第11章 Lucy Forrester 露西·弗洛斯特

John Wilson ( b. 1785, d. 1854 ), better known as "Christopher North," was a celebrated author, poet, and critic, born at Paisley, Scotland, and educated at the University of Glasgow and at Oxford. In 1808 he moved to Westmoreland, England, where he formed one of the "Lake School" of poets. While at Oxford he gained a prize for a poem on "Painting, Poetry, and Architecture." In 1820 he became Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, which position he retained until 1851. He gained his greatest reputation as the chief author of "Noctes Ambrosianae,"essays contributed to Blackwood's Magazine between 1822 and 1825. Among his poems may be mentioned "The Isle of Palms" and the "City of the Plague," This selection is adapted from "The Foresters," a tale of Scottish life.

Lucy was only six years old, but bold as a fairy; she had gone by herself a thousand times about the braes, and often upon errands to houses two or three miles distant. What had her parents to fear? The footpaths were all firm, and led to no places of danger, nor are infants themselves incautious when alone in then pastimes. Lucy went singing into the low woods, and singing she reappeared on the open hillside. With her small white hand on the rail, she glided along the wooden bridge, or tripped from stone to stone across the shallow streamlet.

The creature would be away for hours, and no fear be felt on her account by anyone at home; whether she had gone, with her basket on her arm, to borrow some articles of household use from a neighbor, or, merely for her own solitary delight, had wandered off to the braes to play among the flowers, coming back laden with wreaths and garlands.

The happy child had been invited to pass a whole day, from morning to night, at Ladyside (a farmhouse about two miles off) with her playmates the Maynes; and she left home about an hour after sunrise.

During her absence, the house was silent but happy, and, the evening being now far advanced, Lucy was expected home every minute, and Michael, Agnes, and Isabel, her father, mother, and aunt, went to meet her on the way. They walked on and on, wondering a little, but in no degree alarmed till they reached Ladyside, and heard the cheerful din of the children within, still rioting at the close of the holiday. Jacob Mayne came to the door, but, on their kindly asking why Lucy had not been sent home before daylight was over, he looked painfully surprised, and said that she had not been at Ladyside.

Within two hours, a hundred persons were traversing the hills in all directions, even at a distance which it seemed most unlikely that poor Lucy could have reached. The shepherds and their dogs, all the night through, searched every nook, every stony and rocky place, every piece of taller heather, every crevice that could conceal anything alive or dead: but no Lucy was there.

Her mother, who for a while seemed inspired with supernatural strength, had joined in the search, and with a quaking heart looked into every brake, or stopped and listened to every shout and halloo reverberating among the hills, intent to seize upon some tone of recognition or discovery. But the moon sank; and then the stars, whose increased brightness had for a short time supplied her place, all faded away;and then came the gray dawn of the morning, and then the clear brightness of the day,—and still Michael and Agnes were childless.

"She has sunk into some mossy or miry place," said Michael, to a man near him, into whose face he could not look, "a cruel, cruel death to one like her! The earth on which my child walked has closed over her, and we shall never see her more!"

At last, a man who had left the search, and gone in a direction toward the highroad, came running with something in his arms toward the place where Michael and others were standing beside Agnes, who lay, apparently exhausted almost to dying, on the sward. He approached hesitatingly; and Michael saw that he carried Lucy's bonnet, clothes, and plaid.

It was impossible not to see some spots of blood upon the frill that the child had worn around her neck. "Murdered! murdered!" was the one word whispered or ejaculated all around; but Agnes heard it not; for, worn out by that long night of hope and despair, she had fallen asleep, and was, perhaps, seeking her lost Lucy in her dreams.

Isabel took the clothes, and, narrowly inspecting them with eye and hand, said, with a fervent voice that was heard even in Michael's despair, "No, Lucy is yet among the living. There are no marks of violence on the garments of the innocent;no murderer's hand has been here. These blood spots have been put here to deceive. Besides, would not the murderer have carried off these things? For what else would he have murdered her? But, oh! foolish despair! What speak I of? For, wicked as the world is—ay! desperately wicked—there is not, on all the surface of the wide earth, a hand that would murder our child! Is it not plain as the sun in the heaven, that Lucy has been stolen by some wretched gypsy beggar?"

The crowd quietly dispersed, and horse and foot began to scour the country. Some took the highroads, others all the bypaths, and many the trackless hills. Now that they were in some measure relieved from the horrible belief that the child was dead, the worst other calamity seemed nothing, for hope brought her back to their arms.

Agnes had been able to walk home to Bracken-Braes, and Michael and Isabel sat by her bedside. All her strength was gone, and she lay at the mercy of the rustle of a leaf, or a shadow across the window. Thus hour after hour passed, till it was again twilight. "I hear footsteps coming up the brae," said Agnes, who had for some time appeared to be slumbering; and in a few moments the voice of Jacob Mayne was heard at the outer door.

Jacob wore a solemn expression of countenance, and he seemed, from his looks, to bring no comfort. Michael stood up between him and his wife, and looked into his heart. Something there seemed to be in his face that was not miserable. "If he has heard nothing of my child," thought Michael, "this man must care little for his own fireside." "Oh, speak, speak," said Agnes; "yet why need you speak? All this has been but a vain belief, and Lucy is in heaven."

"Something like a trace of her has been discovered; a woman, with a child that did not look like a child of hers, was last night at Clovenford, and left it at the dawning." "Do you hear that, my beloved Agnes?" said Isabel; "she will have tramped away with Lucy up into Ettrick or Yarrow; but hundreds of eyes will have been upon her; for these are quiet but not solitary glens; and the hunt will be over long before she has crossed down upon Hawick. I knew that country in my young days, What say you, Mr. Mayne? There is the light of hope in your face." "There is no reason to doubt, ma'am, that it was Lucy. Everybody is sure of it. If it was my own Rachel, I should have no fear as to seeing her this blessed night."

Jacob Mayne now took a chair, and sat down, with even a smile upon his countenance. "I may tell you now, that Watty Oliver knows it was your child, for he saw her limping along after the gypsy at Galla-Brigg; but, having no suspicion, he did not take a second look at her,—but one look is sufficient, and he swears it was bonny Lucy Forester."

Aunt Isabel, by this time, had bread and cheese and a bottle of her own elder-flower wine on the table. "You have been a long and hard journey, wherever you have been, Mr. Mayne; take some refreshment;" and Michael asked a blessing.

Jacob saw that he might now venture to reveal the whole truth. "No, no, Mrs. Irving, I am over happy to eat or to drink. You are all prepared for the blessing that awaits you. Your child is not far off; and I myself, for it is I myself that found her, will bring her by the hand, and restore her to her parents."

Agnes had raised herself up in her bed at these words, but she sank gently back on her pillow; aunt Isabel was rooted to her chair; and Michael, as he rose up, felt as if the ground were sinking under his feet. There was a dead silence all around the house for a short space, and then the sound of many voices, which again by degrees subsided. The eyes of all then looked, and yet feared to look, toward the door.

Jacob Mayne was not so good as his word, for he did not bring Lucy by the hand to restore her to her parents; but dressed again in her own bonnet and gown, and her own plaid, in rushed their own child, by herself, with tears and sobs of joy, and her father laid her within her mother's bosom.

约翰·威尔森（1785～1854年），被称作“北方的克里斯托夫”，他出生于苏格兰的派斯利，在格拉斯哥大学和牛津大学接受过教育，他是一位著名的作家、诗人和批判家。1808年，他移居英格兰的维斯摩尔兰德，在那里他组织了一个诗人的“湖畔学校”。在牛津时，他的一首关于“绘画、诗歌和建筑”的诗歌获了奖。1820年，他成为爱丁堡大学道德哲学教授，该职位他一直担任到1851年。1822～1825年，作为在《黑森林》杂志上发表的《诺克塔斯·安伯罗斯安纳》一文的首席作者，他获得了一生中最高的荣誉。他的诗歌中《棕榈树岛》和《瘟疫之城》都很有名，本文选自描写苏格兰生活的寓言《弗洛斯特家的人》。

露西只有六岁，但是她就像一个仙女一样天不怕地不怕，她经常独自一人去山坡，到离家两三公里远的地方买东西。她的父母有什么可担心的？小路很坚固，没有危险的地方，孩子们自己玩的时候也不用特别小心。露西唱着歌跑进矮树林，又哼着小曲从山那边出来。她的小手扶着围栏，在木桥上滑行，或在小溪中的石头间蹦来蹦去。

即使这个小家伙离家几个小时，家人也不会担心她。她挎着小篮子，有时是去跟邻居借日用品，有时独自一个人高高兴兴出去玩，跑到山坡上或是花丛间，回来时身上挂满了花环。

一天，梅恩斯邀请快乐的露西到雷蒂赛德（一个离家两英里远的农场）玩一整天，她从太阳升起一个小时之后就离家了。

她不在家时，家里很安静但也很快乐，天还没黑，露西随时都会回家。迈克、艾格尼丝、伊莎贝尔，她的爸爸、妈妈、姨妈都去路上迎接她。他们走呀走，一路上没有碰到露西，他们感到很奇怪，但是一点都不担心，到达雷蒂赛德时，他们听到孩子欢快的笑声，聚会要结束了，可他们还在闹！雅各布·梅恩斯来开门，他们亲切地询问梅恩斯，为什么没让露西在太阳落山前回家。梅恩斯看起来非常惊讶，他说露西没有来雷蒂赛德。

接下来的两个小时内，100多人在各个山头寻找露西，他们甚至去可怜的露西不可能到的地方找。一整夜，牧羊人带着牧羊犬寻遍了每个角落，崎岖多石的地方，石楠花丛间，甚至查看了可以藏匿活人或尸体的石缝，但都没有露西的踪影。她的妈妈也在人群中，有一段时间，她似乎受到一种超自然力量的鼓舞，她的心怦怦跳动，察看每块岩石的背后，有时停下来倾听山间回荡的回声，她想辨认女儿的声音，或是发现些什么。

月亮下去了，然后星星也下去了，本来它们还可以照亮道路，现在全都消失了。然后灰色的黎明到来了，接着天慢慢变亮，然而迈克和艾格尼丝还是没有找到孩子。

“她肯定是掉进沼泽地了，”迈克对旁边的一个人说，没有看他的脸，“这对她是多么残忍呀，泥土从她的头上没过，我们再也见不到她了。”

最后，一个放下寻找的人，沿着大路走过来，胳膊里夹着一些东西跑到迈克和其他人站的地方，艾格尼丝躺在旁边的草地上，她耗尽了所有力气，躺在地上一动不动。那个人犹犹豫豫地走近迈克，迈克看见他抱着露西的帽子、衣服还有格子披肩。

靠近露西脖子的衣服边缘上可以看到血迹斑斑。“谋杀，是谋杀！”周围的人有的窃窃私语，有的失声喊了出来。但是艾格尼丝什么都没听见，因为经过一整夜希望与绝望的折磨之后，她已精疲力尽，这会儿已经昏昏沉沉地睡着了，也许，她这会儿正在梦中寻找她的露西呢！

伊莎贝尔接过衣服，她仔细检查、抚摸着衣服，突然她激动地喊了起来。就连已经绝望的迈克都听到了她的叫喊声：“不，露西还活着，你们看衣服上并没有挣扎过的痕迹，凶手也没有在衣服上留下痕迹。这些血迹是为了掩人耳目，故意留在上面的。除此之外，凶手为什么不把这些东西带走呢？他为什么要谋杀露西？但是，哦，我们的绝望真是太愚蠢了！我在说什么？虽然这个世界很邪恶——哎，非常邪恶，可怎么会有人要谋杀我们的孩子呢？显而易见，露西是被可恶的吉卜赛乞丐偷走了。”

人群静静地散开了，人们骑着马四处寻找可怜的露西。有些人在公路上搜寻，有些人在崎岖的小道上搜寻，还有一些人去荒无人烟的山上寻找。现在他们总算松了口气，既然孩子没有死，那么其他的不幸都算不了什么，他们心中充满希望，相信孩子会回到他们的怀抱的。

艾格尼丝从布拉肯山勉强支撑着走回了家，迈克和伊莎贝尔始终陪在她身边。她已经精疲力尽，听着沙沙作响的树叶，看着窗外的树影。时间慢慢过去，黄昏来临了。“我听见山坡上有脚步声。”本来在睡觉的艾格尼丝突然冒出这么一句话，她话音刚落，门外传来了雅各布·梅恩的声音。

雅各布脸色难看，看样子，他不会带来什么好消息。迈克站在雅各布和妻子之间，直视着雅各布，从他的脸上并看不到悲伤的表情。迈克想：“如果他没有听说露西的事情，他也不会关心他的家人。”“哦，快说、快说吧，”艾格尼丝说，“不过你也不用说什么了，没有希望了，露西已经到天堂了。”

“有人发现了她的行踪，昨天晚上有人在克拉文福特看见一个妇女，她带着一个孩子，那孩子好像不是她自己的，她们今天早上离开了。”“听见了吗，亲爱的艾格尼丝？”伊莎贝尔说，“她可能会带露西到埃迪克或雅卢去。但是会有人看到她的，那里虽然是幽静的山谷，但是人烟可不稀少。她还不到哈维克，就会被人们抓住的。我小的时候就知道那个地方，你说是不是，梅恩先生？看得出你也满怀希望。”“毫无疑问，夫人，那就是露西。每个人都能确定，假如那是我的孩子瑞切尔，那么我希望今晚就能见到她。”

雅各布·梅恩斯拿过一把椅子坐了下来，他面带笑容说：“现在我可以告诉您，瓦迪·奥利弗知道那是您的孩子，因为他在嘉拉·布里格看见她跟在一个吉卜赛人身后，一瘸一拐地走着。但当时他没有怀疑什么，所以就没有特别关注她——不过他看的这一眼已经足够了，他保证那一定是露西·弗洛斯特。”

这时，伊莎贝尔阿姨将面包、奶酪还有自己酿的陈年桂花酒摆在了桌子上。“梅恩先生，虽然不知道您去哪儿了，但看得出，您一定走了不少路，请吃点甜点吧！”迈克做了祷告。

雅各布觉得是时候公布所有的真相了。“不，不，埃尔文斯太太，我太高兴了，根本吃不下东西。你们准备好了，我有个好消息要告诉你们，其实你们的孩子就在附近，是我找到她的，现在我要亲自把她带到父母身边。”

艾格尼丝听到这句话，突然从床上坐了起来，但很快又慢慢向后靠在枕头上。伊莎贝尔跌坐在了椅子上，迈克站了起来，这时他感觉脚下的地面在下沉。那一刻，屋子里静得出奇，然后响起很多声音，一会儿又渐渐平息了。大家那急切而又期待的眼睛都向门口望去。

雅各布·梅恩并没有像他说的，拉着露西的手，把她还给父母，只见露西穿着自己的裙子，带着自己的帽子和格子披肩，她的脸上挂着喜悦的泪水，自己跑了进来，父亲把她抱到了母亲的怀里。