'Whoever you may be, Sir,' answered Harriet, raising her eyes to his face, 'I am deeply grateful to you. I feel certain that in all you say, you have no object in the world but kindness to us. But years have passed since we began this life; and to take from my brother any part of what has so endeared him to me, and so proved his better resolution - any fragment of the merit of his unassisted, obscure, and forgotten reparation - would be to diminish the comfort it will be to him and me, when that time comes to each of us, of which you spoke just now. I thank you better with these tears than any words. Believe it, pray.
The gentleman was moved, and put the hand she held out, to his lips, much as a tender father might kiss the hand of a dutiful child. But more reverently.
'If the day should ever come, said Harriet, 'when he is restored, in part, to the position he lost - '
'Restored!' cried the gentleman, quickly. 'How can that be hoped for? In whose hands does the power of any restoration lie? It is no mistake of mine, surely, to suppose that his having gained the priceless blessing of his life, is one cause of the animosity shown to him by his brother.'
'You touch upon a subject that is never breathed between us; not even between us,' said Harriet.
'I beg your forgiveness,' said the visitor. 'I should have known it. I entreat you to forget that I have done so, inadvertently. And now, as I dare urge no more - as I am not sure that I have a right to do so - though Heaven knows, even that doubt may be habit,' said the gentleman, rubbing his head, as despondently as before, 'let me; though a stranger, yet no stranger; ask two favours.'
'What are they?' she inquired.
'The first, that if you should see cause to change your resolution, you will suffer me to be as your right hand. My name shall then be at your service; it is useless now, and always insignificant.'
'Our choice of friends,' she answered, smiling faintly, 'is not so great, that I need any time for consideration. I can promise that.'
'The second, that you will allow me sometimes, say every Monday morning, at nine o'clock - habit again - I must be businesslike,' said the gentleman, with a whimsical inclination to quarrel with himself on that head, 'in walking past, to see you at the door or window. I don't ask to come in, as your brother will be gone out at that hour. I don't ask to speak to you. I merely ask to see, for the satisfaction of my own mind, that you are well, and without intrusion to remind you, by the sight of me, that you have a friend - an elderly friend, grey-haired already, and fast growing greyer - whom you may ever command.'
The cordial face looked up in his; confided in it; and promised.
'I understand, as before,' said the gentleman, rising, 'that you purpose not to mention my visit to John Carker, lest he should be at all distressed by my acquaintance with his history. I am glad of it, for it is out of the ordinary course of things, and - habit again!' said the gentleman, checking himself impatiently, 'as if there were no better course than the ordinary course!'
With that he turned to go, and walking, bareheaded, to the outside of the little porch, took leave of her with such a happy mixture of unconstrained respect and unaffected interest, as no breeding could have taught, no truth mistrusted, and nothing but a pure and single heart expressed.
Many half-forgotten emotions were awakened in the sister's mind by this visit. It was so very long since any other visitor had crossed their threshold; it was so very long since any voice of apathy had made sad music in her ears; that the stranger's figure remained present to her, hours afterwards, when she sat at the window, plying her needle; and his words seemed newly spoken, again and again. He had touched the spring that opened her whole life; and if she lost him for a short space, it was only among the many shapes of the one great recollection of which that life was made.
Musing and working by turns; now constraining herself to be steady at her needle for a long time together, and now letting her work fall, unregarded, on her lap, and straying wheresoever her busier thoughts led, Harriet Carker found the hours glide by her, and the day steal on. The morning, which had been bright and clear, gradually became overcast; a sharp wind set in; the rain fell heavily; and a dark mist drooping over the distant town, hid it from the view.
She often looked with compassion, at such a time, upon the stragglers who came wandering into London, by the great highway hard by, and who, footsore and weary, and gazing fearfully at the huge town before them, as if foreboding that their misery there would be but as a drop of water in the sea, or as a grain of sea-sand on the shore, went shrinking on, cowering before the angry weather, and looking as if the very elements rejected them. Day after day, such travellers crept past, but always, as she thought, In one direction - always towards the town. Swallowed up in one phase or other of its immensity, towards which they seemed impelled by a desperate fascination, they never returned. Food for the hospitals, the churchyards, the prisons, the river, fever, madness, vice, and death, - they passed on to the monster, roaring in the distance, and were lost.
The chill wind was howling, and the rain was falling, and the day was darkening moodily, when Harriet, raising her eyes from the work on which she had long since been engaged with unremitting constancy, saw one of these travellers approaching.
A woman. A solitary woman of some thirty years of age; tall; well-formed; handsome; miserably dressed; the soil of many country roads in varied weather - dust, chalk, clay, gravel - clotted on her grey cloak by the streaming wet; no bonnet on her head, nothing to defend her rich black hair from the rain, but a torn handkerchief; with the fluttering ends of which, and with her hair, the wind blinded her so that she often stopped to push them back, and look upon the way she was going.
She was in the act of doing so, when Harriet observed her. As her hands, parting on her sunburnt forehead, swept across her face, and threw aside the hindrances that encroached upon it, there was a reckless and regardless beauty in it: a dauntless and depraved indifference to more than weather: a carelessness of what was cast upon her bare head from Heaven or earth: that, coupled with her misery and loneliness, touched the heart of her fellow-woman. She thought of all that was perverted and debased within her, no less than without: of modest graces of the mind, hardened and steeled, like these attractions of the person; of the many gifts of the Creator flung to the winds like the wild hair; of all the beautiful ruin upon which the storm was beating and the night was coming.
Thinking of this, she did not turn away with a delicate indignation - too many of her own compassionate and tender sex too often do - but pitied her.
Her fallen sister came on, looking far before her, trying with her eager eyes to pierce the mist in which the city was enshrouded, and glancing, now and then, from side to side, with the bewildered - and uncertain aspect of a stranger. Though her tread was bold and courageous, she was fatigued, and after a moment of irresolution, - sat down upon a heap of stones; seeking no shelter from the rain, but letting it rain on her as it would.
She was now opposite the house; raising her head after resting it for a moment on both hands, her eyes met those of Harriet.
In a moment, Harriet was at the door; and the other, rising from her seat at her beck, came slowly, and with no conciliatory look, towards her.
'Why do you rest in the rain?' said Harriet, gently.
'Because I have no other resting-place,' was the reply.
'But there are many places of shelter near here. This,' referring to the little porch, 'is better than where you were. You are very welcome to rest here.'
The wanderer looked at her, in doubt and surprise, but without any expression of thankfulness; and sitting down, and taking off one of her worn shoes to beat out the fragments of stone and dust that were inside, showed that her foot was cut and bleeding.
Harriet uttering an expression of pity, the traveller looked up with a contemptuous and incredulous smile.
'Why, what's a torn foot to such as me?' she said. 'And what's a torn foot in such as me, to such as you?'
'Come in and wash it,' answered Harriet, mildly, 'and let me give you something to bind it up.'
The woman caught her arm, and drawing it before her own eyes, hid them against it, and wept. Not like a woman, but like a stern man surprised into that weakness; with a violent heaving of her breast, and struggle for recovery, that showed how unusual the emotion was with her.
She submitted to be led into the house, and, evidently more in gratitude than in any care for herself, washed and bound the injured place. Harriet then put before her fragments of her own frugal dinner, and when she had eaten of them, though sparingly, besought her, before resuming her road (which she showed her anxiety to do), to dry her clothes before the fire. Again, more in gratitude than with any evidence of concern in her own behalf, she sat down in front of it, and unbinding the handkerchief about her head, and letting her thick wet hair fall down below her waist, sat drying it with the palms of her hands, and looking at the blaze.
'I daresay you are thinking,' she said, lifting her head suddenly, 'that I used to be handsome, once. I believe I was - I know I was - Look here!' She held up her hair roughly with both hands; seizing it as if she would have torn it out; then, threw it down again, and flung it back as though it were a heap of serpents.
'Are you a stranger in this place?' asked Harriet.
'A stranger!' she returned, stopping between each short reply, and looking at the fire. 'Yes. Ten or a dozen years a stranger. I have had no almanack where I have been. Ten or a dozen years. I don't know this part. It's much altered since I went away.'
'Have you been far?'
'Very far. Months upon months over the sea, and far away even then. I have been where convicts go,' she added, looking full upon her entertainer. 'I have been one myself.'
'Heaven help you and forgive you!' was the gentle answer.
'Ah! Heaven help me and forgive me!' she returned, nodding her head at the fire. 'If man would help some of us a little more, God would forgive us all the sooner perhaps.'
But she was softened by the earnest manner, and the cordial face so full of mildness and so free from judgment, of her, and said, less hardily:
'We may be about the same age, you and me. If I am older, it is not above a year or two. Oh think of that!'
She opened her arms, as though the exhibition of her outward form would show the moral wretch she was; and letting them drop at her sides, hung down her head.
'There is nothing we may not hope to repair; it is never too late to amend,' said Harriet. 'You are penitent
'No,' she answered. 'I am not! I can't be. I am no such thing. Why should I be penitent, and all the world go free? They talk to me of my penitence. Who's penitent for the wrongs that have been done to me?'
She rose up, bound her handkerchief about her head, and turned to move away.
'Where are you going?' said Harriet.
'Yonder,' she answered, pointing with her hand. 'To London.'
'Have you any home to go to?'
'I think I have a mother. She's as much a mother, as her dwelling is a home,' she answered with a bitter laugh.
'Take this,' cried Harriet, putting money in her hand. 'Try to do well. It is very little, but for one day it may keep you from harm.'
'Are you married?' said the other, faintly, as she took it.
'No. I live here with my brother. We have not much to spare, or I would give you more.'
'Will you let me kiss you?'
Seeing no scorn or repugnance in her face, the object of her charity bent over her as she asked the question, and pressed her lips against her cheek. Once more she caught her arm, and covered her eyes with it; and then was gone.
Gone into the deepening night, and howling wind, and pelting rain; urging her way on towards the mist-enshrouded city where the blurred lights gleamed; and with her black hair, and disordered head-gear, fluttering round her reckless face.
让我们把眼睛转到两个家。虽然它们离伟大的伦敦城都不远，但它们并不是并排坐落在邻近的地方，而是相隔着很大的距离。
第一个家位于诺伍德①附近林木葱茏的乡间。它不是个公馆，它可以自夸的地方不在于面积；但它建造得美丽，装饰得雅致。里面有草坪，花园，暖房；斜坡是柔软和徐缓的，树丛中有不少风姿优美的白蜡树和柳树；游廊是用天然的树木建造的，芳香的匍匐植物缠绕在它的柱子上；住宅的外表朴素，厨房、厕所的设备完善；所有这一切虽然都是小型的，适合于一个普通的别墅，但却说明屋里有着可以供宫殿使用的各种优雅的舒适物品。这个说法并不是没有根据，因为屋子里面的陈设全都是精美与奢华的。鲜艳的颜色处处映入眼帘，它们搭配得很好。在家具中，在墙壁上，在地板上，这些鲜艳的颜色给从奇异的玻璃门窗中射进来的光线染上色彩，使它们变得柔和。家具的大小设计得跟小房间的形状与面积惊人地协调。这里还有几幅优美的木刻与图画；在离奇有趣的角落与壁凹中有不少书；几张桌子上摆着各种比赛技巧或碰运气的游戏用具：奇异的棋子，骰子，十五子棋，纸牌和台球。
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①诺伍德（Norwood）：伦敦郊区的地方。
可是，在这些丰富的舒适物品当中存在的总的气氛中却有着某些不良的东西。是不是因为地毯和垫子太柔软、太没有，因此在这里走动或安息的人们都好像是在偷偷摸摸地行动呢？是不是因为那些木刻和图画不是赞颂崇高的思想或业绩，也不是反映风景、厅堂或茅舍中含有诗意的自然美色，而全都是色情肉感一类的作品——它们仅仅炫示形状与颜色而已——而没有别的呢？是不是因为那些书籍都有着金色的外表，从大部分标题来看跟那些木刻与图画都是属于同一类内容的货色呢？是不是因为这房屋的富裕与华美跟这里那里在某些无关重要和耗费不大的方面假装出来的谦逊不相一致呢？（这种虚假的程度就跟挂在墙上的那幅画得逼真的肖像的脸孔或坐在下面安乐椅中正在吃早饭的原型一模一样），或者是不是因为这幅肖像的原型——这里一切的主人——由于每天呼吸空气，就不知不觉地把他自己身上某些微妙的影响扩散到周围的一切东西中呢？
坐在安乐椅中的就是卡克先生。桌子上闪闪发亮的鸟笼子里有一只艳丽的鹦鹉，它用嘴巴咬着铁丝，在它的圆屋顶里胡乱地走来走去，同时摇撼着它的房屋，在尖声叫着；可是卡克先生丝毫也不去注意这只鸟，而是含着沉思的微笑，望着对面墙上的画像。
“的确，碰巧非常相像，”他说道。
也许，这是朱诺①吧；也许这是波提乏的妻子②吧；也许，就像市场上商人们在买卖时所命名的，这是个藐视一切的宁芙③吧。这是一位非常漂亮的女人的画像，她转过身子，但却回过头来，脸孔对着看画的人，向他投来高傲的眼光。
她像伊迪丝。
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①朱诺（Juno）：罗马神话中主神朱庇特（Jupiter）的妻子，是气派高贵的美人。
②圣经故事中埃及法老的内臣护卫长波提乏（Potiphar）的妻子；她曾勾引在她家总管家务的约瑟；约瑟拒绝她的勾引，她便恼羞成怒，反诬约瑟要强奸她；波提乏信以为真，便将约瑟关入监狱。
③宁芙（Nymph）：希腊神话中半神半人的少女，住在山、林、水泽中。
他向画像挥了挥手——这是什么意思！是威吓吗？不是，可是也有些像威吓。是扬扬得意的流露吗？不是，可是很有些像扬扬得意。是从他嘴唇上吹送出去的侮辱性的飞吻吗？不是，可是也像是飞吻。——他又重新吃早饭，并招呼关在笼子中的生气的鸟儿；有一个像很大的结婚戒指一样的镀金的圆环悬垂在笼子中，那鸟儿往下走到圆环中，前后摇荡，给他开心取乐。
第二个家在伦敦的另一边，离北边的大公路不远；在往昔的日子里，这条大路交通繁忙，如今却是静寂无声；除了步行的旅客还沿着它辛苦地跋涉外，它几乎已被人们遗弃了。这是一座贫穷的小房屋，家具简陋、稀少，但却很干净；从裁培在门廊旁边和狭窄的庭园中的普通花卉来看，房屋的主人甚至还想把它装饰一下。它所坐落的地方既没有乡村的景色，也没有城市的风光。它既不是城市，又不是乡村。城市就像是个穿着旅行靴的巨人，大步跨过它，在远远的前方落下了他的由砖头和灰泥做成的靴底；可是在巨人两脚之间的地方，现在仍然是光景萧条的乡村。这里有几座日夜冒着黑烟的烟囱，有几个砖厂，还有一些小路，小路上青草已经被割去了，篱笆已经倒塌了，但生长着灰尘覆盖的荨麻，还可以看到一两片树篱；捉鸟的人仍偶尔前来光顾，但每次都发誓不再回来了；第二个家的住宅就坐落在这样的环境之中。
住在这个住宅中的她，就是由于热爱一个被遗弃的弟弟，才离开第一个家的住宅的。她从那座住宅中带走了赎罪的精神，从住宅主人的心胸中带走了他唯一的守护天使。虽然在这次在他看来是忘恩负义的、侮辱性的行为之后，他对她已不再喜爱；虽然他为了报复，已将她抛弃；可是甚至在他的心中也还没有完全遗忘对她的往日的记忆。让她在他门前留下的花园来证明吧！虽然他的脚步从来没有走进去过，可是他尽管花了很多钱来改建他的住宅，这个花园却依旧保留下来，就仿佛她昨天才离开似的。
哈里特•卡克从那时以来，容貌已经改变了；时间老人已经在她美丽的姿容上投下了比他在没有得到外界帮助的情况下独自所能投下的更为沉重的阴影——这是忧虑、悲伤和每天为可怜的生活挣扎的阴影。可是她的姿容仍然是美丽的，仍然是温柔的、文静的、谦逊的美；它是必须寻找才能发现的，因为它不会炫耀自己；如果它会的话，那么它就不会像现在这样了。
