little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第155部分

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'How　do　you　find　yourself；　sir？'　said　Mr　Flintwinch；　as　soon　as　he　could
disengage　himself；　which　he　struggled　to　do　with　very　little　ceremony。
'Thank　you；　no；　I　don't　want　any　more。'　This　was　in　reference　to　another
menace　of　attention　from　his　recovered　friend。

'Well；　Arthur。　You　remember　what　I　said　to　you　about　sleeping　dogs　and
missing　ones。　It's　e　true；　you　see。'

He　was　as　imperturbable　as　ever；　to　all　appearance；　and　nodded　his　head
in　a　moralising　way　as　he　looked　round　the　room。

'And　this　is　the　Marshalsea　prison　for　debt！'　said　Mr　Flintwinch。　'Hah！
you　have　brought　your　pigs　to　a　very　indifferent　market；　Arthur。'

If　Arthur　had　patience；　Rigaud　had　not。　He　took　his　little　Flintwinch；
with　fierce　playfulness；　by　the　two　lapels　of　his　coat；　and　cried：

'To　the　Devil　with　the　Market；　to　the　Devil　with　the　Pigs；　and　to　the
Devil　with　the　Pig…Driver！　Now！　Give　me　the　answer　to　my　letter。'

'If　you　can　make　it　convenient　to　let　go　a　moment；　sir；'　returned　Mr
Flintwinch；　'I'll　first　hand　Mr　Arthur　a　little　note　that　I　have　for
him。'

He　did　so。　It　was　in　his　mother's　maimed　writing；　on　a　slip　of　paper；
and　contained　only　these　words：

'I　hope　it　is　enough　that　you　have　ruined　yourself。　Rest　contented
without　more　ruin。　Jeremiah　Flintwinch　is　my　messenger　and
representative。　Your　affectionate　M。　C。'

Clennam　read　this　twice；　in　silence；　and　then　tore　it　to　pieces。　Rigaud
in　the　meanwhile　stepped　into　a　chair；　and　sat　himself　on　the　back　with
his　feet　upon　the　seat。

'Now；　Beau　Flintwinch；'　he　said；　when　he　had　closely　watched　the　note　to
its　destruction；　'the　answer　to　my　letter？'

'Mrs　Clennam　did　not　write；　Mr　Blandois；　her　hands　being　cramped；
and　she　thinking　it　as　well　to　send　it　verbally　by　me。'　Mr　Flintwinch
screwed　this　out　of　himself；　unwillingly　and　rustily。　'She　sends
her　pliments；　and　says　she　doesn't　on　the　whole　wish　to　term
you　unreasonable；　and　that　she　agrees。　But　without　prejudicing　the
appointment　that　stands　for　this　day　week。'

Monsieur　Rigaud；　after　indulging　in　a　fit　of　laughter；　descended　from
his　throne；　saying；　'Good！　I　go　to　seek　an　hotel！'　But；　there　his　eyes
encountered　Cavalletto；　who　was　still　at　his　post。

'e；　Pig；'　he　added；　'I　have　had　you　for　a　follower　against　my　will；
now；　I'll　have　you　against　yours。　I　tell　you；　my　little　reptiles；　I
am　born　to　be　served。　I　demand　the　service　of　this　contrabandist　as　my
domestic　until　this　day　week。'

In　answer　to　Cavalletto's　look　of　inquiry；　Clennam　made　him　a　sign
to　go；　but　he　added　aloud；　'unless　you　are　afraid　of　him。'　Cavalletto
replied　with　a　very　emphatic　finger…negative。'No；　master；　I　am　not
afraid　of　him；　when　I　no　more　keep　it　secrettementally　that　he　was　once
my　rade。'　Rigaud　took　no　notice　of　either　remark　until　he　had　lighted
his　last　cigarette　and　was　quite　ready　for　walking。

'Afraid　of　him；'　he　said　then；　looking　round　upon　them　all。　'Whoof！　My
children；　my　babies；　my　little　dolls；　you　are　all　afraid　of　him。　You
give　him　his　bottle　of　wine　here；　you　give　him　meat；　drink；　and　lodging
there；　you　dare　not　touch　him　with　a　finger　or　an　epithet。　No。　It　is　his
character　to　triumph！　Whoof！

'Of　all　the　king's　knights　he's　the　flower；　And　he's　always　gay！'

With　this　adaptation　of　the　Refrain　to　himself；　he　stalked　out　of　the
room　closely　followed　by　Cavalletto；　whom　perhaps　he　had　pressed　into
his　service　because　he　tolerably　well　knew　it　would　not　be　easy　to　get
rid　of　him。　Mr　Flintwinch；　after　scraping　his　chin；　and　looking　about
with　caustic　disparagement　of　the　Pig…Market；　nodded　to　Arthur；　and
followed。　Mr　Pancks；　still　penitent　and　depressed；　followed　too；　after
receiving　with　great　attention　a　secret　word　or　two　of　instructions　from
Arthur；　and　whispering　back　that　he　would　see　this　affair　out；　and　stand
by　it　to　the　end。

The　prisoner；　with　the　feeling　that　he　was　more　despised；　more　scorned
and　repudiated；　more　helpless；　altogether　more　miserable　and　fallen　than
before；　was　left　alone　again。




CHAPTER　29。　A　Plea　in　the　Marshalsea


Haggard　anxiety　and　remorse　are　bad　panions　to　be　barred　up　with。
Brooding　all　day；　and　resting　very　little　indeed　at　night；　t　will　not
arm　a　man　against　misery。　Next　morning；　Clennam　felt　that　his　health　was
sinking；　as　his　spirits　had　already　sunk　and　that　the　weight　under　which
he　bent　was　bearing　him　down。

Night　after　night　he　had　risen　from　his　bed　of　wretchedness　at　twelve　or
one　o'clock；　and　had　sat　at　his　window　watching　the　sickly　lamps　in　the
yard；　and　looking　upward　for　the　first　wan　trace　of　day；　hours　before　it
was　possible　that　the　sky　could　show　it　to　him。　Now　when　the　night　came；
he　could　not　even　persuade　himself　to　undress。

For　a　burning　restlessness　set　in；　an　agonised　impatience　of　the　prison；
and　a　conviction　that　he　was　going　to　break　his　heart　and　die　there；
which　caused　him　indescribable　suffering。　His　dread　and　hatred　of　the
place　became　so　intense　that　he　felt　it　a　labour　to　draw　his　breath　in
it。　The　sensation　of　being　stifled　sometimes　so　overpowered　him；　that
he　would　stand　at　the　window　holding　his　throat　and　gasping。　At　the
same　time　a　longing　for　other　air；　and　a　yearning　to　be　beyond　the　blind
blank　wall；　made　him　feel　as　if　he　must　go　mad　with　the　ardour　of　the
desire。

Many　other　prisoners　had　had　experience　of　this　condition　before　him；
and　its　violence　and　continuity　had　worn　themselves　out　in　their　cases；
as　they　did　in　his。　Two　nights　and　a　day　exhausted　it。　It　came　back　by
fits；　but　those　grew　fainter　and　returned　at　lengthening　intervals。　A
desolate　calm　succeeded；　and　the　middle　of　the　week　found　him　settled
down　in　the　despondency　of　low；　slow　fever。

With　Cavalletto　and　Pancks　away；　he　had　no　visitors　to　fear　but　Mr　and
Mrs　Plornish。　His　anxiety；　in　reference　to　that　worthy　pair；　was　that
they　should　not　e　near　him；　for；　in　the　morbid　state　of　his　nerves；
he　sought　to　be　left　alone；　and　spared　the　being　seen　so　subdued　and
weak。　He　wrote　a　note　to　Mrs　Plornish　representing　himself　as　occupied
with　his　affairs；　and　bound　by　the　necessity　of　devoting　himself　to
them；　to　remain　for　a　time　even　without　the　pleasant　interruption　of
a　sight　of　her　kind　face。　As　to　Young　John；　who　looked　in　daily　at　a
certain　hour；　when　the　turnkeys　were　relieved；　to　ask　if　he　could　do
anything　for　him；　he　always　made　a　pretence　of　being　engaged　in　writing；
and　to　answer　cheerfully　in　the　negative。　The　subject　of　their　only
long　conversation　had　never　been　revived　between　them。　Through　all　these
changes　of　unhappiness；　however；　it　had　never　lost　its　hold　on　Clennam's
mind。

The　sixth　day　of　the　appointed　week　was　a　moist；　hot；　misty　day。　It
seemed　as　though　the　prison's　poverty；　and　shabbiness；　and　dirt；　were
growing　in　the　sultry　atmosphere。　With　an　aching　head　and　a　weary　heart；
Clennam　had　watched　the　miserable　night　out；　listening　to　the　fall　of
rain　on　the　yard　pavement；　thinking　of　its　softer　fall　upon　the　country
earth。　A　blurred　circle　of　yellow　haze　had　risen　up　in　the　sky　in　lieu
of　sun；　and　he　had　watched　the　patch　it　put　upon　his　wall；　like　a　bit　of
the　prison's　raggedness。　He　had　heard　the　gates　open；　and　the　badly　shod
feet　that　waited　outside　shuffle　in；　and　the　sweeping；　and　pumping；
and　moving　about；　begin；　which　menced　the　prison　morning。　So　ill　and
faint　that　he　was　obliged　to　rest　many　times　in　the　process　of　getting
himself　washed；　he　had　at　length　crept　to　his　chair　by　the　open　window。
In　it　he　sat　dozing；　while　the　old　woman　who　arranged　his　room　went
through　her　morning's　work。

Light　of　head　with　want　of　sleep　and　want　of　food　（his　appetite；　and
even　his　sense　of　taste；　having　forsaken　him）；　he　had　been　two　or　three
times　conscious；　in　the　night；　of　going　astray。　He　had　heard　fragments
of　tunes　and　songs　in　the　warm　wind；　which　he　knew　had　no　existence。
Now　that　he　began　to　doze　in　exhaustion；　he　heard　them　again；　and　voices
seemed　to　address　him；　and　he　answered；　and　started。

Dozing　and　dreaming；　without　the　power　of　reckoning　time；　so　that
a　minute　might　have　been　an　hour　and　an　hour　a　minute；　some　abiding
impression　of　a　garden　stole　over　him……a　garden　of　flowers；　with　a
damp　warm　wind　gently　stirring　their　scents。　It　required　such　a　painful
effort　to　lift　his　head　for　the　purpose　of　inquiring　into　this；　or
inquiring　into　anything；　that　the　impression　appeared　to　have　bee
quite　an　old　and　importunate　one　when　he　looked　round。　Beside　the
tea…cup　on　his　table　he　saw；　then；　a　blooming　nosegay：　a　wonderful
handful　of　the　choicest　and　most　lovely　flowers。

Nothing　had　ever　appeared　so　beautiful　in　his　sight。　He　took　them　up　and
inhaled　their　fragrance；　and　he　lifted　them　to　his　hot　head；　and　he　put
them　down　and　opened　his　parched　hands　to　them；　as　cold　hands　are　opened
to　receive　the　cheering　of　a　fire。　It　was　not　until　he　had　delighted　in
them　for　some　time；　that　he　wondered　who　had　sent　them；　and　opened　his
door　to　ask　the　woman　who　must　have　put　them　there；　how　they　had　e
into　her　hands。　But　she　was　gone；　and　seemed　to　have　been　long　gone；　for
the　tea　she　had　left　for　him　on　the　table　was　cold。　He　tried　to　drink
some；　but　could　not　bear　the　odour　of　it：　so　he　crept　back　to　his　chair
by　the　open　window；　and　put　the　flowers　on　the　little　round　table　of
old。

When　the　first　faintness　consequent　on　having　moved　about　had　left　him；
he　subsided　into　his　former　state。　One　of　the　night…tunes　was　playing
in　the　wind；　when　the　door　of　his　room　seemed　to　open　to　a　light　touch；
and；　after　a　moment's　pause；　a　quiet　figure　seemed　to　stand　there；　with
a　black　mantle　on　it。　It　seemed　to　draw　the　mantle　off　and　drop　it　on
the　ground；　and　then　it　seemed　to　be　his　Little　Dorrit　in　her　old；　worn
dress。　It　seemed　to　tremble；　and　to　clasp　its　hands；　and　to　smile；　and
to　burst　into　tears。

He　roused　himself；　and　cried　out。　And　then　he　saw；　in　the　loving；
pitying；　sorrowing；　dear　face；　as　in　a　mirror；　how　changed　he　was；　and
she　came　towards　him；　and　with　her　hands　laid　on　his　breast　to　keep　him
in　his　chair；　and　with　her　knees　upon　the　floor　at　his　feet；　and　with
her　lips　raised　up　to　kiss　him；　and　with　her　tears　dropping　on　him　as
the　rain　from　Heaven　had　dropped　upon　the　flowers；　Little　Dorrit；　a
living　presence；　called　him　by　his　name。

'O；　my　best　friend！　Dear　Mr　Clennam；　don't　let　me　see　you　weep！　Unless
you　weep　with　pleasure　to　see　me。　I　hope　you　do。　Your　own　poor　child
e　back！'　So　faithful；　tender；　and　unspoiled　by　Fortune。　In　the　sound
of　her　voice；　in　the　light　of　her　eyes；　in　the　touch　of　her　hands；　so
Angelically　forting　and　true！

As　he　embraced　her；　she　said　to　him；　'They　never　told　me　you　were　ill；'
and　drawing　an　arm　softly　round　his　neck；　laid　his　head　upon　her　bosom；
put　a　hand　upon　his　head；　and　resting　her　cheek　upon　that　hand；　nursed
him　as　lovingly；　and　GOD　knows　as　innocently；　as　she　had　nursed　her
father　in　that　room　when　she　had　been　but　a　baby；　needing　all　the　care
from　others　that　she　took　of　them。

When　he　could　speak；　he　said；　'Is　it　possible　that　you　have　e　to　me？
And　in　this　dress？'

'I　hoped　you　would　like　me　better　in　this　dress　than　any　other。　I　have
always　kept　it　by　me；　to　remind　me：　though　I　wanted　no　reminding。　I　am
not　alone；　you　see。　I　have　broug