and a relative of Mrs. Treverton, who was her governess, to our neighborhood, and rented a pretty little cottage across the church fields. The house nearest to it was inhabited at that time by Leonard Frankland's father and mother. The new neighbors soon became intimate; and thus it happened that the couple whom I have been marrying this morning, fell in love with each other. – What is it now? Do you want to get up again?”
Yes, Mr. Phippen wanted to get up again.
“I told you,” the vicar said, “that the elder Mr. Frankland and Captain Treverton were neighbors here. So old Frankland decided to buy Porthgenna Tower. But the antiquity of his family made no impression upon his neighbors. It was be an old family, but it was not a Cornish family, and, therefore, it was of no importance in their eyes. One day old Frankland, the new owner of Porthgenna, met Captain Treverton on shore. The first thing he did was to abuse Porthgenna and all the people about it a little too vehemently in the Captain's presence. This led to a coolness between the two neighbors. But the children on either side put an end to the estrangement between the fathers. Here, in my opinion, lies the most curious part of the story. The estate that was entailed on Leonard, Captain Treverton's daughter now goes back, in the capacity of mistress, to the house and lands which her father sold. Rosamond was the only child, and the purchase-money of Porthgenna, will now, when the Captain dies, be the marriage-portion of young Frankland's wife!”
Chapter VI
Miss Mowlem lived humbly at St. Swithin's-on-Sea. In 1844, Miss Mowlem's widowed mother got a small legacy. The discreet old lady finally decided to buy furniture, and hang a card in the parlor window to inform the public that she had furnished apartments[14] to let. By the summer the apartments were ready. Soon a personage in black applied to look at the rooms, was satisfied, and engaged them for a newly married lady and gentleman. The personage in black was Captain Treverton's servant, and the lady and gentleman were Mr. and Mrs. Frankland.
From the moment when Mr. and Mrs. Frankland entered the house, Miss Mowlem began to study them with all the ardor of an industrious scholar.
The longer we live the more information there is to acquire. On the morning of the eighth day, Miss Mowlem was, as usual, near the key-hole of the drawing-room door. Then she descended to the kitchen, breathless with excitement, to announce a fresh discovery to her venerable mother.
“What do you think she's doing now?” cried Miss Mowlem.
“Nothing that's useful,” answered Mrs. Mowlem, with sarcastic readiness.
“She's sitting on his knee! Mother, did you ever sit on father's knee when you were married?”
“Certainly not, my dear. When me and your poor father married, we were not flighty young people.”
“She's got her head on his shoulder,” proceeded Miss Mowlem, more and more agitatedly, “and her arms round his neck – both her arms, mother!”
“I won't believe it,” exclaimed Mrs. Mowlem, indignantly. “A lady like her, with riches, and accomplishments! Don't tell me, I won't believe it!”
It was true though. Mrs. Frankland was sitting on her husband's knee. She sat for some time, then drew back a little, raised her head, and looked earnestly into the quiet, meditative face of the blind man.
“Lenny, you are very silent this morning,” she said. “What are you thinking about? If you tell me all your thoughts, I will tell you all mine.”
“Do you really want to hear all my thoughts?” asked Leonard.
“Yes; all. Tell me what you were thinking of just now! Me?”
“Not exactly of you.”
“Oh! Are you tired of me in eight days? Ah! You laugh. Oh, Lenny, I love you so; how can I think of anybody but you? No! I shan't kiss you. I want to know what you were thinking about first.”
“Of a dream, Rosamond, that I had last night.”
“What dream was it, Lenny?”
“A dream of the place where I first met you when we were both children. I saw the glen, and the blackberry bushes. I saw the mud on the walk in the middle of the glen. I saw the muddy water; and I saw you, Rosamond, a naughty girl, all covered with clay and wet. But, strangely enough, I did not see myself as the boy I then was. You were a little girl, and yet, though I was all in the past so far, I was in the present as regarded myself. Throughout the whole dream I was a grown man. And I was not blind.”
“What a memory you have, love, to be able to recall all those little circumstances after the years that have passed since that wet day in the glen! How well you recollect what I was as a child! Oh, Lenny, it almost breaks my heart to think of it! – when you saw me for the last time?”
“Do I remember, Rosamond! My last look at your face has painted your portrait in my memory in colors that can never change. I have many pictures in my mind, but your picture is the clearest and brightest of all.”
“And there is some consolation in that thought. When years have passed over us both, Lenny, you will not say to yourself, 'My Rosamond is beginning to fade.' I shall never grow old, love, for you! The bright young picture in your mind will still be my picture when my cheeks are wrinkled and my hair is gray. Suppose I ask you what I am like now, can you tell me without a mistake?”
“Try.”
“May I? Well, in the first place, how tall am I when we both stand up side by side?”
“You just reach to my ear.”
“Quite right. And the next question. What does my hair look like in your portrait?”
“It is dark brown – and it grows rather too low on your forehead.”
“Oh, Lenny, how well you remember me! And my eyes?”
“Brown eyes, large eyes, wakeful eyes, that are always looking about them. Eyes that can be very soft at one time, and very bright at another.”
“Lenny, I am so glad, so proud, so happy to find that you can keep the image of me clearly in your mind! You deserve a hundred thousand kisses – and there they are!”
Suddenly they heard the sound of a faint, small, courteously significant cough in a corner of the room. Mrs. Frankland turned round – and, to her horror and indignation, confronted Miss Mowlem, with a letter in her hand.
“You wretch! How dare you come in without knocking at the door?” cried Rosamond.
Miss Mowlem was very pale. She held out the letter apologetically, and said that she was very sorry.
“Sorry!” exclaimed Rosamond; “who cares whether you are sorry? I don't want your sorrow – I won't have it. I never was so insulted in my life – never, you mean, prying, inquisitive creature!”
“Rosamond! Rosamond!” interposed the quiet voice of Mr. Frankland.
“Lenny, dear, I can't help it![15] She has been prying after us ever since we have been here – you have, you ill-bred, indelicate woman! I suspected it before – I am certain of it now! Must we lock our doors? No. Fetch the bill! We give you warning. Mr. Frankland gives you warning – don't you, Lenny? I'll pack up all your things, dear. Go down stairs and make out your bill, and give your mother warning. Put
furnished apartments – меблированные комнаты
I can't help it! – Это невыносимо!
