章节正文
to be more? We must think of father and mother, and all those
twelve years; now I know what the burden was."
"And we have never really borne any part of it! Father must have
been right in forcing us to promise."
Every day the discussion was resumed, and always with the same
termination. Familiarity with the inevitable step gave them
increase of courage; yet, when the moment had come and gone, when,
speeding on opposite trains, the hills and valleys multiplied
between them with terrible velocity, a pang like death cut to the
heart of each, and the divided life became a chill, oppressive
dream.
During the separation no letters passed between them. When the
neighbors asked Jonathan for news of his brother, he always
replied, "He is well," and avoided further speech with such
evidence of pain that they spared him. An hour before the month
drew to an end, he walked forth alone, taking the road to the
nearest railway station. A stranger who passed him at the entrance
of a thick wood, three miles from home, was thunderstruck on
meeting the same person shortly after, entering the wood from the
other side; but the farmers in the near fields saw two figures
issuing from the shade, hand in hand.
Each knew the other's month, before they slept, and the last thing
Jonathan said, with his head on David's shoulder, was, "You must
know our neighbors, the Bradleys, and especially Ruth." In the
morning, as they dressed, taking each other's garments at random,
as of old, Jonathan again said, "I have never seen a girl that I
like so well as Ruth Bradley. Do you remember what father said
about loving and marrying? It comes into my mind whenever I see
Ruth; but she has no sister."
"But we need not both marry," David replied, "that might part us,
and this will not. It is for always now."
"For always, David."
Two or three days later Jonathan said, as he started on an errand
to the village: "I shall stop at the Bradleys this evening, so you
must walk across and meet me there."
When David approached the house, a slender, girlish figure, with
her back towards him, was stooping over a bush of great crimson
roses, cautiously clipping a blossom here and there. At the
click of the gate-latch she started and turned towards him. Her
light ginghambonnet, falling back, disclosed a long oval face,
fair and delicate, sweet brown eyes, and brown hair laid smoothly
over the temples. A soft flush rose suddenly to her cheeks, and he
felt that his own were burning.
"Oh Jonathan!" she exclaimed, transferring the roses to her left
hand, and extending her right, as she came forward.
He was too accustomed to the name to recognize her mistake at once,
and the word "Ruth!" came naturally to his lips.
"I should know your brother David has come," she then said; "even
if I had not heard so. You look so bright. How glad I am!"
"Is he not here?" David asked.
"No; but there he is now, surely!" She turned towards the lane,
where Jonathan was dismounting. "Why, it is yourself over again,
Jonathan!"
As they approached, a glance passed between the twins, and a secret
transfer of the riding-whip to David set their identity right with
Ruth, whose manner toward the latter innocently became shy with all
its friendliness, while her frank, familiar speech was given to
Jonathan, as was fitting. But David also took the latter to
himself, and when they left, Ruth had apparently forgotten that
there was any difference in the length of their acquaintance.
On their way homewards David said: "Father was right. We must
marry, like others, and Ruth is the wife for us,--I mean for
you, Jonathan. Yes, we must learn to say MINE and YOURS,
after all, when we speak of her."
"Even she cannot separate us, it seems," Jonathan answered. "We
must give her some sign, and that will also be a sign for others.
It will seem strange to divide ourselves; we can never learn it
properly; rather let us not think of marriage."
"We cannot help thinking of it; she stands in mother's place now,
as we in father's."
Then both became silent and thoughtful. They felt that something
threatened to disturb what seemed to be the only possible life for
them, yet were unable to distinguish its features, and therefore
powerless to resist it. The same instinct which had been born of
their wonderful spirituallikeness told them that Ruth Bradley
already loved Jonathan: the duty was established, and they must
conform their lives to it. There was, however, this slight
difference between their natures--that David was generally the
first to utter the thought which came to the minds of both. So
when he said, "We shall learn what to do when the need comes," it
was a postponement of all foreboding. They drifted contentedly
towards the coming change.
The days went by, and their visits to Ruth Bradley were continued.
Sometimes Jonathan went alone, but they were usually together, and
the tie which united the three became dearer and sweeter as it was
more closely drawn. Ruth learned to distinguish between the two
when they were before her: at least she said so, and they were
willing to believe it. But she was hardly aware how nearly
alike was the happy warmth in her bosom produced by either pair of
dark gray eyes and the soft half-smile which played around either
mouth. To them she seemed to be drawn within the mystic circle
which separated them from others--she, alone; and they no longer
imagined a life in which she should not share.
Then the inevitable step was taken. Jonathan declared his love,
and was answered. Alas! he almost forgot David that late summer
evening, as they sat in the moonlight, and over and over again
assured each other how dear they had grown. He felt the trouble in
David's heart when they met.
"Ruth is ours, and I bring her kiss to you," he said, pressing his
lips to David's; but the arms flung around him trembled, and David
whispered, "Now the change begins."
"Oh, this cannot be our burden!" Jonathan cried, with all the
rapture still warm in his heart.
"If it is, it will be light, or heavy, or none at all, as we shall
bear it," David answered, with a smile of infinitetenderness.
For several days he allowed Jonathan to visit the Bradley farm
alone, saying that it must be so on Ruth's account. Her love, he
declared, must give her the fine instinct which only their mother
had ever possessed, and he must allow it time to be confirmed.
Jonathan, however, insisted that Ruth already possessed it; that
she was beginning to wonder at his absence, and to fear that she
would not be entirely welcome to the home which must always be
equally his.
David yielded at once.
"You must go alone," said Jonathan, "to satisfy yourself that she
knows us at last."
Ruth came forth from the house as he drew near. Her face beamed;
she laid her hands upon his shoulders and kissed him. "Now you
cannot doubt me, Ruth!" he said, gently.
"Doubt you, Jonathan!" she exclaimed with a fond reproach in her
eyes. "But you look troubled; is any thing the matter?"
"I was thinking of my brother," said David, in a low tone.
"Tell me what it is," she said, drawing him into the little arbor
of woodbine near the gate. They took seats side by side on the
rustic bench. "He thinks I may come between you: is it not that?"
she asked. Only one thing was clear to David's mind--that she
would surely speak more frankly and freely of him to the supposed
Jonathan than to his real self. This once he would permit the
illusion.
"Not more than must be," he answered. "He knew all from the very
beginning. But we have been like one person in two bodies, and any
change seems to divide us."
"I feel as you do," said Ruth. "I would never consent to be your
wife, if I could really divide you. I love you both too well for
that."
"Do you love me?" he asked, entirely forgetting his representative
part.
Again the reproachful look, which faded away as she met his eyes.
She fell upon his breast, and gave him kisses which were answered
with equal tenderness. Suddenly he covered his face with his
hands, and burst into a passion of tears.
"Jonathan! Oh Jonathan!" she cried, weeping with alarm and
sympathetic pain.
It was long before he could speak; but at last, turning away his
head, he faltered, "I am David!"
There was a long silence.
When he looked up she was sitting with her hands rigidly clasped in
her lap: her face was very pale.
"There it is, Ruth," he said; "we are one heart and one soul.
Could he love, and not I? You cannot decide between us, for one is
the other. If I had known you first, Jonathan would be now in my
place. What follows, then?"
"No marriage," she whispered.
"No!" he answered; "we brothers must learn to be two men instead of
one. You will partly take my place with Jonathan; I must live with
half my life, unless I can find, somewhere in the world, your other
half."
"I cannot part you, David!"
"Something stronger than you or me parts us, Ruth. If it were
death, we should bow to God's will: well, it can no more be got
away from than death or judgment. Say no more: the pattern of all
this was drawn long before we were born, and we cannot do any
thing but work it out."
He rose and stood before her. "Remember this, Ruth," he said; "it
is no blame in us to love each other. Jonathan will see the truth
in my face when we meet, and I speak for him also. You will not
see me again until your wedding-day, and then no more afterwards--
but, yes! ONCE, in some far-off time, when you shall know me to
be David, and still give me the kiss you gave to-day."
"Ah, after death!" she thought: "I have parted them forever." She
was about to rise, but fell upon the seat again, fainting. At the
same moment Jonathan appeared at David's side.
No word was said. They bore her forth and supported her between
them until the fresh breeze had restored her to consciousness. Her
first glance rested on the brother's hands, clasping; then, looking
from one to the other, she saw that the cheeks of both were wet.
"Now, leave me," she said, "but come to-morrow, Jonathan!" Even
then she turned from one to the other, with a painful, touching
uncertainty, and stretched out both hands to them in farewell.
How that poor twin heart struggled with itself is only known to
God. All human voices, and as they believed, also the Divine
Voice, commanded the division of their interwoven life. Submission
would have seemed easier, could they have taken up equal and
similar burdens; but David was unable to deny that his pack was
overweighted. For the first time, their thoughts began to diverge.
At last David said: "For mother's sake, Jonathan, as we promised.
She always called you HER child. And for Ruth's sake, and
father's last advice: they all tell me what I must do."
It was like the struggle between will and desire, in the same
nature, and none the less fierce or prolonged because the softer
quality foresaw its ultimatesurrender. Long after he felt the
step to be inevitable, Jonathan sought to postpone it, but he was
borne by all combined influences nearer and nearer to the time.
And now the wedding-day came. David was to leave home the same
evening, after the family dinner under his father's roof. In the
morning he said to Jonathan: "I shall not write until I feel that
I have become other than now, but I shall always be here, in you,
as you will be in me, everywhere. Whenever you want me, I shall
know it; and I think I shall know when to return."
The hearts of all the people went out towards them as they stood
together in the little village church. Both were calm, but very
twelve years; now I know what the burden was."
"And we have never really borne any part of it! Father must have
been right in forcing us to promise."
Every day the discussion was resumed, and always with the same
termination. Familiarity with the inevitable step gave them
increase of courage; yet, when the moment had come and gone, when,
speeding on opposite trains, the hills and valleys multiplied
between them with terrible velocity, a pang like death cut to the
heart of each, and the divided life became a chill, oppressive
dream.
During the separation no letters passed between them. When the
neighbors asked Jonathan for news of his brother, he always
replied, "He is well," and avoided further speech with such
evidence of pain that they spared him. An hour before the month
drew to an end, he walked forth alone, taking the road to the
nearest railway station. A stranger who passed him at the entrance
of a thick wood, three miles from home, was thunderstruck on
meeting the same person shortly after, entering the wood from the
other side; but the farmers in the near fields saw two figures
issuing from the shade, hand in hand.
Each knew the other's month, before they slept, and the last thing
Jonathan said, with his head on David's shoulder, was, "You must
know our neighbors, the Bradleys, and especially Ruth." In the
morning, as they dressed, taking each other's garments at random,
as of old, Jonathan again said, "I have never seen a girl that I
like so well as Ruth Bradley. Do you remember what father said
about loving and marrying? It comes into my mind whenever I see
Ruth; but she has no sister."
"But we need not both marry," David replied, "that might part us,
and this will not. It is for always now."
"For always, David."
Two or three days later Jonathan said, as he started on an errand
to the village: "I shall stop at the Bradleys this evening, so you
must walk across and meet me there."
When David approached the house, a slender, girlish figure, with
her back towards him, was stooping over a bush of great crimson
roses, cautiously clipping a blossom here and there. At the
click of the gate-latch she started and turned towards him. Her
light ginghambonnet, falling back, disclosed a long oval face,
fair and delicate, sweet brown eyes, and brown hair laid smoothly
over the temples. A soft flush rose suddenly to her cheeks, and he
felt that his own were burning.
"Oh Jonathan!" she exclaimed, transferring the roses to her left
hand, and extending her right, as she came forward.
He was too accustomed to the name to recognize her mistake at once,
and the word "Ruth!" came naturally to his lips.
"I should know your brother David has come," she then said; "even
if I had not heard so. You look so bright. How glad I am!"
"Is he not here?" David asked.
"No; but there he is now, surely!" She turned towards the lane,
where Jonathan was dismounting. "Why, it is yourself over again,
Jonathan!"
As they approached, a glance passed between the twins, and a secret
transfer of the riding-whip to David set their identity right with
Ruth, whose manner toward the latter innocently became shy with all
its friendliness, while her frank, familiar speech was given to
Jonathan, as was fitting. But David also took the latter to
himself, and when they left, Ruth had apparently forgotten that
there was any difference in the length of their acquaintance.
On their way homewards David said: "Father was right. We must
marry, like others, and Ruth is the wife for us,--I mean for
you, Jonathan. Yes, we must learn to say MINE and YOURS,
after all, when we speak of her."
"Even she cannot separate us, it seems," Jonathan answered. "We
must give her some sign, and that will also be a sign for others.
It will seem strange to divide ourselves; we can never learn it
properly; rather let us not think of marriage."
"We cannot help thinking of it; she stands in mother's place now,
as we in father's."
Then both became silent and thoughtful. They felt that something
threatened to disturb what seemed to be the only possible life for
them, yet were unable to distinguish its features, and therefore
powerless to resist it. The same instinct which had been born of
their wonderful spirituallikeness told them that Ruth Bradley
already loved Jonathan: the duty was established, and they must
conform their lives to it. There was, however, this slight
difference between their natures--that David was generally the
first to utter the thought which came to the minds of both. So
when he said, "We shall learn what to do when the need comes," it
was a postponement of all foreboding. They drifted contentedly
towards the coming change.
The days went by, and their visits to Ruth Bradley were continued.
Sometimes Jonathan went alone, but they were usually together, and
the tie which united the three became dearer and sweeter as it was
more closely drawn. Ruth learned to distinguish between the two
when they were before her: at least she said so, and they were
willing to believe it. But she was hardly aware how nearly
alike was the happy warmth in her bosom produced by either pair of
dark gray eyes and the soft half-smile which played around either
mouth. To them she seemed to be drawn within the mystic circle
which separated them from others--she, alone; and they no longer
imagined a life in which she should not share.
Then the inevitable step was taken. Jonathan declared his love,
and was answered. Alas! he almost forgot David that late summer
evening, as they sat in the moonlight, and over and over again
assured each other how dear they had grown. He felt the trouble in
David's heart when they met.
"Ruth is ours, and I bring her kiss to you," he said, pressing his
lips to David's; but the arms flung around him trembled, and David
whispered, "Now the change begins."
"Oh, this cannot be our burden!" Jonathan cried, with all the
rapture still warm in his heart.
"If it is, it will be light, or heavy, or none at all, as we shall
bear it," David answered, with a smile of infinitetenderness.
For several days he allowed Jonathan to visit the Bradley farm
alone, saying that it must be so on Ruth's account. Her love, he
declared, must give her the fine instinct which only their mother
had ever possessed, and he must allow it time to be confirmed.
Jonathan, however, insisted that Ruth already possessed it; that
she was beginning to wonder at his absence, and to fear that she
would not be entirely welcome to the home which must always be
equally his.
David yielded at once.
"You must go alone," said Jonathan, "to satisfy yourself that she
knows us at last."
Ruth came forth from the house as he drew near. Her face beamed;
she laid her hands upon his shoulders and kissed him. "Now you
cannot doubt me, Ruth!" he said, gently.
"Doubt you, Jonathan!" she exclaimed with a fond reproach in her
eyes. "But you look troubled; is any thing the matter?"
"I was thinking of my brother," said David, in a low tone.
"Tell me what it is," she said, drawing him into the little arbor
of woodbine near the gate. They took seats side by side on the
rustic bench. "He thinks I may come between you: is it not that?"
she asked. Only one thing was clear to David's mind--that she
would surely speak more frankly and freely of him to the supposed
Jonathan than to his real self. This once he would permit the
illusion.
"Not more than must be," he answered. "He knew all from the very
beginning. But we have been like one person in two bodies, and any
change seems to divide us."
"I feel as you do," said Ruth. "I would never consent to be your
wife, if I could really divide you. I love you both too well for
that."
"Do you love me?" he asked, entirely forgetting his representative
part.
Again the reproachful look, which faded away as she met his eyes.
She fell upon his breast, and gave him kisses which were answered
with equal tenderness. Suddenly he covered his face with his
hands, and burst into a passion of tears.
"Jonathan! Oh Jonathan!" she cried, weeping with alarm and
sympathetic pain.
It was long before he could speak; but at last, turning away his
head, he faltered, "I am David!"
There was a long silence.
When he looked up she was sitting with her hands rigidly clasped in
her lap: her face was very pale.
"There it is, Ruth," he said; "we are one heart and one soul.
Could he love, and not I? You cannot decide between us, for one is
the other. If I had known you first, Jonathan would be now in my
place. What follows, then?"
"No marriage," she whispered.
"No!" he answered; "we brothers must learn to be two men instead of
one. You will partly take my place with Jonathan; I must live with
half my life, unless I can find, somewhere in the world, your other
half."
"I cannot part you, David!"
"Something stronger than you or me parts us, Ruth. If it were
death, we should bow to God's will: well, it can no more be got
away from than death or judgment. Say no more: the pattern of all
this was drawn long before we were born, and we cannot do any
thing but work it out."
He rose and stood before her. "Remember this, Ruth," he said; "it
is no blame in us to love each other. Jonathan will see the truth
in my face when we meet, and I speak for him also. You will not
see me again until your wedding-day, and then no more afterwards--
but, yes! ONCE, in some far-off time, when you shall know me to
be David, and still give me the kiss you gave to-day."
"Ah, after death!" she thought: "I have parted them forever." She
was about to rise, but fell upon the seat again, fainting. At the
same moment Jonathan appeared at David's side.
No word was said. They bore her forth and supported her between
them until the fresh breeze had restored her to consciousness. Her
first glance rested on the brother's hands, clasping; then, looking
from one to the other, she saw that the cheeks of both were wet.
"Now, leave me," she said, "but come to-morrow, Jonathan!" Even
then she turned from one to the other, with a painful, touching
uncertainty, and stretched out both hands to them in farewell.
How that poor twin heart struggled with itself is only known to
God. All human voices, and as they believed, also the Divine
Voice, commanded the division of their interwoven life. Submission
would have seemed easier, could they have taken up equal and
similar burdens; but David was unable to deny that his pack was
overweighted. For the first time, their thoughts began to diverge.
At last David said: "For mother's sake, Jonathan, as we promised.
She always called you HER child. And for Ruth's sake, and
father's last advice: they all tell me what I must do."
It was like the struggle between will and desire, in the same
nature, and none the less fierce or prolonged because the softer
quality foresaw its ultimatesurrender. Long after he felt the
step to be inevitable, Jonathan sought to postpone it, but he was
borne by all combined influences nearer and nearer to the time.
And now the wedding-day came. David was to leave home the same
evening, after the family dinner under his father's roof. In the
morning he said to Jonathan: "I shall not write until I feel that
I have become other than now, but I shall always be here, in you,
as you will be in me, everywhere. Whenever you want me, I shall
know it; and I think I shall know when to return."
The hearts of all the people went out towards them as they stood
together in the little village church. Both were calm, but very
- discussion [di´skʌʃən]
n.讨论；辩论 (初中英语单词) - shortly [´ʃɔ:tli] ad.立刻，马上；不久 (初中英语单词)
- whenever [wen´evə] conj.&ad.无论何时 (初中英语单词)
- slender [´slendə] a.细长的；微薄的 (初中英语单词)
- blossom [´blɔsəm] n.花；开花期 vi.开花 (初中英语单词)
- delicate [´delikət] a.精美的；微妙的 (初中英语单词)
- disturb [di´stə:b] vt.扰乱；使不安；打乱 (初中英语单词)
- unable [ʌn´eibəl] a.不能的；无能为力的 (初中英语单词)
- distinguish [di´stiŋgwiʃ] v.区分；识别；立功 (初中英语单词)
- resist [ri´zist] v.抵抗；对抗；抵制 (初中英语单词)
- instinct [´instiŋkt] n.本能；直觉；天资 (初中英语单词)
- spiritual [´spiritʃuəl] a.精神(上)的；神圣的 (初中英语单词)
- warmth [wɔ:mθ] n.温暖；热情；激动 (初中英语单词)
- moonlight [´mu:nlait] n.&a.月光(的) (初中英语单词)
- account [ə´kaunt] vi.说明 vt.认为 n.帐目 (初中英语单词)
- beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- absence [´æbsəns] n.不在，缺席；缺乏 (初中英语单词)
- welcome [´welkəm] a.受欢迎的；可喜的 (初中英语单词)
- frankly [´fræŋkli] ad.直率地；慷慨地 (初中英语单词)
- freely [´fri:li] ad.自由地；慷慨地 (初中英语单词)
- passion [´pæʃən] n.激情；激怒；恋爱 (初中英语单词)
- partly [´pɑ:tli] ad.部分地；不完全地 (初中英语单词)
- breeze [bri:z] n.微风；不费力的事 (初中英语单词)
- fierce [fiəs] a.残忍的；强烈的 (初中英语单词)
- surrender [sə´rendə] vt.&n.交出；引渡；放弃 (初中英语单词)
- postpone [pəust´pəun] v.延迟；搁置；延缓发作 (初中英语单词)
- inevitable [i´nevitəbəl] a.不可避免的 (高中英语单词)
- separation [,sepə´reiʃən] n.分离；分开；分居 (高中英语单词)
- thunderstruck [´θʌndəstrʌk] a.遭雷击的；吓坏了的 (高中英语单词)
- loving [´lʌviŋ] a.爱的，有爱情的 (高中英语单词)
- cautiously [´kɔ:ʃəsli] ad.小心地；谨慎地 (高中英语单词)
- bonnet [´bɔnit] n.无边女帽；童帽 (高中英语单词)
- apparently [ə´pærəntli] ad.显然，表面上地 (高中英语单词)
- homewards [´həumwədz] ad.&a.回家(的) (高中英语单词)
- thoughtful [´θɔ:tfəl] a.深思的；体贴的 (高中英语单词)
- likeness [´laiknis] n.相似；肖像；外表 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- infinite [´infinit] a.无限的，无穷的 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- reproach [ri´prəutʃ] vt.&n.责备；指责；耻辱 (高中英语单词)
- tenderness [´tendənis] n.娇嫩；柔软；温柔 (高中英语单词)
- consciousness [´kɔnʃəsnis] n.意识；觉悟；知觉 (高中英语单词)
- painful [´peinfəl] a.痛(苦)的；费力的 (高中英语单词)
- ultimate [´ʌltimit] a.最终的 n.终极；顶点 (高中英语单词)
- velocity [vi´lɔsiti] n.速度(率)；迅速 (英语四级单词)
- drawing [´drɔ:iŋ] n.画图；制图；图样 (英语四级单词)
- far-off [´fɑ:rɔ:f] a.远方的，遥远的 (英语四级单词)
- familiarity [fə,mili´æriti] n.熟悉；新近；随便 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- gingham [´giŋəm] n.方格花布，条格平布 (英语六级单词)
- identity [ai´dentiti] n.身份；同一性；一致 (英语六级单词)
- innocently [´inəsntli] ad.天真地，单纯地 (英语六级单词)
- friendliness [´frendlis] n.友爱，友好，友谊 (英语六级单词)
- fitting [´fitiŋ] a.适当的 n.试衣 (英语六级单词)
- mystic [´mistik] a.神秘的；难以理解的 (英语六级单词)
- weeping [´wi:piŋ] a.&n.哭泣(的) (英语六级单词)
- rigidly [´ridʒidli] ad.坚硬地；不易弯地 (英语六级单词)
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