armadale-第26章

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strange　mixture　of　recklessness　and　sadness　in　his　voice；　he
began　his　promised　narrative　in　these　words：


〃The　first　thing　you　know　of　me；〃　he　said；　〃is　what　my　father's
confession　has　told　you　already。　He　mentions　here　that　I　was　a
child；　asleep　on　his　breast；　when　he　spoke　his　last　words　in　this
world；　and　when　a　stranger's　hand　wrote　them　down　for　him　at　his
deathbed。　That　stranger's　name；　as　you　may　have　noticed；　is
signed　on　the　cover'Alexander　Neal；　Writer　to　the　Signet；
Edinburgh。'　The　first　recollection　I　have　is　of　Alexander　Neal
beating　me　with　a　horsewhip　（I　dare　say　I　deserved　it）；　in　the
character　of　my　stepfather。〃

〃Have　you　no　recollection　of　your　mother　at　the　same　time？〃　asked
Mr。　Brock。

〃Yes；　I　remember　her　having　shabby　old　clothes　made　up　to　fit　me；
and　having　fine　new　frocks　bought　for　her　two　children　by　her
second　husband。　I　remember　the　servants　laughing　at　me　in　my　old
things；　and　the　horsewhip　finding　its　way　to　my　shoulders　again
for　losing　my　temper　and　tearing　my　shabby　clothes。　My　next
recollection　gets　on　to　a　year　or　two　later。　I　remember　myself
locked　up　in　a　lumber…room；　with　a　bit　of　bread　and　a　mug　of
water；　wondering　what　it　was　that　made　my　mother　and　my
stepfather　seem　to　hate　the　very　sight　of　me。　I　never　settled
that　question　till　yesterday；　and　then　I　solved　the　mystery；　when
my　father's　letter　was　put　into　my　hands。　My　mother　knew　what　had
really　happened　on　board　the　French　timber…ship；　and　my
stepfather　knew　what　had　really　happened；　and　they　were　both　well
aware　that　the　shameful　secret　which　they　would　fain　have　kept
from　every　living　creature　was　a　secret　which　would　be　one　day
revealed　to　_me。_　There　was　no　help　for　itthe　confession　was　in
the　executor's　hands；　and　there　was　I；　an　ill…conditioned　brat；
with　my　mother's　negro　blood　in　my　face；　and　my　murdering
father's　passions　in　my　heart；　inheritor　of　their　secret　in　spite
of　them！　I　don't　wonder　at　the　horsewhip　now；　or　the　shabby　old
clothes；　or　the　bread　and　water　in　the　lumber…room。　Natural
penalties　all　of　them；　sir；　which　the　child　was　beginning　to　pay
already　for　the　father's　sin。〃

Mr。　Brock　looked　at　the　swarthy；　secret　face；　still　obstinately
turned　away　from　him。　〃Is　this　the　stark　insensibility　of　a
vagabond；〃　he　asked　himself；　〃or　the　despair；　in　disguise；　of　a
miserable　man？〃

〃School　is　my　next　recollection；〃　the　other　went　on〃a　cheap
place　in　a　lost　corner　of　Scotland。　I　was　left　there；　with　a　bad
character　to　help　me　at　starting。　I　spare　you　the　story　of　the
master's　cane　in　the　schoolroom；　and　the　boys'　kicks　in　the
playground。　I　dare　say　there　was　ingrained　ingratitude　in　my
nature；　at　any　rate；　I　ran　away。　The　first　person　who　met　me
asked　my　name。　I　was　too　young　and　too　foolish　to　know　the
importance　of　concealing　it；　and；　as　a　matter　of　course；　I　was
taken　back　to　school　the　same　evening。　The　result　taught　me　a
lesson　which　I　have　not　forgotten　since。　In　a　day　or　two　more；
like　the　vagabond　I　was；　I　ran　away　for　the　second　time。　The
school　watch…dog　had　had　his　instructions；　I　suppose：　he　stopped
me　before　I　got　outside　the　gate。　Here　is　his　mark；　among　the
rest；　on　the　back　of　my　hand。　His　master's　marks　I　can't　show
you；　they　are　all　on　my　back。　Can　you　believe　in　my　perversity？
There　was　a　devil　in　me　that　no　dog
　could　worry　out。　I　ran　away　again　as　soon　as　I　left　my　bed；　and
this　time　I　got　off。　At　nightfall　I　found　myself　（with　a
pocketful　of　the　school　oatmeal）　lost　on　a　moor。　I　lay　down　on
the　fine　soft　heather；　under　the　lee　of　a　great　gray　rock。　Do　you
think　I　felt　lonely？　Not　I！　I　was　away　from　the　master's　cane；
away　from　my　schoolfellows'　kicks；　away　from　my　mother；　away　from
my　stepfather；　and　I　lay　down　that　night　under　my　good　friend　the
rock；　the　happiest　boy　in　all　Scotland！〃

Through　the　wretched　childhood　which　that　one　significant
circumstance　disclosed；　Mr。　Brock　began　to　see　dimly　how　little
was　really　strange；　how　little　really　unaccountable；　in　the
character　of　the　man　who　was　now　speaking　to　him。

〃I　slept　soundly；〃　Midwinter　continued；　〃under　my　friend　the
rock。　When　I　woke　in　the　morning；　I　found　a　sturdy　old　man　with　a
fiddle　sitting　on　one　side　of　me；　and　two　performing　dogs　on　the
other。　Experience　had　made　me　too　sharp　to　tell　the　truth　when
the　man　put　his　first　questions。　He　didn't　press　them；　he　gave　me
a　good　breakfast　out　of　his　knapsack；　and　he　let　me　romp　with　the
dogs。　'I'll　tell　you　what；'　he　said；　when　he　had　got　my
confidence　in　this　manner；　'you　want　three　things；　my　man：　you
want　a　new　father；　a　new　family；　and　a　new　name。　I'll　be　your
father。　I'll　let　you　have　the　dogs　for　your　brothers；　and；　if
you'll　promise　to　be　very　careful　of　it；　I'll　give　you　my　own
name　into　the　bargain。　Ozias　Midwinter；　Junior；　you　have　had　a
good　breakfast；　if　you　want　a　good　dinner；　come　along　with　me！'
He　got　up；　the　dogs　trotted　after　him；　and　I　trotted　after　the
dogs。　Who　was　my　new　father？　you　will　ask。　A　half…breed　gypsy；
sir；　a　drunkard；　a　ruffian；　and　a　thiefand　the　best　friend　I
ever　had！　Isn't　a　man　your　friend　who　gives　you　your　food；　your
shelter；　and　your　education？　Ozias　Midwinter　taught　me　to　dance
the　Highland　fling；　to　throw　somersaults；　to　walk　on　stilts；　and
to　sing　songs　to　his　fiddle。　Sometimes　we　roamed　the　country；　and
performed　at　fairs。　Sometimes　we　tried　the　large　towns；　and
enlivened　bad　company　over　its　cups。　I　was　a　nice；　lively　little
boy　of　eleven　years　old；　and　bad　company；　the　women　especially；
took　a　fancy　to　me　and　my　nimble　feet。　I　was　vagabond　enough　to
like　the　life。　The　dogs　and　I　lived　together；　ate；　and　drank；　and
slept　together。　I　can't　think　of　those　poor　little　four…footed
brothers　of　mine；　even　now；　without　a　choking　in　the　throat。　Many
is　the　beating　we　three　took　together；　many　is　the　hard　day's
dancing　we　did　together；　many　is　the　night　we　have　slept
together；　and　whimpered　together；　on　the　cold　hill…side。　I'm　not
trying　to　distress　you；　sir；　I'm　only　telling　you　the　truth。　The
life　with　all　its　hardships　was　a　life　that　fitted　me；　and　the
half…breed　gypsy　who　gave　me　his　name；　ruffian　as　he　was；　was　a
ruffian　I　liked。〃

〃A　man　who　beat　you！〃　exclaimed　Mr。　Brock；　in　astonishment。

〃Didn't　I　tell　you　just　now；　sir；　that　I　lived　with　the　dogs？　and
did　you　ever　hear　of　a　dog　who　liked　his　master　the　worse　for
beating　him？　Hundreds　of　thousands　of　miserable　men；　women；　and
children　would　have　liked　that　man　（as　I　liked　him）　if　he　had
always　given　them　what　he　always　gave　meplenty　to　eat。　It　was
stolen　food　mostly；　and　my　new　gypsy　father　was　generous　with　it。
He　seldom　laid　the　stick　on　us　when　he　was　sober；　but　it　diverted
him　to　hear　us　yelp　when　he　was　drunk。　He　died　drunk；　and　enjoyed
his　favorite　amusement　with　his　last　breath。　One　day　（when　I　had
been　two　years　in　his　service）；　after　giving　us　a　good　dinner　out
on　the　moor；　he　sat　down　with　his　back　against　a　stone；　and
called　us　up　to　divert　himself　with　his　stick。　He　made　the　dogs
yelp　first；　and　then　he　called　to　me。　I　didn't　go　very　willingly；
he　had　been　drinking　harder　than　usual；　and　the　more　he　drank　the
better　he　liked　his　after…dinner　amusement。　He　was　in　high
good…humor　that　day；　and　he　hit　me　so　hard　that　he　toppled　over；
in　his　drunken　state；　with　the　force　of　his　own　blow。　He　fell
with　his　face　in　a　puddle；　and　lay　there　without　moving。　I　and
the　dogs　stood　at　a　distance；　and　looked　at　him：　we　thought　he
was　feigning；　to　get　us　near　and　have　another　stroke　at　us。　He
feigned　so　long　that　we　ventured　up　to　him　at　last。　It　took　me
some　time　to　pull　him　over；　he　was　a　heavy　man。　When　I　did　get
him　on　his　back；　he　was　dead。　We　made　all　the　outcry　we　could；
but　the　dogs　were　little；　and　I　was　little；　and　the　place　was
lonely；　and　no　help　came　to　us。　I　took　his　fiddle　and　his　stick；
I　said　to　my　two　brothers；　'Come　along；　we　must　get　our　own
living　now；'　and　we　went　away　heavy…hearted；　and　left　him　on　the
moor。　Unnatural　as　it　may　seem　to　you；　I　was　sorry　for　him。　I
kept　his　ugly　name　through　all　my　after…wanderings；　and　I　have
enough　of　the　old　leaven　left　in　me　to　like　the　sound　of　it
still。　Midwinter　or　Armadale；　never　mind　my　name　now；　w