a simpleton-第12章
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end to all these unhappy misunderstandings； and to his new torment；
jealousy； by marrying him。
〃And so I would this very minute； if papa would consent。 But；〃
said she； slyly； 〃you never can be so foolish to wish it。 What！ a
wise man like you marry a simpleton！〃
〃Did I ever call you that？〃 asked Christopher； reproachfully。
〃No； dear； but you are the only one who has not； and perhaps I
should lose even the one； if you were to marry me。 Oh； husbands
are not so polite as lovers！ I have observed that； simpleton or
not。〃
Christopher assured her that he took quite a different view of her
character； he believed her to be too profound for shallow people to
read all in a moment： he even intimated that he himself had
experienced no little difficulty in understanding her at odd times。
〃And so；〃 said he； 〃they turn round upon you； and instead of
saying； 'We are too shallow to fathom you；' they pretend you are a
simpleton。〃
This solution of the mystery had never occurred to Rosa； nor indeed
was it likely to occur to any creature less ingenious than a lover：
it pleased her hugely； her fine eyes sparkled； and she nestled
closer still to the strong arm that was to parry every ill； from
mortal disease to galling epithets。
She listened with a willing ear to all his reasons； his hopes； his
fears； and； when they reached her father's door； it was settled
that he should dine there that day； and urge his suit to her father
after dinner。 She would implore the old gentleman to listen to it
favorably。
The lovers parted； and Christopher went home like one who has
awakened from a hideous dream to daylight and happiness。
He had not gone far before he met a dashing dogcart； driven by an
exquisite。 He turned to look after it； and saw it drive up to Kent
Villa。
In a moment he divined his rival； and a sickness of heart came over
him。 But he recovered himself directly； and said； 〃If that is the
fellow； she will not receive him now。〃
She did receive him though： at all events； the dogcart stood at the
door； and its master remained inside。
Christopher stood； and counted the minutes： five； ten； fifteen；
twenty minutes； and still the dogcart stood there。
It was more than he could bear。 He turned savagely； and strode
back to Gravesend； resolving that all this torture should end that
night； one way or other。
Phoebe Dale was the daughter of a farmer in Essex； and one of the
happiest young women in England till she knew Reginald Falcon； Esq。
She was reared on wholesome food； in wholesome air； and used to
churn butter； make bread； cook a bit now and then； cut out and sew
all her own dresses； get up her own linen； make hay； ride anything
on four legs； and； for all that； was a great reader； and taught in
the Sunday school to oblige the vicar； wrote a neat hand； and was a
good arithmetician； kept all the house accounts and farm accounts。
She was a musician； too；not profound； but very correct。 She
would take her turn at the harmonium in church； and； when she was
there； you never heard a wrong note in the bass； nor an
inappropriate flourish； nor bad time。 She could sing； too； but
never would； except her part in a psalm。 Her voice was a deep
contralto； and she chose to be ashamed of this heavenly organ；
because a pack of envious girls had giggled； and said it was like a
man's。
In short； her natural ability and the range and variety of her
useful accomplishments were considerable； not that she was a
prodigy； but she belonged to a small class of women in this island
who are not too high to use their arms； nor too low to cultivate
their minds； and； having a faculty and a habit deplorably rare
amongst her sex； viz。； Attention； she had profited by her
miscellaneous advantages。
Her figure and face both told her breed at once： here was an old
English pastoral beauty； not the round…backed； narrow…chested
cottager； but the well…fed； erect rustic； with broad； full bust and
massive shoulder； and arm as hard as a rock with health and
constant use； a hand finely cut； though neither small nor very
white； and just a little hard inside； compared with Luxury's soft
palm； a face honest； fair； and rather large than small； not
beautiful； but exceedingly comely； a complexion not pink and white；
but that delicately blended brickdusty color； which tints the whole
cheek in fine gradation； outlasts other complexions twenty years；
and beautifies the true Northern； even in old age。 Gray； limpid；
honest； point…blank； searching eyes； hair true nut…brown； without a
shade of red or black； and a high； smooth forehead； full of sense。
Across it ran one deep wrinkle that did not belong to her youth。
That wrinkle was the brand of trouble； the line of agony。 It had
come of loving above her； yet below her； and of loving an egotist。
Three years before our tale commenced； a gentleman's horse ran away
with him； and threw him on a heap of stones by the roadside； not
very far from Farmer Dale's gate。 The farmer had him taken in。
The doctor said he must not be moved。 He was insensible； his cheek
like delicate wax； his fair hair like silk stained with blood。 He
became Phoebe's patient； and； in due course； her convalescent： his
pale； handsome face and fascinating manners gained one charm more
from weakness； his vices were in abeyance。
The womanly nurse's heart yearned over her child； for he was feeble
as a child； and； when he got well enough to amuse his weary hours
by making love to her； and telling her a pack of arrant lies； she
was a ready dupe。 He was to marry her as soon as ever his old
uncle died； and left him the means； etc。； etc。 At last he got well
enough to leave her； and went away； her open admirer and secret
lover。 He borrowed twenty pounds of her the day he left。
He used to write her charming letters； and feed the flame； but one
day her father sent her up to London； on his own business； all of a
sudden； and she called on Mr。 Falcon at his real address。 She
found he did not live thereonly received letters。 However； half…
a…crown soon bought his real address； and thither Phoebe proceeded
with a troubled heart； for she suspected that her true lover was in
debt or trouble； and obliged to hide。 Well； he must be got out of
it； and hide at the farm meantime。
So the loving girl knocked at the door； asked for Mr。 Falcon； and
was shown in to a lady rather showily dressed； who asked her
business。
Phoebe Dale stared at her； and then turned pale as ashes。 She was
paralyzed； and could not find her tongue。
〃Why； what is the matter now？〃 said the other； sharply。
〃Are you married to Reginald Falcon？〃
〃Of course I am。 Look at my wedding…ring。〃
〃Then I am not wanted here；〃 faltered Phoebe； ready to sink on the
floor。
〃Certainly not； if you are one of the bygones；〃 said the woman；
coarsely； and Phoebe Dale waited to hear no more； but found her
way； Heaven knows how； into the street； and there leaned； half…
fainting； on a rail； till a policeman came； and told her she had
been drinking； and suggested a cool cell as the best cure。
〃Not drink； only a breaking heart；〃 said she； in her low； mellow
voice that few could resist。
He got her a glass of water； drove away the boys that congregated
directly； and she left the street。 But she soon came back again；
and waited about for Reginald Falcon。
It was night when he appeared。 She seized him by the breast； and
taxed him with his villany。
What with her iron grasp； pale face； and flashing eyes； he lost his
cool impudence； and blurted out excuses。 It was an old and
unfortunate connection； he would give the world to dissolve it； if
he could do it like a gentleman。
Phoebe told him to please himself： he must part with one or the
other。
〃Don't talk nonsense；〃 said this man of brass； 〃I'll un…Falcon her
on the spot。〃
〃Very well；〃 said Phoebe。 〃I am going home； and； if you are not
there by to…morrow at noon〃She said no more； but looked a great
deal。 Then she departed； and refused him her hand at parting。 〃We
will see about that by and by；〃 said she。
At noon my lord came down to the farm； and； unfortunately for
Phoebe； played the penitent so skilfully for about a month； th
