature is an 108 as 109 to 110 as that in mine, though of a different kind."
"do explain," i urged, when he halted once more.
"i will; and you shall hear how poor the proposal is,--how trivial-- how 111. i shall not stay long at morton, now that my father is dead, and that i am my own master. i shall leave the place probably in the course of a twelve-month; but while i do stay, i will exert myself to the utmost for its improvement. morton, when i came to it two years ago, had no school: the children of the poor were excluded from every hope of progress. i established one for boys: i mean now to open a second school for girls. i have hired a building for the purpose, with a cottage of two rooms attached to it for the mistress's house. her salary will be thirty pounds a year: her house is already furnished, very simply, but 112, by the kindness of a lady, miss oliver; the only daughter of the sole rich man in my parish--mr. oliver, the 113 of a needle- factory and iron-foundry in the valley. the same lady pays for the education and clothing of an 114 from the workhouse, on condition that she shall aid the mistress in such menial offices connected with her own house and the school as her occupation of teaching will prevent her having time to discharge in person. will you be this mistress?"
he put the question rather hurriedly; he seemed half to expect an indignant, or at least a disdainful 115 of the offer: not knowing all my thoughts and feelings, though guessing some, he could not tell in what light the lot would appear to me. in truth it was humble--but then it was sheltered, and i wanted a safe 116: it was plodding--but then, compared with that of a governess in a rich house, it was independent; and the fear of servitude with strangers entered my soul like iron: it was not ignoble--not unworthy--not mentally degrading, i made my decision.
"i thank you for the proposal, mr. rivers, and i accept it with all my heart."
"but you comprehend me?" he said. "it is a village school: your scholars will be only poor girls--cottagers' children--at the best, farmers' daughters. knitting, sewing, reading, writing, ciphering, will be all you will have to teach. what will you do with your accomplishments? what, with the largest portion of your mind-- sentiments--tastes?"
"save them till they are wanted. they will keep."
"you know what you undertake, then?"
"i do."
he now smiled: and not a bitter or a sad smile, but one well pleased and deeply gratified.
"and when will you commence the exercise of your function?"
"i will go to my house to-morrow, and open the school, if you like, next week."
"very well: so be it."
he rose and walked through the room. 73 still, he again looked at me. he shook his head.
"what do you 117 of, mr. rivers?" i asked.
"you will not stay at morton long: no, no!"
"why? what is your reason for saying so?"
"i read it in your eye; it is not of that description which promises the maintenance of an even 118 in life."
"i am not ambitious."
he started at the word "ambitious." he repeated, "no. what made you think of ambition? who is ambitious? i know i am: but how did you find it out?"
"i was speaking of myself."
"well, if you are not ambitious, you are--" he paused.
"what?"
"i was going to say, impassioned: but perhaps you would have misunderstood the word, and been 119. i mean, that human affections and sympathies have a most powerful hold on you. i am sure you cannot long be content to pass your leisure in 120, and to devote your working hours to a 121 labour wholly void of 122: any more than i can be content," he added, with emphasis, "to live here buried in 123, pent in with mountains--my nature, that god gave me, 124; my faculties, heaven- 126, paralysed--made useless. you hear now how i contradict myself. i, who preached contentment with a humble lot, and 127 the vocation even of hewers of wood and drawers of water in god's service--i, his 128 minister, almost 125 in my restlessness. well, 129 and principles must be reconciled by some means."
he left the room. in this brief hour i had learnt more of him than in the whole previous month: yet still he puzzled me.
diana and mary rivers became more sad and silent as the day approached for leaving their brother and their home. they both tried to appear as usual; bat the sorrow they had to struggle against was one that could not be 130 conquered or concealed. diana intimated that this would be a different parting from any they had ever yet known. it would probably, as far as st. john was concerned, be a parting for years: it might be a parting for life.
"he will sacrifice all to his long-framed resolves," she said: "natural affection and feelings more potent still. st. john looks quiet, jane; but he hides a fever in his vitals. you would think him gentle, yet in some things he is inexorable as death; and the worst of it is, my conscience will hardly permit me to 131 him from his severe decision: certainly, i cannot for a moment blame him for it. it is right, noble, christian: yet it breaks my heart!" and the tears 132 to her fine eyes. mary 107 her head low over her work.
"we are now without father: we shall soon be without home and brother," she murmured,
at that moment a little accident supervened, which seemed decreed by fate purposely to prove the truth of the 133, that "misfortunes never come singly," and to add to their 134 the 135 one of the slip between the cup and the lip. st. john passed the window reading a letter. he entered.
"our uncle john is dead," said he.
both the sisters seemed struck: not shocked or 136; the tidings appeared in their eyes rather 137 than 138.
"dead?" repeated diana.
"yes."
she 139 a searching gaze on her brother's face. "and what then?" she demanded, in a low voice.
"what then, die?" he replied, maintaining a marble immobility of feature. "what then? why--nothing. read."
he threw the letter into her lap. she glanced over it, and handed it to mary. mary perused it in silence, and returned it to her brother. all three looked at each other, and all three smiled--a 140, 141 smile enough.
"amen! we can yet live," said diana at last.
"at any rate, it makes us no worse off than we were before," remarked mary.
"only it forces rather strongly on the mind the picture of what might have been," said mr. rivers, "and contrasts it somewhat too 142 with what is."
he folded the letter, locked it in his desk, and again went out.
for some minutes no one 143. diana then turned to me.
"jane, you will wonder at us and our mysteries," she said, "and think us hard-hearted beings not to be more moved at the death of so near a relation as an uncle; but we have never seen him or known him. he was my mother's brother. my father and he quarrelled long ago. it was by his advice that my father risked most of his property in the 144 that ruined him. mutual recrimination passed between them: they parted in anger, and were never reconciled. my uncle engaged afterwards in more prosperous 145: it appears he realised a fortune of twenty thousand pounds. he was never married, and had no near kindred but ourselves and one other person, not more closely related than we. my father always cherished the idea that he would 146 for his error by leaving his possessions to us; that letter informs us that he has bequeathed every penny to the other relation, with the exception of thirty guineas, to be divided between st. john, diana, and mary rivers, for the purchase of three mourning rings. he had a right, of course, to do as he pleased: and yet a 147 damp is cast on the spirits by the receipt of such news. mary and i would have 148 ourselves rich with a thousand pounds each; and to st. john such a sum would have been valuable, for the good it would have enabled him to do."
this explanation given, the subject was dropped, and no further reference made to it by either mr. rivers or his sisters. the next day i left marsh end for morton. the day after, diana and mary quitted it for distant b-. in a week, mr. rivers and hannah repaired to the parsonage: and so the old grange was abandoned.
收听单词发音 
