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简爱(英文版)-第105章

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ersons who saw me then for the first time; and who knew nothing about my character。 And as to the woman who would not take my handkerchief in exchange for her bread; why; she was right; if the offer appeared to her sinister or the exchange unprofitable。 Let me condense now。 I am sick of the subject。
A little before dark I passed a farm…house; at the open door of which the farmer was sitting; eating his supper of bread and cheese。 I stopped and said—
“Will you give me a piece of bread? for I am very hungry。” He cast on me a glance of surprise; but without answering; he cut a thick slice from his loaf; and gave it to me。 I imagine he did not think I was a beggar; but only an eccentric sort of lady; who had taken a fancy to his brown loaf。 As soon as I was out of sight of his house; I sat down and ate it。
I could not hope to get a lodging under a roof; and sought it in the wood I have before alluded to。 But my night was wretched; my rest broken: the ground was damp; the air cold: besides; intruders passed near me more than once; and I had again and again to change my quarters; no sense of safety or tranquillity befriended me。 Towards morning it rained; the whole of the following day was wet。 Do not ask me; reader; to give a minute account of that day; as before; I sought work; as before; I was repulsed; as before; I starved; but once did food pass my lips。 At the door of a cottage I saw a little girl about to throw a mess of cold porridge into a pig trough。 “Will you give me that?” I asked。
She stared at me。 “Mother!” she exclaimed; “there is a woman wants me to give her these porridge。”
“Well lass;” replied a voice within; “give it her if she’s a beggar。 T pig doesn’t want it。”
The girl emptied the stiffened mould into my hand; and I devoured it ravenously。
As the wet twilight deepened; I stopped in a solitary bridle…path; which I had been pursuing an hour or more。
“My strength is quite failing me;” I said in a soliloquy。 “I feel I cannot go much farther。 Shall I be an outcast again this night? While the rain descends so; must I lay my head on the cold; drenched ground? I fear I cannot do otherwise: for who will receive me? But it will be very dreadful; with this feeling of hunger; faintness; chill; and this sense of desolation—this total prostration of hope。 In all likelihood; though; I should die before morning。 And why cannot I reconcile myself to the prospect of death? Why do I struggle to retain a valueless life? Because I know; or believe; Mr。 Rochester is living: and then; to die of want and cold is a fate to which nature cannot submit passively。 Oh; Providence! sustain me a little longer! Aid!—direct me!”
My glazed eye wandered over the dim and misty landscape。 I saw I had strayed far from the village: it was quite out of sight。 The very cultivation surrounding it had disappeared。 I had; by cross… ways and by…paths; once more drawn near the tract of moorland; and now; only a few fields; almost as wild and unproductive as the heath from which they were scarcely reclaimed; lay between me and the dusky hill。
“Well; I would rather die yonder than in a street or on a frequented road;” I reflected。 “And far better that crows and ravens—if any ravens there be in these regions—should pick my flesh from my bones; than that they should be prisoned in a workhouse coffin and moulder in a pauper’s grave。”
To the hill; then; I turned。 I reached it。 It remained now only to find a hollow where I could lie down; and feel at least hidden; if not secure。 But all the surface of the waste looked level。 It showed no variation but of tint: green; where rush and moss overgrew the marshes; black; where the dry soil bore only heath。 Dark as it was getting; I could still see these changes; though but as mere alternations of light and shade; for colour had faded with the daylight。
My eye still roved over the sullen swell and along the moor…edge; vanishing amidst the wildest scenery; when at one dim point; far in among the marshes and the ridges; a light sprang up。 “That is an ignis fatuus;” was my first thought; and I expected it would soon vanish。 It burnt on; however; quite steadily; neither receding nor advancing。 “Is it; then; a bonfire just kindled?” I questioned。 I watched to see whether it would spread: but no; as it did not diminish; so it did not enlarge。 “It may be a candle in a house;” I then conjectured; “but if so; I can never reach it。 It is much too far away: and were it within a yard of me; what would it avail? I should but knock at the door to have it shut in my face。”
And I sank down where I stood; and hid my face against the ground。 I lay still a while: the night…wind swept over the hill and over me; and died moaning in the distance; the rain fell fast; wetting me afresh to the skin。 Could I but have stiffened to the still frost— the friendly numbness of death—it might have pelted on; I should not have felt it; but my yet living flesh shuddered at its chilling influence。 I rose ere long。
The light was yet there; shining dim but constant through the rain。 I tried to walk again: I dragged my exhausted limbs slowly towards it。 It led me aslant over the hill; through a wide bog; which would have been impassable in winter; and was splashy and shaking even now; in the height of summer。 Here I fell twice; but as often I rose and rallied my faculties。 This light was my forlorn hope: I must gain it。
Having crossed the marsh; I saw a trace of white over the moor。 I approached it; it was a road or a track: it led straight up to the light; which now beamed from a sort of knoll; amidst a clump of trees—firs; apparently; from what I could distinguish of the character of their forms and foliage through the gloom。 My star vanished as I drew near: some obstacle had intervened between me and it。 I put out my hand to feel the dark mass before me: I discriminated the rough stones of a low wall—above it; something like palisades; and within; a high and prickly hedge。 I groped on。 Again a whitish object gleamed before me: it was a gate—a wicket; it moved on its hinges as I touched it。 On each side stood a sable bush…holly or yew。
Entering the gate and passing the shrubs; the silhouette of a house rose to view; black; low; and rather long; but the guiding light shone nowhere。 All was obscurity。 Were the inmates retired to rest? I feared it must be so。 In seeking the door; I turned an angle: there shot out the friendly gleam again; from the lozenged panes of a very small latticed window; within a foot of the ground; made still smaller by the growth of ivy or some other creeping plant; whose leaves clustered thick over the portion of the house wall in which it was set。 The aperture was so screened and narrow; that curtain or shutter had been deemed unnecessary; and when I stooped down and put aside the spray of foliage shooting over it; I could see all within。 I could see clearly a room with a sanded floor; clean scoured; a dresser of walnut; with pewter plates ranged in rows; reflecting the redness and radiance of a glowing peat…fire。 I could see a clock; a white deal table; some chairs。 The candle; whose ray had been my beacon; burnt on the table; and by its light an elderly woman; somewhat rough…loo
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