迪文小说

第82部分（第1页）

am！”

Strange　words　of　a　strange　love！　An　austere　patriot’s　passion　for　his　fatherland！　He　sat　down；　for　half…an…hour　we　never　spoke；　neither　he　to　me　nor　I　to　him：　that　interval　past；　he　remenced—

“Jane；　I　go　in　six　weeks；　I　have　taken　my　berth　in　an　East　Indiaman　which　sails　on　the　20th　of　June。”

“God　will　protect　you；　for　you　have　undertaken　His　work；”　I　answered。

“Yes；”　said　he；　“there　is　my　glory　and　joy。　I　am　the　servant　of　an　infallible　Master。　I　am　not　going　out　under　human　guidance；　subject　to　the　defective　laws　and　erring　control　of　my　feeble　fellow…worms：　my　king；　my　lawgiver；　my　captain；　is　the　All…perfect。　It　seems　strange　to　me　that　all　round　me　do　not　burn　to　enlist　under　the　same　banner；—to　join　in　the　same　enterprise。”

“All　have　not　your　powers；　and　it　would　be　folly　for　the　feeble　to　wish　to　march　with　the　strong。”

“I　do　not　speak　to　the　feeble；　or　think　of　them：　I　address　only　such　as　are　worthy　of　the　work；　and　petent　to　acplish　it。”

“Those　are　few　in　number；　and　difficult　to　discover。”

“You　say　truly；　but　when　found；　it　is　right　to　stir　them　up—to　urge　and　exhort　them　to　the　effort—to　show　them　what　their　gifts　are；　and　why　they　were　given—to　speak　Heaven’s　message　in　their　ear；—to　offer　them；　direct　from　God；　a　place　in　the　ranks　of　His　chosen。”

“If　they　are　really　qualified　for　the　task；　will　not　their　own　hearts　be　the　first　to　inform　them　of　it？”

I　felt　as　if　an　awful　charm　was　framing　round　and　gathering　over　me：　I　trembled　to　hear　some　fatal　word　spoken　which　would　at　once　declare　and　rivet　the　spell。

“And　what　does　your　heart　say？”　demanded　St。　John。

“My　heart　is　mute；—my　heart　is　mute；”　I　answered；　struck　and　thrilled。

“Then　I　must　speak　for　it；”　continued　the　deep；　relentless　voice。　“Jane；　e　with　me　to　India：　e　as　my　helpmeet　and　fellow…　labourer。”

The　glen　and　sky　spun　round：　the　hills　heaved！　It　was　as　if　I　had　heard　a　summons　from　Heaven—as　if　a　visionary　messenger；　like　him　of　Macedonia；　had　enounced；　“e　over　and　help　us！”　But　I　was　no　apostle；—I　could　not　behold　the　herald；—I　could　not　receive　his　call。

“Oh；　St。　John！”　I　cried；　“have　some　mercy！”

I　appealed　to　one　who；　in　the　discharge　of　what　he　believed　his　duty；　knew　neither　mercy　nor　remorse。　He　continued—

“God　and　nature　intended　you　for　a　missionary’s　wife。　It　is　not　personal；　but　mental　endowments　they　have　given　you：　you　are　formed　for　labour；　not　for　love。　A　missionary’s　wife　you　must—shall　be。　You　shall　be　mine：　I　claim　you—not　for　my　pleasure；　but　for　my　Sovereign’s　service。”

“I　am　not　fit　for　it：　I　have　no　vocation；”　I　said。

He　had　calculated　on　these　first　objections：　he　was　not　irritated　by　them。　Indeed；　as　he　leaned　back　against　the　crag　behind　him；　folded　his　arms　on　his　chest；　and　fixed　his　countenance；　I　saw　he　was　prepared　for　a　long　and　trying　opposition；　and　had　taken　in　a　stock　of　patience　to　last　him　to　its　close—resolved；　however；　that　that　close　should　be　conquest　for　him。

“Humility；　Jane；”　said　he；　“is　the　groundwork　of　Christian　virtues：　you　say　right　that　you　are　not　fit　for　the　work。　Who　is　fit　for　it？　Or　who；　that　ever　was　truly　called；　believed　himself　worthy　of　the　summons？　I；　for　instance；　am　but　dust　and　ashes。　With　St。　Paul；　I　acknowledge　myself　the　chiefest　of　sinners；　but　I　do　not　suffer　this　sense　of　my　personal　vileness　to　daunt　me。　I　know　my　Leader：　that　He　is　just　as　well　as　mighty；　and　while　He　has　chosen　a　feeble　instrument　to　perform　a　great　task；　He　will；　from　the　boundless　stores　of　His　providence；　supply　the　inadequacy　of　the　means　to　the　end。　Think　like　me；　Jane—trust　like　me。　It　is　the　Rock　of　Ages　I　ask　you　to　lean　on：　do　not　doubt　but　it　will　bear　the　weight　of　your　human　weakness。”

“I　do　not　understand　a　missionary　life：　I　have　never　studied　missionary　labours。”

“There　I；　humble　as　I　am；　can　give　you　the　aid　you　want：　I　can　set　you　your　task　from　hour　to　hour；　stand　by　you　always；　help　you　from　moment　to　moment。　This　I　could　do　in　the　beginning：　soon　（for　I　know　your　powers）　you　would　be　as　strong　and　apt　as　myself；　and　y　help。”

“But　my　powers—where　are　they　for　this　undertaking？　I　do　not　feel　them。　Nothing　speaks　or　stirs　in　me　while　you　talk。　I　am　sensible　of　no　light　kindling—no　life　quickening—no　voice　counselling　or　cheering。　Oh；　I　wish　I　could　make　you　see　how　much　my　mind　is　at　this　moment　like　a　rayless　dungeon；　with　one　shrinking　fear　fettered　in　its　depths—the　fear　of　being　persuaded　by　you　to　attempt　what　I　cannot　acplish！”

“I　have　an　answer　for　you—hear　it。　I　have　watched　you　ever　since　we　first　met：　I　have　made　you　my　study　for　ten　months。　I　have　proved　you　in　that　time　by　sundry　tests：　and　what　have　I　seen　and　elicited？　In　the　village　school　I　found　you　could　perform　well；　punctually；　uprightly；　labour　uncongenial　to　your　habits　and　inclinations；　I　saw　you　could　perform　it　with　capacity　and　tact：　you　could　win　while　you　controlled。　In　the　calm　with　which　you　learnt　you　had　bee　suddenly　rich；　I　read　a　mind　clear　of　the　vice　of　Demas：…　lucre　had　no　undue　power　over　you。　In　the　resolute　readiness　with　which　you　cut　your　wealth　into　four　shares；　keeping　but　one　to　yourself；　and　relinquishing　the　three　others　to　the　claim　of　abstract　justice；　I　recognised　a　soul　that　revelled　in　the　flame　and　excitement　of　sacrifice。　In　the　tractability　with　which；　at　my　wish；　you　forsook　a　study　in　which　you　were　interested；　and　adopted　another　because　it　interested　me；　in　the　untiring　assiduity　with　which　you　have　since　persevered　in　it—in　the　unflagging　energy　and　unshaken　temper　with　which　you　have　met　its　difficulties—I　acknowledge　the　plement　of　the　qualities　I　seek。　Jane；　you　are　docile；　diligent；　disinterested；　faithful；　constant；　and　courageous；　very　gentle；　and　very　heroic：　cease　to　mistrust　yourself—I　can　trust　you　unreservedly。　As　a　conductress　of　Indian　schools；　and　a　helper　amongst　Indian　women；　your　assistance　will　be　to　me　invaluable。”

My　iron　shroud　contracted　round　me；　persuasion　advanced　with　slow　sure　step。　Shut　my　eyes　as　I　would；　these　last　words　of　his　succeeded　in　making　the　way；　which　had　seemed　blocked　up；　paratively　clear。　My　work；　which　had　appeared　so　vague；　so　hopelessly　diffuse；　condensed　itself　as　he　proceeded；　and　assumed　a　definite　form　under　his　shaping　hand。　He　waited　for　an　answer。　I　demanded　a　quarter　of　an　hour　to　think；　before　I　again　hazarded　a　reply。

“Very　willingly；”　he　rejoined；　and　rising；　he　strode　a　little　distance　up　the　pass；　threw　himself　down　on　a　swell　of　heath；　and　there　lay　still。

“I　can　do　what　he　wants　me　to　do：　I　am　forced　to　see　and　acknowledge　that；”　I　meditated；—“that　is；　if　life　be　spared　me。　But　I　feel　mine　is　not　the　existence　to　be　long　protracted　under　an　Indian　sun。　What　then？　He　does　not　care　for　that：　when　my　time　came　to　die；　he　would　resign　me；　in　all　serenity　and　sanctity；　to　the　God　who　gave　me。　The　case　is　very　plain　before　me。　In　leaving　England；　I　should　leave　a　loved　but　empty　land—Mr。　Rochester　is　not　there；　and　if　he　were；　what　is；　what　can　that　ever　be　to　me？　My　business　is　to　live　without　him　now：　nothing　so　absurd；　so　weak　as　to　drag　on　from　day　to　day；　as　if　I　were　waiting　some　impossible　change　in　circumstances；　which　might　reunite　me　to　him。　Of　course　（as　St。　John　once　said）　I　must　seek　another　interest　in　life　to　replace　the　one　lost：　is　not　the　occupation　he　now　offers　me　truly　the　most　glorious　man　can　adopt　or　God　assign？　Is　it　not；　by　its　noble　cares　and　sublime　results；　the　one　best　calculated　to　fill　the　void　left　by　uptorn　affections　and　demolished　hopes？　I　believe　I　must　say；　Yes—and　yet　I　shudder。　Alas！　If　I　join　St。　John；　I　abandon　half　myself：　if　I　go　to　India；　I　go　to　premature　death。　And　how　will　the　interval　between　leaving　England　for　India；　and　India　for　the　grave；　be　filled？　Oh；　I　know　well！　That；　too；　is　very　clear　to　my　vision。　By　straining　to　satisfy　St。　John　till　my　sinews　ache；　I　shall　satisfy　him—to　the　finest　central　point　and　farthest　outward　circle　of　his　expectations。　If　I　do　go　with　him—　if　I　do　make　the　sacrifice　he　urges；　I　will　make　it　absolutely：　I　will　throw　all　on　the　altar—heart；　vitals；　the　entire　victim。　He　will　never　love　me；　but　he　shall　approve　me；　I　will　show　him　energies　he　has　not　yet　seen；　resources　he　has　never　suspected。　Yes；　I　can　work　as　hard　as　he　can；　and　with　as　little　grudging。

“Consent；　then；　to　his　demand　is　possible：　but　for　one　item—one　dreadful　item。　It　is—that　he　asks　me　to　be　his　wife；　and　has　no　more　of　a　husband’s　heart　for　me　than　that　frowning　giant　of　a　rock；　down　which　the　stream　is　foaming　in　yonder　gorge。　He　prizes　me　as　a　soldier　would　a　good　weapon；　and　that　is　all。　Unmarried　to　him；　this　would　never　grieve　me；　but　can　I　let　him　plete　his　calculations—coolly　put　into　practice　his　plans—go　through　the　wedding　ceremony？　Can　I　receive　from　him　the　bridal　ring；　endure　all　the　forms　of　love　（which　I　doubt　not　he　would　scrupulously　observe）　and　know　that　the　spirit　was　quite　absent？　Can　I　bear　the　consciousness　that　every　endearment　he　bestows　is　a　sacrifice　made　on　principle？　No：　such　a　martyrdom　would　be　monstrous。　I　will　never　undergo　it。　As　his　sister；　I　might　acpany　him—not　as　his　wife：　I　will　tell　him　so。”

I　looked　towards　the　knoll：　there　he　lay；　still　as　a　prostrate　column；　his　face　turned　to　me：　his　eye　beaming　watchful　and　keen。　He　started　to　his　feet　and　approached　me。

“I　am　ready　to　go　to　India；　if　I　may　go　free。”

“Your　ansentary；”　he　said；　“it　is　not　clear。”

“You　have　hitherto　been　my　adopted　brother—I；　your　adopted　sister：　let　us　continue　as　such：　you　and　I　had　better　not　marry。”

He　shook　his　head。　“Adopted　fraternity　will　not　do　in　this　case。　If　you　were　my　real　sister　it　would　be　different：　I　should　take　you；　and　seek　no　wife。　But　as　it　is；　either　our　union　must　be　consecrated　and　sealed　by　marriage；　or　it　cannot　exist：　practical　obstacles　oppose　themselves　to　any　other　plan。　Do　you　not　see　it；　Jane？　Consider　a　moment—your　strong　sense　will　guide　you。”

I　did　consider；　and　still　my　sense；　such　as　it　was；　directed　me　only　to　the　fact　that　we　did　not　love　each　other　as　man　and　wife　should：　and　therefore　it　inferred　we　ought　not　to　marry。　I　said　so。　“St。　John；”　I　returned；　“I　regard　you　as　a　brother—you；　me　as　a　sister：　so　let　us　continue。”

“We　cannot—we　cannot；”　he　answered；　with　short；　sharp　determination：　“it　would　not　do。　You　have　said　you　will　go　with　me　to　India：　remember—you　have　said　that。”

“Conditionally。”

“Well—well。　To　the　main　point—the　departure　with　me　from　England；　the　co…operation　with　me　in　my　future　labours—you　do　not　object。　You　have　already　as　good　as　put　your　hand　to　the　plough：　you　are　too　consistent　to　withdraw　it。　You　have　but　one　end　to　keep　in　view—how　the　work　you　have　undertaken　can　best　be　done。　Simplify　your　plicated　interests；　feelings；　thoughts；　wishes；　aims；　merge　all　considerations　in　one　purpose：　that　of　fulfilling　with　effect—　with　power—the　mission　of　your　great　Master。　To　do　so；　you　must　have　a　coadjutor：　not　a　brother—that　is　a　loose　tie—but　a　husband。　I；　too；　do　not　want　a　sister：　a　sister　might　any　day　be　taken　from　me。　I　want　a　wife：　the　sole　helpmeet　I　can　influence　efficiently　in　life；　and　retain　absolutely　till　death。”

I　shuddered　as　he　spoke：　I　felt　hi