这时一个从爱弥丽和我是小孩子的时候就认识我的渔夫，在门口上低声唤我的名字。
“先生，”他说道，眼泪流下他那饱经风雨的脸，他的嘴唇颤抖着，脸像灰一般白，“你肯去那边一下吗？”
我所记起的往事从他的神情上表现出来了。我靠在他伸出来扶我的胳臂上，丧魂失魄地问他道：
“一个尸首已经靠岸了吗？”
他说道：“是的。”
“我认得那尸首吗？”
他什么也不回答。
但是他把我领到海边。就在她和我——两个孩子——寻找贝壳的地方——就在昨夜吹来的那条旧船的一些比较轻的碎片被风吹散的地方——就在他所伤害的家庭的残迹中间——我看见他头枕胳臂躺在那里，正如我过去时常见他躺在学校里的一样。
a fisherman, who had known me when Emily and I were children, and
ever since, whispered my name at the door.
'Sir,' said he, with tears starting to his weather-beaten face,
which, with his trembling lips, was ashy pale, 'will you come over
yonder?'
The old remembrance that had been recalled to me, was in his look.
I asked him, terror-stricken, leaning on the arm he held out to
support me:
'Has a body come ashore?'
He said, 'Yes.'
'Do I know it?' I asked then.
He answered nothing.
But he led me to the shore. And on that part of it where she and
I had looked for shells, two children - on that part of it where
some lighter fragments of the old boat, blown down last night, had
been scattered by the wind - among the ruins of the home he had
wronged - I saw him lying with his head upon his arm, as I had
often seen him lie at school.
我希望时间，”我看着她说道，“会于我们大家有益呢。亲爱的斯提福兹夫人，我们在最沉重的不幸中，必须信赖这个了。”
我的态度的诚恳，还有我眼里的泪水，使她吃惊。她的全部思想过程似乎要停止，要改变。
我在轻轻地说他的名字时，用力控制我的声音，但是我的声音颤抖了。她低声自言自语地把他的名字重复了两三次。随后，她带着勉强的镇静对我说道：
“小儿病了。”
“病得很重。”
“你见过他吗？”
“我见过。”
“你们和好了吗？”
我不能说是，我不能说不是。她把头略微转向旁边洛莎·达特尔站立的地方，就在那里，我用了嘴唇的动作对洛莎说道，“死了！”
为要不使斯提福兹夫人向后看，而且分明看出她还没有准备好要知道的事，我赶快接住她的目光；但是我已经看见洛莎·达特尔怀着绝望和恐怖的激动把双手投向空中，然后捂在脸上。
那位俊秀的夫人——那么相像，哦，那么相像！——用一种呆定的目光看我，把手放在前额上。我劝她平静，准备忍受我不得不说的事；不过我却应当劝她哭，因为她像一尊石像一般坐在那里。
“我上次来这里的时候，”我结结巴巴地说道，“达特尔小姐告诉我，他在这里那里地航行。前天夜间海上是可怕的一夜。假如他那一夜在海上，临近一个危险的口岸，如我所听说的；假如我见过的那条船真是他——”
“洛莎！”斯提福兹夫人说道，“来我这里！”
她来了，但是并未带着同情或慰借。当她与他母亲面面相对时，她的眼睛像火一般放光，突然发出一阵可怕的笑声。
“那，”她说道，“你的骄傲满足了吧，你这个疯女人？现在他已经向你赎了罪——用他的生命！你听见吗？——他的生命！”
斯提福兹夫人直挺挺地陷进椅子，睁大了眼睛看她。除了一声呻吟外，没有作声。
“唉！”洛莎热情地捶着胸叫道，“看看我！呻吟，叹气，看看我！看这里！”拍着那个瘢，“看你死去的儿子的手迹！”
那个母亲时时发出的呻吟使我感动。始终一样。始终不清楚，不通畅。始终伴同头部无力的动作，脸上却没有变化。始终从僵硬的嘴和紧闭的牙齿中发出，仿佛牙关已经锁起，面部痛楚得失了知觉。
“你记得这是他什么时候干的吗？”她说下去道，“你记得这是他什么时候（由于他承受了你的天性，由于你对于他的骄傲和感情的纵容）干的，使我终生破相的吗？看看我，到死带着他那十分无礼的痕迹；为了你把他弄成的样子呻吟和叹气吧！”
“达特尔小姐，”我劝她道，“看上天的面——”
“我一定要说！”她把她那闪光的眼睛转向我说道，“你不要出声！看看我，我说，骄傲的虚伪的儿子的骄傲的母亲！为了你对他的养育呻吟吧，为了你对他的纵容呻吟吧，为了你丧失他呻吟吧，为了我丧失他呻吟吧！”
她握起拳来，全部瘦削的身体颤抖，仿佛她的感情在一寸一寸地杀掉她。
“恼恨他任性的是你！”她绝叫道，“被他的傲气伤害的是你！白头时反对你生他时所造成的这两种性格的是你！从他的摇篮时代养成他实有的样子、妨碍他应有的样子的也是你！现在，你看到你多年辛苦的报酬了吧？”
“哦，达特尔小姐，可耻呀！哦，残忍哪！”
“我告诉你，”她接过去说道，“我一定要对她说。当我站在这里的时候，世界上没有权力可以阻止我！这许多年我都不曾出声，现在我还不说话吗？我一向比你更爱他！”凶猛地转向她。“我可以爱他，不求酬报。假如我作了他的女人，我可以因了他一年一句相爱的话，作他那反复无常的性情的奴隶。我可以的。谁比我知道得更清楚？你是刻薄的、骄傲的、拘板的、自私的。我的爱情可以专一——可以把你那没有价值的啜泣踩在脚下！”
她睁着闪光的眼睛踏地，仿佛她真那样干。
“看这里！”她又下死狠地打着那个瘢说道。“当他长到更能了解他做过的事的时候，他懂得了，也后悔了！我可以对他唱歌，对他谈话，对他所作所为表示热心，用力取得他最感兴趣的知识；我引起他的注意。当他最纯洁最真实的时候，他爱过我。是的，他爱过！有许多次，他用小小借口把你支开，他搂抱过我！”
她这样说时，她的疯狂中——差不多疯狂了——含有一种嘲弄的骄傲，也含有一种热切的回忆，一种柔情的余烬暂时在那回忆中燃起了。
“我堕落——若非他用稚气的求爱举动迷住我，我或许早已经觉悟——成为一个玩偶，一种消遣品，随他的高兴放下，拿起，和戏弄。到他渐渐厌倦的时候，我也渐渐厌倦了。到他的爱火熄灭的时候，我既不因为他不能不娶我而与他结婚，也不再用力巩固我的权力。我们不声不响地彼此疏远。或许你已经看出来，但是并不以为可惜。从那时起，我就不过是你们中间一件残破的器具；没有眼睛，没有耳朵，没有感情，没有记忆。呻吟？为你把他弄成的样子呻吟吧；不要为你的爱心呻吟，我告诉你，我一度比一向爱他的你更爱他！”
她用闪光的发怒的大眼睛对着那睁大的眼睛和呆板的脸站在那里；当那呻吟继续发出时，她一点也不缓和，仿佛那个脸不过是一幅画。
“达特尔小姐，”我说道，“假如你残忍到不同情这个苦恼的母亲——”
“谁同情我？”她锋利地反问道。“她已经撒下这样的种子。让她为她今天的收获呻吟吧！”
“假如他的过失——”我开始说道。
“过失！她声泪俱下地叫道。“谁敢毁谤他？他的灵魂比他所折节下交的朋友的灵魂价值几百万倍！”
“没有人比我更爱他，没有人比我更感念他，”我回答道。“我的意思是，假如你不同情他的母亲；假如他的过失——使你受过的痛苦——”
“那是假的，”她撕着她的黑头发叫道，“我爱他！”
“——假如他的过失，”我说下去道，“在这样的一种时候，你不能忘怀；看看那个人，即使看作你素不相识的一个人，救一救她吧！”
'I hope Time,' said I, looking at her, 'will be good to all of us.
Dear Mrs. Steerforth, we must all trust to that, in our heaviest
misfortunes.'
The earnestness of my manner, and the tears in my eyes, alarmed
her. The whole course of her thoughts appeared to stop, and
change.
I tried to command my voice in gently saying his name, but it
trembled. She repeated it to herself, two or three times, in a low
tone. Then, addressing me, she said, with enforced calmness:
'My son is ill.'
'Very ill.'
'You have seen him?'
'I have.'
'Are you reconciled?'
I could not say Yes, I could not say No. She slightly turned her
head towards the spot where Rosa Dartle had been standing at her
elbow, and in that moment I said, by the motion of my lips, to
Rosa, 'Dead!'
That Mrs. Steerforth might not be induced to look behind her, and
read, plainly written, what she was not yet prepared to know, I met
her look quickly; but I had seen Rosa Dartle throw her hands up in
the air with vehemence of despair and horror, and then clasp them
on her face.
The handsome lady - so like, oh so like! - regarded me with a fixed
look, and put her hand to her forehead. I besought her to be calm,
and prepare herself to bear what I had to tell; but I should rather
have entreated her to weep, for she sat like a stone figure.
'When I was last here,' I faltered, 'Miss Dartle told me he was
sailing here and there. The night before last was a dreadful one
at sea. If he were at sea that night, and near a dangerous coast,
as it is said he was; and if the vessel that was seen should really
be the ship which -'
'Rosa!' said Mrs. Steerforth, 'come to me!'
She came, but with no sympathy or gentleness. Her eyes gleamed
like fire as she confronted his mother, and broke into a frightful
laugh.
'Now,' she said, 'is your pride appeased, you madwoman? Now has he
made atonement to you - with his life! Do you hear? - His life!'
Mrs. Steerforth, fallen back stiffly in her chair, and making no
sound but a moan, cast her eyes upon her with a wide stare.
'Aye!' cried Rosa, smiting herself passionately on the breast,
'look at me! Moan, and groan, and look at me! Look here!' striking
the scar, 'at your dead child's handiwork!'
The moan the mother uttered, from time to time, went to My heart.
Always the same. Always inarticulate and stifled. Always
accompanied with an incapable motion of the head, but with no
change of face. Always proceeding from a rigid mouth and closed
teeth, as if the jaw were locked and the face frozen up in pain.
'Do you remember when he did this?' she proceeded. 'Do you
remember when, in his inheritance of your nature, and in your
pampering of his pride and passion, he did this, and disfigured me
for life? Look at me, marked until I die with his high
displeasure; and moan and groan for what you made him!'
'Miss Dartle,' I entreated her. 'For Heaven's sake -'
'I WILL speak!' she said, turning on me with her lightning eyes.
'Be silent, you! Look at me, I say, proud mother of a proud, false
son! Moan for your nurture of him, moan for your corruption of him,
moan for your loss of him, moan for mine!'
She clenched her hand, and trembled through her spare, worn figure,
as if her passion were killing her by inches.
'You, resent his self-will!' she exclaimed. 'You, injured by his
haughty temper! You, who opposed to both, when your hair was grey,
the qualities which made both when you gave him birth! YOU, who
from his cradle reared him to be what he was, and stunted what he
should have been! Are you rewarded, now, for your years of
trouble?'
'Oh, Miss Dartle, shame! Oh cruel!'
'I tell you,' she returned, 'I WILL speak to her. No power on
earth should stop me, while I was standing here! Have I been silent
all these years, and shall I not speak now? I loved him better
than you ever loved him!' turning on her fiercely. 'I could have
loved him, and asked no return. If I had been his wife, I could
have been the slave of his caprices for a word of love a year. I
should have been. Who knows it better than I? You were exacting,
proud, punctilious, selfish. My love would have been devoted -
would have trod your paltry whimpering under foot!'
With flashing eyes, she stamped upon the ground as if she actually
did it.
'Look here!' she said, striking the scar again, with a relentless
hand. 'When he grew into the better understanding of what he had
done, he saw it, and repented of it! I could sing to him, and talk
to him, and show the ardour that I felt in all he did, and attain
with labour to such knowledge as most interested him; and I
attracted him. When he was freshest and truest, he loved me. Yes,
he did! Many a time, when you were put off with a slight word, he
has taken Me to his heart!'
She said it with a taunting pride in the midst of her frenzy - for
it was little less - yet with an eager remembrance of it, in which
the smouldering embers of a gentler feeling kindled for the moment.
'I descended - as I might have known I should, but that he
fascinated me with his boyish courtship - into a doll, a trifle for
the occupation of an idle hour, to be dropped, and taken up, and
trifled with, as the inconstant humour took him. When he grew
weary, I grew weary. As his fancy died out, I would no more have
tried to strengthen any power I had, than I would have married him
on his being forced to take me for his wife. We fell away from one
another without a word. Perhaps you saw it, and were not sorry.
Since then, I have been a mere disfigured piece of furniture
between you both; having no eyes, no ears, no feelings, no
remembrances. Moan? Moan for what you made him; not for your
love. I tell you that the time was, when I loved him better than
you ever did!'
She stood with her bright angry eyes confronting the wide stare,
and the set face; and softened no more, when the moaning was
repeated, than if the face had been a picture.
'Miss Dartle,' said I, 'if you can be so obdurate as not to feel
for this afflicted mother -'
'Who feels for me?' she sharply retorted. 'She has sown this. Let
her moan for the harvest that she reaps today!'
'And if his faults -' I began.
'Faults!' she cried, bursting into passionate tears. 'Who dares
malign him? He had a soul worth millions of the friends to whom he
stooped!'
'No one can have loved him better, no one can hold him in dearer
remembrance than I,' I replied. 'I meant to say, if you have no
compassion for his mother; or if his faults - you have been bitter
on them -'
'It's false,' she cried, tearing her black hair; 'I loved him!'
'- if his faults cannot,' I went on, 'be banished from your
remembrance, in such an hour; look at that figure, even as one you
have never seen before, and render it some help!'
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