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MIDDLEMARCH-Part91_GEORGE ELIOT(1819-1880)_English Literature(文学)-第2页

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on the meanest feelings in men could be, called intellect, he had

his share, for under the blurting rallying tone with which he



spoke to Bulstrode, there was an evidentselection of statements,

as if they had been so many moves at chess. Meanwhile Bulstrode



had determined on his move, and he said, with gathered resolution--

"You will do well to reflect, Mr. Raffles, that it is possible for a



man to overreach himself in the effort to secure undue advantage.

Although I am not in any way bound to you, I am willing to supply



you with a regular annuity--in quarterly payments--so long as you

fulfil a promise to remain at a distance from this neighborhood.



It is in your power to choose. If you insist on remaining here,

even for a short time, you will get nothing from me. I shall decline



to know you."

"Ha, ha!" said Raffles, with an affectedexplosion, "that reminds



me of a droll dog of a thief who declined to know the constable."

"Your allusions are lost on me sir," said Bulstrode, with white heat;



"the law has no hold on me either through your agency or any other."

"You can't understand a joke, my good fellow. I only meant



that I should never decline to know you. But let us be serious.

Your quarterly payment won't quite suit me. I like my freedom."



Here Raffles rose and stalked once or twice up and down the room,

swinging his leg, and assuming an air of masterly meditation.



At last he stopped opposite Bulstrode, and said, "I'll tell

you what! Give us a couple of hundreds--come, that's modest--



and I'll go away--honor bright!--pick up my portmanteau and go away.

But I shall not give up my Liberty for a dirty annuity. I shall



come and go where I like. Perhaps it may suit me to stay away,

and correspond with a friend; perhaps not. Have you the money



with you?"

"No, I have one hundred," said Bulstrode, feeling the immediate riddance



too great a relief to be rejected on the ground of future uncertainties.

"I will forward you the other if you will mention an address."



"No, I'll wait here till you bring it," said Raffles. "I'll take

a stroll and have a snack, and you'll be back by that time."



Mr. Bulstrode's sickly body, shattered by the agitations he

had gone through since the last evening, made him feel abjectly



in the power of this loud invulnerable man. At that moment

he snatched at a temporaryrepose to be won on any terms.



He was rising to do what Raffles suggested, when the latter said,

lifting up his finger as if with a sudden recollection--



"I did have another look after Sarah again, though I didn't

tell you; I'd a tender conscience about that pretty young woman.



I didn't find her, but I found out her husband's name, and I made

a note of it. But hang it, I lost my pocketbook. However, if I



heard it, I should know it again. I've got my faculties as if I

was in my prime, but names wear out, by Jove! Sometimes I'm no



better than a confounded tax-paper before the names are filled in.

However, if I hear of her and her family, you shall know, Nick.



You'd like to do something for her, now she's your step-daughter."

"Doubtless," said Mr. Bulstrode, with the usual steady look of his



light-gray eyes; "though that might reduce my power of assisting you."

As he walked out of the room, Raffles winked slowly at his back,



and then turned towards the window to watch the banker riding away--

virtually at his command. His lips first curled with a smile and then



opened with a short triumphant laugh.

"But what the deuce was the name?" he presently said, half aloud,



scratching his head, and wrinkling his brows horizontally. He had

not really cared or thought about this point of forgetfulness until



it occurred to him in his invention of annoyances for Bulstrode.

"It began with L; it was almost all l's I fancy," he went on,



with a sense that he was getting hold of the slippery name.

But the hold was too slight, and he soon got tired of this mental chase;



for few men were more impatient of private occupation or more

in need of making themselves continually heard than Mr. Raffles.



He preferred using his time in pleasant conversation with the bailiff

and the housekeeper, from whom he gathered as much as he wanted to



know about Mr. Bulstrode's position in Middlemarch.

After all, however, there was a dull space of time which needed relieving



with bread and cheese and ale, and when he was seated alone with these

resources in the wainscoted parlor, he suddenly slapped his knee,



and exclaimed, "Ladislaw!" That action of memory which he had tried

to set going, and had abandoned in despair, had suddenly completed






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