Chapter 64 Chapter 60: Agnes

After my aunt and I were left alone in the house, we talked late into the night.How cheerful and hopeful every letter from the expatriate has been; how Mr. Micawber has sent home small sums to pay "money debts"--how he used to be, as between man and man Strict business debts; how Jenny came to serve my aunt when she returned to Dover, and married a good hotel owner by practicing the masculinity; how my aunt expressed her opinion on the greatness. Helped and taught the bride in recognition, and attended the wedding; these are things we talked about—and I knew it from many letters I had received in the past.Of course, we won't forget Mr. Dick.My aunt told me that he kept copying everything he could get his hands on, and by doing so he put King Charles I aside.How he was free and happy, free from the tedium of life, and how this was one of her chief joys and rewards in life; As a new summary.

"When will you, Trol," said my aunt, patting the back of my hand when we sat down before the fire as before, "when will you go to Canterbury?" "If you don't come with me, Auntie, I'll ride tomorrow morning. are you going? " "No!" said my aunt, in her cut-and-dried way, "I don't want to go anywhere else." I'll ride then, I said.Had I not been anxious to see her but someone else, I should not have passed through Canterbury today without staying there. She was very happy to hear me, but she said, "Come on, Trol, I'm sure my old bones will last till tomorrow!" Seeing me sitting there looking at the fire thoughtfully again, she patted me again. my hand.

I was so thoughtful because I couldn't help coming back here and being so close to Agnes without feeling that long-wrenching regret.This guilt taught me something I hadn't learned in my early years, maybe it's lessened a lot, but it's still guilt. "Oh, Troy," I seem to hear my aunt say again, and I know her better now—"blind, blind, blind!" We were both silent for a few minutes.When I raised my eyes, I found her staring at me intently.Perhaps, she has read my mind, because I feel that although my mind was once fanatical, it is easier to guess now. "You'll find her father is a gray-haired old man," said my aunt, "but in every way he's better than he was—he's a new man. You'll also find , he now no longer measures other people's interests, joys, and sorrows by his only narrow scale. Believe me, boy, when all that is measured in that way; it must be much smaller."

"Of course, it must have shrunk," I said. "You'll find her," continued my aunt, "as kind, beautiful, sincere, and unselfish as ever. If I knew a higher word of praise, Trol, I would use it for her." You can't praise her too much; you can't blame me too much. Oh, how far I have strayed! "If she'd made the girls around her like herself," said my aunt earnestly, with tears in her eyes, "oh, God knows, she wouldn't have lived this life in vain! Useful and happy, as she said back then Yes! How can she be useless and unhappy!"

"Has Agnes—" I said to myself. "Hey! Hey! Is there anything?" said my aunt sharply. "Do you have a lover?" I said. "Twenty," cried my aunt, with an angry pride, "she could have been married twenty times since you went, my dear!" "There is no doubt," said I. "There is no doubt about it. But has she ever been worthy of her lover? Agnes does not look at anyone who is not worthy of her." My aunt rested her chin on her hand and pondered for a while.She slowly raised her eyelids to look at me and said: "I suspect she has a sweetheart, Tello."

"A promising man?" I said. "Tro," said my aunt gravely, "I can't tell. I don't even have a right to tell you that. She never told me, but I guessed it myself." She looked at me with such concern and attention that I even noticed that she was shaking.At this time, I noticed that she was very attentive to my recent thoughts.During those many days and nights, the resolution that I made after repeated internal conflicts was now stronger. "In that case," I began, "I hope it's—" "I don't know if that's the case," said my aunt hastily. "You shouldn't be influenced by my suspicions. You should take my guesses to heart. My guesses, perhaps, are groundless. I shouldn't speak out.

"In that case," I repeated, "Agnes will tell me when she thinks fit. My sister, my aunt, to whom I have confessed so many secrets, will not find it difficult to tell me." My aunt's eyes slowly retracted as they did when they turned to me.She covered her eyes with her hands in thought, and slowly placed her other hand on my shoulder.We just sat there looking back.We didn't say anything until we parted and went to bed. Early in the morning, I rode to the place where I used to go to school.Although I was determined to overcome myself, I couldn't say I was relaxed when I thought of seeing her again soon.

The places I remember well were quickly visited, and I came to the quiet streets where every stone was a children's story for me.I walked up to the old house and walked away because I was too excited to go in.I'm finally back.As I passed, I looked into the low window of the round room where Uriah, and then Mr. Micawber, sat.I saw that this room had been converted into a small living room, and the office was gone.Otherwise, the quiet old house is as clean and tidy as when I first saw it.I asked my new maid to tell Miss Wickfield that a visitor from a friend overseas had arrived to greet her.I was led up the dimly lit staircase, and reminded to keep an eye out for it—a staircase I was already familiar with—and then into the unchanged living room.On the shelf were the books that Agnes and I had read, and the desk at which I used to sit many nights to do my homework was still in its old place.Some of the changes that the Heep mother and son had imposed there were gone, and everything was the same.Everything is the same as it was in the happy days.

I stood by the window, looking at the houses across the old street, recalling how I looked at them in the rainy afternoon when I first arrived, how I always guessed the people who appeared at the window from time to time, and followed them up and down the stairs with my eyes; Women used to clatter across the sidewalk in their clogs, and the dreary rain slanted down and poured out from the spout opposite and onto the road; What kind of mood do I have to observe the homeless people staggering past with their luggage on sticks and put them on their shoulders? It is still the same as then. smell, and feel the wind that blows on me during my toilsome travels.

The little door in the paneled wall opened, and I turned around in surprise.She walked towards me, and her beautiful and clear eyes met mine.She stopped and put her hands on her chest.I took her into my arms. "Agnes, my dear girl! I have come so suddenly!" "No, no! I'm glad to see you, Trowood!" "My dear Agnes, how happy I am to see you again!" I hugged her tightly.For a while, neither of us spoke.Then we sat down side by side; her angelic face turned to me, her welcome expression just what I've been thinking about all year long, in my sleep and in my wake.

She's so honest, so beautiful, so kind—I've been in so much debt to her.I think she is so cute, I can't find the words to express my feelings.I wanted to bless her, I wanted to thank her, I wanted to tell her how much I was influenced by her (as I used to say in my letters); but all my efforts were in vain.My love and joy are beyond words. She calmed me down with that lovely delicacy that was only hers.Tell me about our differences.She told me that she had talked fondly of Dora's grave to me, behind my back, and Emily, whom I had visited many times.With the precise instinct of her noble heart, she plucked the strings of my memory softly and harmoniously, making each string beautiful, so that I can listen to the faint sorrows in peace, but I don't have to avoid being awakened by it other memories.How could I avoid her, the auspicious angel in my life, in all the music? "And yourself, Agnes," I said slowly, "tell me about yourself. You have hardly told me anything about your life for so long! " "What can I say?" said she, with a smile on her radiant face, "Papa is safe. You see us here, and we live peacefully in our own home; our cares are lifted Now, our family is as it was again; and knowing that, my dear Trotwood, you know everything." "Know everything, Agnes?" I said. She looked at me with a hint of unease, looking surprised. "Anything else, sister?" I said. The blush that had faded from her cheeks returned, then faded again.she smiled; I felt that there was an unspoken sadness in that smile.She shook her head again. I wanted to get her to talk about the problem my aunt hinted at, because although I knew that knowing the secret would hurt me, I wanted to sharpen my heart and do my duty to her; but seeing her so disturbed, I would not Let's talk about that. "You have much to do, don't you, Agnes dear?" "About my school?" She raised her eyes calmly and said again. "Yeah, school is tough, isn't it?" "That kind of hard work is so pleasant," she replied, "It seems to be a pity to describe it with the word hard work." "Every good thing is easy for you," I said. The blush on her face came and went again.When she looked down, I saw that same sad smile again. "You can wait until papa comes back," said Agnes cheerfully, "and spend the day with us? Perhaps you can sleep in your own bedroom? We always call that your bedroom." I can't, because I've promised my aunt to ride back to her in the evening, but I'm sure I'll spend the whole day here to my heart's content. "I'll be a prisoner for a while," said Agnes, "but here are old books, Trowood, and old music." "Even the flowers are still here," I said, looking around. "Maybe they're still there." "During your time abroad," Agnes said, laughing, "I like to keep everything as it was when we were kids. Because, I think we were happy then." "We were really happy then!" I said. "Anything that reminds me of my brother is my favorite companion," said Agnes, looking cheerfully at me with her earnest eyes. "Even this," she pointed out to me the little basket full of keys still slung around her waist, "seems to jingle the same old tune!" She smiled again, and went out through the door she had entered earlier. My task is to guard this sister's feelings with the spirit of religion.This is all I have left for myself, and it is also a treasure.If I should shake the sacred foundation of trust and habit upon which the sisterly affection was entrusted to me, I shall lose it, never to regain it.I take this very seriously.The more I love her, the more I cannot forget this. I go for a walk in the street.I saw my old enemy again, the butcher, now a local vigilante, with his baton hanging in the butcher's shop; seeing him, I went to see the place where I fought him , and there I thought again of Miss Shefford and Miss Big Larkins, and all those loves, old likes and dislikes, of course fruitless.Except for Agnes, everything of that year has passed away with time.Only she has always been a star on my head, getting brighter and higher. Mr. Wickfield had returned from one of his gardens when I returned.The garden is about two miles outside the city, and now he tends it almost every day.I found out he was exactly what my aunt said he was.When we sat down to dinner with half a dozen or so little girls, he seemed to be a shadow of his handsome portrait on the wall. The quiet place in my memory is full of the details and tranquility of the past.After dinner, as Mr. Wickfield didn't drink any more, I didn't feel like drinking either.We all went downstairs, where Agnes and her schoolboys sang, played games, and did their homework.After tea, the children left us, and the three of us sat together and talked about the past. "I've been," said Mr. Wickfield, shaking his gray head, "and done a lot of things I regret--very much I regret, Trowood, as you know very well. Yes. But even if I could undo the past, I wouldn't do it." Seeing his face next to me, it was not difficult for me to believe his words. "If I want to do that, I will cancel the patience, loyalty, filial piety and innocent love, no! Even if I forget myself, I can't forget all of them!" He said again. "I know you, sir," I said softly, "and I respect those days, always have." "But no one knows, not even you," he went on, "how much she has done, how much she has endured, how she has struggled. My dear Agnes!" She put her hand on his arm imploringly, and begged him to stop talking.Her face was very pale. "All right, all right!" he said with a sigh.I saw now that he had put aside what my aunt had suffered or still suffered in connection with what she had told me. "Hey! I haven't told you about her mother, Trotwood. Did anyone tell you?" "Never, sir." "It wasn't much, but it was a lot of pain. She married me against her father's wishes, and he disowned her. Before Agnes came into this world, she begged him to forgive her. But He was very hard-hearted and her mother died early. Her heart was broken after being rejected by her father." Agnes leaned on his shoulder and put her arms around his neck gently. "She was born with a loving and tender heart," he said, "and her heart was wounded. I know that affectionate nature very well. If I don't know it, no one will. She loved me very much, But she had never been happy. She had been suffering in secret. She had been unhealthy, frustrated at his final refusal—not for the first time, this was the last time after many— She faded and died. She left me Agnes, two weeks old, and the white hair you saw on my head when you first came." He kisses Agnes on the cheek. "The affection I had for my lovely child was a morbid one, but my spirits were totally unhealthy at the time. I don't talk about that any more. I don't want to talk about myself, Trowood, just about Her mother and her. If I give you a clue about my past and present, I think you will understand. What Agnes is like, I don't need to say. I have always recognized her from her personality Something about my mother, so I'll tell you the story tonight when the three of us get together again after all those big changes. I've told it all." His bowed head, her angelic face and filial piety gave the story a sadder desolation than ever before.If I were to commemorate this night of reunion with anything, it would be this story. Agnes got up from her father, walked softly to her piano, and began to play some old tunes she used to play when we used to be together. "Do you still plan to go abroad?" She asked when I stood beside her. "What's my sister's opinion on this?" "I hope not to go again." "Then I don't want to go any more, Agnes." "Because you ask me, Trotwood, I don't think you should go any more," she said softly, "and your growing reputation and success have increased your ability to do good; Brother," she looked at me, "time may not agree." "You made me, Agnes. You should know that especially." "I made you, Trowood?" "Yes! Agnes, my dear girl!" I said, leaning over her. "When we met today, I wanted to tell you something that has been haunting my mind since Dora's death. You still Remember, when you came down to look at me in my little room--hand up, Agnes?" "Oh, Trowood!" she answered, with tears in her eyes. "So cute, so frank, so young! How could I forget?" "Since then I have often thought, I think you—my sister—have always been as you were, always pointing up, Agnes; you have always led me in better ways, Keep leading me up, up even more!" She just shook her head.I saw the same sad and peaceful smile behind her tears. "For this, I am so grateful to you, Agnes, and can't live without you so much. I can't express the feelings in my heart. I want you to know, but I don't know how to let you know: I will depend on you for the rest of my life." , accept your guidance as I have walked through the darkness under your guidance before. No matter what happens, no matter what new relationship you will form, no matter what will change between us, I will always respect and love you , as now and as ever, you shall be my comfort and support, as you have always been. Till my death, my dearest sister, I shall always see you before me, pointing upward!" She put her hand in mine and told me that she was proud of me and what I said, even though my compliments far outweighed the praises.So she played the piano gently again, but she didn't take her eyes off me anymore. "Do you know, Agnes? What I heard this evening," I said, "stranges me—as if it were part of the feeling I had for you when I first saw you, Part of what the Times felt for you when they sat beside you." "You know I have no mother," she replied, smiling, "so feel sorry for me." "More than that, Agnes, I know (as if I already knew the story) that there is something unspeakably tender and kind about you, which, as far as I know, is variable in others. It's sad, but it's different for you." Still looking at me, she played softly. "Will you laugh at my fantasies, Agnes?" "Will not!" "I really believed, and that's when I felt that until your life stops, no matter how many obstacles there are, you will always have true enthusiasm, and it will never change. Will you laugh at me for these words? —Would you laugh at me for having such a dream? " "Oh no! Oh no!" At that moment, a distressed shadow passed across her face; but when I felt the shadow, it disappeared; she looked at me, still smiling, very calm, and continued to play with. As I rode home in the cold night, the wind blew past me like a restless dream.When I thought about all that, I worried that she wasn't actually happy. I am unhappy; yet, hitherto, I have sincerely sealed the past.When I think of her pointing upwards, I feel as if she is pointing at the sky above me.There, in the unthinkable future, I can still love her with my unconfessed love on earth, and I can also tell her all the struggles in my heart when I love her in this world.