Edmund had great things to hear on his return. Many surprises were awaiting him. The first that occurred was not least in interest: the appearance of Henry Crawford and his sister walking together through the village as he rode into it. He had concluded—he had meant them to be far distant. His absence had been extended beyond a fortnight purposely to avoid Miss Crawford. He was returning to Mansfield with spirits ready to feed on melancholy remembrances, and tender associations, when her own fair self was before him, leaning on her brother's arm, and he found himself receiving a welcome, unquestionably friendly, from the woman whom, two moments before, he had been thinking of as seventy miles off, and as farther, much farther, from him in inclination than any distance could express.

Her reception of him was of a sort which he could not have hoped for, had he expected to see her. Coming as he did from such a purport fulfilled as had taken him away, he would have expected anything rather than a look of satisfaction, and words of simple, pleasant meaning. It was enough to set his heart in a glow, and to bring him home in the properest state for feeling the full value of the other joyful surprises at hand.

William's promotion, with all its particulars, he was soon master of; and with such a secret provision of comfort within his own breast to help the joy, he found in it a source of most gratifying sensation and unvarying cheerfulness all dinner time.

After dinner, when he and his father were alone, he had Fanny's history; and then all the great events of the last fortnight, and the present situation of matters at Mansfield were known to him.

Fanny suspected what was going on. They sat so much longer than usual in the dining parlour, that she was sure they must be talking of her; and when tea at last brought them away, and she was to be seen by Edmund again, she felt dreadfully guilty. He came to her, sat down by her, took her hand, and pressed it kindly; and at that moment she thought that, but for the occupation and the scene which the tea things afforded, she must have betrayed her emotion in some unpardonable excess.

He was not intending, however, by such action, to be conveying to her that unqualified approbation and encouragement which her hopes drew from it. It was designed only to express his participation in all that interested her, and to tell her that he had been hearing what quickened every feeling of affection. He was, in fact, entirely on his father's side of the question. His surprise was not so great as his father's at her refusing Crawford, because, so far from supposing her to consider him with anything like a preference, he had always believed it to be rather the reverse, and could imagine her to be taken perfectly unprepared, but Sir Thomas could not regard the connection as more desirable than he did. It had every recommendation to him, and while honouring her for what she had done under the influence of her present indifference, honouring her in rather stronger terms than Sir Thomas could quite echo, he was most earnest in hoping, and sanguine in believing, that it would be a match at last, and that, united by mutual affection, it would appear that their dispositions were as exactly fitted to make them blessed in each other, as he was now beginning seriously to consider them. Crawford had been too precipitate. He had not given her time to attach herself. He had begun at the wrong end. With such powers as his, however, and such a disposition as hers, Edmund trusted that everything would work out a happy conclusion. Meanwhile, he saw enough of Fanny's embarrassment to make him scrupulously guard against exciting it a second time, by any word, or look, or movement.

Crawford called the next day, and on the score of Edmund's return, Sir Thomas felt himself more than licensed to ask him to stay dinner; it was really a necessary compliment. He stayed of course, and Edmund had then ample opportunity for observing how he sped with Fanny, and what degree of immediate encouragement for him might be extracted from her manners; and it was so little, so very, very little—every chance, every possibility of it, resting upon her embarrassment only, if there was not hope in her confusion, there was hope in nothing else—that he was almost ready to wonder at his friend's perseverance. Fanny was worth it all; he had her to be worth every effort of patience, every exertion of mind—but he did not think he could have gone on himself with any woman breathing, without something more to warm his courage than his eyes could discern in hers. He was very willing to hope that Crawford saw clearer; and this was the most comfortable conclusion for his friend that he could come to from all that he observed to pass before, and at, and after dinner.

In the evening a few circumstances occurred which he thought more promising. When he and Crawford walked into the drawing-room, his mother and Fanny were sitting as intently and silently at work as if there were nothing else to care for. Edmund could not help noticing their apparently deep tranquillity.

“We have not been so silent all the time,” replied his mother. “Fanny has been reading to me, and only put the book down upon hearing you coming.” And sure enough there was a book on the table which had the air of being very recently closed, a volume of Shakespeare. “She often reads to me out of those books; and she was in the middle of a very fine speech of that man's—What's his name, Fanny? —when we heard your footsteps.”

Crawford took the volume. “Let me have the pleasure of finishing that speech to your ladyship,” said he. “I shall find it immediately.” And by carefully giving way to the inclination of the leaves, he did find it, or within a page or two, quite near enough to satisfy Lady Bertram, who assured him, as soon as he mentioned the name of Cardinal Wolsey, that he had got the very speech. Not a look or an offer of help had Fanny given; not a syllable for or against. All her attention was for her work. She seemed determined to be interested by nothing else. But taste was too strong in her. She could not abstract her mind five minutes; she was forced to listen; his reading was capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme. To good reading, however, she had been long used; her uncle read well—her cousins all—Edmund very well, but in Mr. Crawford's reading there was a variety of excellence beyond what she had ever met with. The King, the Queen, Buckingham, Wolsey, Cromwell, all were given in turn; for with the happiest knack, the happiest power of jumping and guessing, he could always light, at will, on the best scene, or the best speeches of each; and whether it were dignity, or pride, or tenderness, or remorse, or whatever were to be expressed, he could do it with equal beauty. It was truly dramatic. His acting had first taught Fanny what pleasure a play might give, and his reading brought all his acting before her again; nay, perhaps with greater enjoyment, for it came unexpectedly, and with no such drawback as she had been used to suffer in seeing him on the stage with Miss Bertram.

Edmund watched the progress of her attention, and was amused and gratified by seeing how she gradually slackened in the needlework, which at the beginning seemed to occupy her totally; how it fell from her hand while she sat motionless over it—and at last, how the eyes which had appeared so studiously to avoid him throughout the day were turned and fixed on Crawford, fixed on him for minutes, fixed on him, in short, till the attraction drew Crawford's upon her, and the book was closed, and the charm was broken. Then she was shrinking again into herself, and blushing and working as hard as ever; but it had been enough to give Edmund encouragement for his friend, and as he cordially thanked him, he hoped to be expressing Fanny's secret feelings too.

“That play must be a favourite with you,” said he; “you read as if you knew it well.”

“It will be a favourite, I believe, from this hour,” replied Crawford; “but I do not think I have had a volume of Shakespeare in my hand before since I was fifteen. I once saw Henry VIII acted. Or I have heard of it from somebody who did—I am not certain which. But Shakespeare one gets acquainted with without knowing how. It is a part of an Englishman's constitution. His thoughts and beauties are so spread abroad that one touches them everywhere; one is intimate with him by instinct. No man of any brain can open at a good part of one of his plays without falling into the flow of his meaning immediately.”

“No doubt one is familiar with Shakespeare in a degree,” said Edmund, “from one's earliest years. His celebrated passages are quoted by everybody; they are in half the books we open, and we all talk Shakespeare, use his similes, and describe with his descriptions; but this is totally distinct from giving his sense as you gave it. To know him in bits and scraps is common enough; to know him pretty thoroughly is, perhaps, not uncommon; but to read him well aloud is no everyday talent.”

“Sir, you do me honour,” was Crawford's answer, with a bow of mock gravity.

Both gentlemen had a glance at Fanny, to see if a word of accordant praise could be extorted from her; yet both feeling that it could not be. Her praise had been given in her attention; that must content them.

Lady Bertram's admiration was expressed, and strongly too. “It was really like being at a play,” said she. “I wish Sir Thomas had been here.”

Crawford was excessively pleased. If Lady Bertram, with all her incompetency and languor, could feel this, the inference of what her niece, alive and enlightened as she was, must feel, was elevating.

“You have a great turn for acting, I am sure, Mr. Crawford,” said her ladyship soon afterwards; “and I will tell you what, I think you will have a theatre, some time or other, at your house in Norfolk. I mean when you are settled there. I do indeed. I think you will fit up a theatre at your house in Norfolk.”

“Do you, Ma'am?” cried he, with quickness. “No, no, that will never be. Your ladyship is quite mistaken. No theatre at Everingham! Oh! no,” And he looked at Fanny with an expressive smile, which evidently meant, “that lady will never allow a theatre at Everingham.”

Edmund saw it all, and saw Fanny so determined not to see it, as to make it clear that the voice was enough to convey the full meaning of the protestation; and such a quick consciousness of compliment, such a ready comprehension of a hint, he thought, was rather favourable than not.

The subject of reading aloud was farther discussed. The two young men were the only talkers, but they, standing by the fire, talked over the too common neglect of the qualification, the total inattention to it, in the ordinary school system for boys, the consequently natural—yet in some instances almost unnatural, degree of ignorance and uncouthness of men, of sensible and well-informed men, when suddenly called to the necessity of reading aloud, which had fallen within their notice, giving instances of blunders, and failures with their secondary causes, the want of management of the voice, of proper modulation and emphasis, of foresight and judgment, all proceeding from the first cause, want of early attention and habit; and Fanny was listening again with great entertainment.

“Even in my profession,” said Edmund, with a smile, “how little the art of reading has been studied! How little a clear manner, and good delivery, have been attended to! I speak rather of the past, however, than the present. There is now a spirit of improvement abroad; but among those who were ordained twenty, thirty, forty years ago, the larger number, to judge by their performance, must have thought reading was reading, and preaching was preaching. It is different now. The subject is more justly considered. It is felt that distinctness and energy may have weight in recommending the most solid truths; and besides, there is more general observation and taste, a more critical knowledge diffused than formerly; in every congregation there is a larger proportion who know a little of the matter, and who can judge and criticise.”

Edmund had already gone through the service once since his ordination; and upon this being understood, he had a variety of questions from Crawford as to his feelings and success; questions, which being made—though with the vivacity of friendly interest and quick taste—without any touch of that spirit of banter or air of levity which Edmund knew to be most offensive to Fanny, he had true pleasure in satisfying; and when Crawford proceeded to ask his opinion and give his own as to the properest manner in which particular passages in the service should be delivered, showing it to be a subject on which he had thought before, and thought with judgment, Edmund was still more and more pleased. This would be the way to Fanny's heart. She was not to be won by all that gallantry and wit and good nature together could do; or, at least, she would not be won by them nearly so soon, without the assistance of sentiment and feeling, and seriousness on serious subjects.

“Our liturgy,” observed Crawford, “has beauties, which not even a careless, slovenly style of reading can destroy; but it has also redundancies and repetitions which require good reading not to be felt. For myself, at least, I must confess being not always so attentive as I ought to be” (here was a glance at Fanny) “that nineteen times out of twenty I am thinking how such a prayer ought to be read, and longing to have it to read myself—Did you speak?” stepping eagerly to Fanny, and addressing her in a softened voice; and upon her saying “No,” he added, “Are you sure you did not speak? I saw your lips move. I fancied you might be going to tell me I ought to be more attentive, and not allow my thoughts to wander. Are not you going to tell me so?”

“No, indeed, you know your duty too well for me to—even supposing—”

She stopped, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and could not be prevailed on to add another word, not by dint of several minutes of supplication and waiting. He then returned to his former station, and went on as if there had been no such tender interruption.

“A sermon, well delivered, is more uncommon even than prayers well read. A sermon, good in itself, is no rare thing. It is more difficult to speak well than to compose well; that is, the rules and trick of composition are oftener an object of study. A thoroughly good sermon, thoroughly well delivered, is a capital gratification. I can never hear such a one without the greatest admiration and respect, and more than half a mind to take orders and preach myself. There is something in the eloquence of the pulpit, when it is really eloquence, which is entitled to the highest praise and honour. The preacher who can touch and affect such an heterogeneous mass of hearers, on subjects limited, and long worn threadbare in all common hands; who can say anything new or striking, anything that rouses the attention without offending the taste, or wearing out the feelings of his hearers, is a man whom one could not, in his public capacity, honour enough. I should like to be such a man.”

Edmund laughed.

“I should indeed. I never listened to a distinguished preacher in my life without a sort of envy. But then, I must have a London audience. I could not preach but to the educated; to those who were capable of estimating my composition. And I do not know that I should be fond of preaching often; now and then, perhaps once or twice in the spring, after being anxiously expected for half a dozen Sundays together; but not for a constancy; it would not do for a constancy.”

Here Fanny, who could not but listen, involuntarily shook her head, and Crawford was instantly by her side again, entreating to know her meaning; and as Edmund perceived, by his drawing in a chair, and sitting down close by her, that it was to be a very thorough attack, that looks and undertones were to be well tried, he sank as quietly as possible into a corner, turned his back, and took up a newspaper, very sincerely wishing that dear little Fanny might be persuaded into explaining away that shake of the head to the satisfaction of her ardent lover; and as earnestly trying to bury every sound of the business from himself in murmurs of his own, over the various advertisements of “A most desirable Estate in South Wales”—“To Parents and Guardians”—and a “Capital season'd Hunter.”

Fanny, meanwhile, vexed with herself for not having been as motionless as she was speechless, and grieved to the heart to see Edmund's arrangements, was trying by everything in the power of her modest, gentle nature, to repulse Mr. Crawford, and avoid both his looks and inquiries; and he, unrepulsable, was persisting in both.

“What did that shake of the head mean?” said he. “What was it meant to express? Disapprobation, I fear. But of what? What had I been saying to displease you? Did you think me speaking improperly, lightly, irreverently on the subject? Only tell me if I was. Only tell me if I was wrong. I want to be set right. Nay, nay, I entreat you; for one moment put down your work. What did that shake of the head mean?”

In vain was her “Pray, sir, don't—pray, Mr. Crawford,” repeated twice over; and in vain did she try to move away—In the same low, eager voice, and the same close neighbourhood, he went on, re-urging the same questions as before. She grew more agitated and displeased.

“How can you, sir? You quite astonish me; I wonder how you can—”

“Do I astonish you?” said he. “Do you wonder? Is there anything in my present entreaty that you do not understand? I will explain to you instantly all that makes me urge you in this manner, all that gives me an interest in what you look and do, and excites my present curiosity. I will not leave you to wonder long.”

In spite of herself, she could not help half a smile, but she said nothing.

“You shook your head at my acknowledging that I should not like to engage in the duties of a clergyman always for a constancy. Yes, that was the word. Constancy, I am not afraid of the word. I would spell it, read it, write it with anybody. I see nothing alarming in the word. Did you think I ought?”

“Perhaps, sir,” said Fanny, wearied at last into speaking—“perhaps, sir, I thought it was a pity you did not always know yourself as well as you seemed to do at that moment.”

Crawford, delighted to get her to speak at any rate, was determined to keep it up; and poor Fanny, who had hoped to silence him by such an extremity of reproof, found herself sadly mistaken, and that it was only a change from one object of curiosity and one set of words to another. He had always something to entreat the explanation of. The opportunity was too fair. None such had occurred since his seeing her in her uncle's room, none such might occur again before his leaving Mansfield. Lady Bertram's being just on the other side of the table was a trifle, for she might always be considered as only half awake, and Edmund's advertisements were still of the first utility.

“Well,” said Crawford, after a course of rapid questions and reluctant answers; “I am happier than I was, because I now understand more clearly your opinion of me. You think me unsteady—easily swayed by the whim of the moment—easily tempted—easily put aside. With such an opinion, no wonder that—but we shall see. It is not by protestations that I shall endeavour to convince you I am wronged, it is not by telling you that my affections are steady. My conduct shall speak for me—absence, distance, time shall speak for me. They shall prove that, as far as you can be deserved by anybody, I do deserve you. You are infinitely my superior in merit; all that I know. You have qualities which I had not before supposed to exist in such a degree in any human creature. You have some touches of the angel in you beyond what—not merely beyond what one sees, because one never sees anything like it—but beyond what one fancies might be. But still I am not frightened. It is not by equality of merit that you can be won. That is out of the question. It is he who sees and worships your merit the strongest, who loves you most devotedly, that has the best right to a return. There I build my confidence. By that right I do and will deserve you; and when once convinced that my attachment is what I declare it, I know you too well not to entertain the warmest hopes—Yes, dearest, sweetest Fanny—nay” (seeing her draw back displeased), “forgive me. Perhaps I have as yet no right—but by what other name can I call you? Do you suppose you are ever present to my imagination under any other? No, it is ‘Fanny’ that I think of all day, and dream of all night. You have given the name such reality of sweetness, that nothing else can now be descriptive of you.”

Fanny could hardly have kept her seat any longer, or have refrained from at least trying to get away in spite of all the too public opposition she foresaw to it, had it not been for the sound of approaching relief, the very sound which she had been long watching for, and long thinking strangely delayed.

The solemn procession, headed by Baddeley, of teaboard, urn, and cake-bearers, made its appearance, and delivered her from a grievous imprisonment of body and mind. Mr. Crawford was obliged to move. She was at liberty, she was busy, she was protected.

Edmund was not sorry to be admitted again among the number of those who might speak and hear. But though the conference had seemed full long to him, and though on looking at Fanny he saw rather a flush of vexation, he inclined to hope that so much could not have been said and listened to without some profit to the speaker.

埃德蒙一回来就会听到一些重大情况。许多意想不到的事情在等着他。最先发生的并不是最无关紧要的事情：他骑马进村时，看见亨利·克劳福德和玛丽·克劳福德在一起散步。他原以为他们已经离开了。他之所以要两个多星期不回来，为的就是不想见到克劳福德小姐。他在回曼斯菲尔德的路上，已做好准备要生活在心酸的回忆和触景伤情的联想之中，却不料一进村，就见她绰约多姿地依着哥哥的臂膀出现在他面前。就在刚才，他还以为这个女人远在七十英里之外，而在思想上离他就更远了，现在她却在欢迎他，而且态度无疑非常友好。

他即便料到会遇见她，也想不到她会这样欢迎他。他是出去办事的，办完事回来的路上，万万没有料到会遇到如此欢快的笑脸，听到如此简明而动听的语言。这足以使他心花怒放。等回到家里，他就能充分领会正等待他的其他惊喜之事的全部价值。

他很快就知道了威廉的晋升及其详情细节。他心中暗藏的那份欢乐，使他越发为这件事感到欣喜，因而在吃饭的时候，这件事一直是他得意扬扬、欣喜不已的源泉。

吃过饭后，趁旁边没人的时候，父亲把范妮的事情告诉了他。于是，曼斯菲尔德两个星期来的大事和目前的状况，他全都知道了。

范妮对他们的举动有所猜疑。他们在饭厅里坐的时间比平时长多了，她料定他们一定在谈论她。到了终于起身去吃茶点的时候，她一想到即将再次见到埃德蒙，便感到自己犯了大罪似的。埃德蒙来到她跟前，坐在她旁边，抓住她的手，亲切地握着。这时她觉得，要不是大家忙着吃茶点，光顾着关注那些茶具，她肯定会把自己的情感泄露到不可宽恕的地步。

不过，埃德蒙这样做，并不像她想的那样在给她无条件的支持和鼓励。他只想表示她感兴趣的事他都关心，还想告诉她，他刚才听到的是催人心动的韵事。其实，在这个问题上，他完全站在父亲一边。对于范妮拒绝了克劳福德，他并不像父亲那样惊讶。他觉得表妹决不会看得上克劳福德，总认为情况恰恰相反。因而可以想象得出，对方提出求婚时，她丝毫没有思想准备。不过，托马斯爵士也不会像他这样认为这桩婚事这么理想。他觉得，这件事从各方面看都有很可取之处。一方面，他赞赏范妮在目前没有情意的情况下的种种表现，甚至比托马斯爵士还要赞赏有加；另一方面，他又热切地希望，并且乐观地相信，他们最后会成为一对佳偶。一旦彼此相爱，那时就可以看出，他们的性情正相适宜，会给彼此带来幸福。这是他经过认真考虑得出的看法。克劳福德有些过于冒失。他没有给她培养感情的时间。他一开始就失策了。不过，男的条件这么好，女的性情这么温柔，埃德蒙相信，事情肯定会有个圆满的结局。眼下，他见范妮神情窘迫，便小心翼翼，不再用言语、神情或举动刺激她。

第二天克劳福德来访。鉴于埃德蒙回来了，托马斯爵士自己做主，留他吃饭。这个面子还真是不能不给的。克劳福德当然留了下来。埃德蒙于是有了充分的机会，观察他和范妮之间如何进展，观察他从范妮那里能直接得到多少鼓励。他得到的鼓励很少，少得可怜，每一次机会，每个可能的场合，引起的并不是她的鼓励，而是给她带来了窘迫不安。如果在她窘迫的时候看不出希望的话，在别的状况下也不会有什么希望。因此，埃德蒙简直不明白，他的朋友为何还要紧追不舍。范妮倒是值得克劳福德这么追求。他认为范妮值得一个人坚持不懈地做出各种努力，值得一个人费尽心机——但是换了他的话，不管是哪一个女人，如果他从其目光中看不出鼓舞勇气的眼神，他是不会死乞白赖地坚持下去的。他真希望克劳福德能看得清楚些，这是他根据自己在饭前、饭后以及吃饭当中的观察，替朋友得出的最稳妥的结论。

到了晚上，出现了一些情况，他觉得事情又有了点希望。他和克劳福德走进客厅时，他母亲和范妮正聚精会神、不声不响地坐在那里做活计，好像心无旁骛似的。见她们如此沉静，埃德蒙不由得评说了两句。

“我们并非一直都这么不声不响，”他母亲答道，“范妮在念书给我听，听见你们来了，才刚把书放下。”桌子上的确有一本书，看样子刚刚合上，是莎士比亚的一部作品。“她常从这些书中挑些内容念给我听。听到你们的脚步声时，她正在念一个人物的一段非常漂亮的台词——那个人物叫什么名字，范妮？”

克劳福德拿起了书。“请允许我把这段话给夫人念完，”他说，“我马上就能找到。”他仔细地翻着书，找到了那个地方，或者说离那地方不到一两页，反正是很近。伯特伦夫人满意了。他一提到红衣主教沃尔西[1]，夫人就说正是这段话。范妮一眼也没看他，也不说要帮他找，也不吭一声对不对。她一心一意只管做她的活，似乎打定主意概不过问别的事。不过，她这方面的兴趣太强烈了，注意力抑制了不到五分钟，便情不自禁地听了起来。克劳福德念得很棒，而她又极其喜欢优美的朗诵。不过，她早就听惯了优美的朗诵。她姨父念得美，表哥表姐全都念得美，埃德蒙念得非常美。但是，克劳福德先生的朗诵有一种她未曾听到过的独到韵味。国王、王后、伯金翰、沃尔西、克伦威尔[2]，他们的台词他都依次念过了。他有纯熟的技巧，有跳读、猜测的卓越能力，总能随意找到最精彩的场次，找到每个角色最精彩的台词。不管是威严还是骄傲，不管是柔情还是悔恨，不管要表达什么，他都表达得同样完美。这是真正的舞台艺术。他的表演曾第一次使她懂得戏剧能给人多大的享受，现在他的朗诵又使她想起了他以前的表演；不仅如此，也许使她更加愉悦，因为这朗诵完全是突如其来的，也没有她上次看他和伯特伦小姐同台演出时那种酸楚的感觉。

埃德蒙在观察范妮注意力的变化，感到又开心又得意。刚开始，她好像一心一意地在做活，后来手里的活渐渐慢下来，从手中脱落，她一动不动地坐在那里。最后，她那双一整天都在故意躲避对方的眼睛转了过来，盯在克劳福德身上，一盯就是好几分钟，直至把克劳福德的目光吸引到她自己身上。那书给合上了，那魔力也被打破了。这时，她又故态复萌，满脸通红，起劲地做起活来。不过，这足以使埃德蒙替他的朋友产生了希望。他向克劳福德表示由衷的感谢时，还希望也能表达出范妮的心意。

“这一定是你特别喜爱的一出戏。”他说，“从你的朗诵来看，你好像对剧本很熟悉。”

“我相信，从此时此刻起，这将成为我最喜爱的一出戏，”克劳福德回答说，“不过我想，我从十五岁起，手里还没有拿过一本莎士比亚的作品。我曾经看过一次《亨利八世》的演出，或者是听到哪个看过演出的人说起过——我已经记不清楚了。不过，人们对莎士比亚也不知道怎么回事就熟悉起来了。这是英国人资质的一部分。他的思想，他的美，真是广为流传，处处都可以触摸得到，人们都会本能地熟悉他。一个人但凡有点头脑，只要随便打开他哪个剧本的哪个精彩部分，马上便会坠入他思想的洪流中。”

“我相信，人们从幼年时候起就多少知道了莎士比亚，”埃德蒙说，“他那些著名的段落人人都在引用。我们翻阅的书中，一半都有他的引文。我们人人都在谈论莎士比亚，运用他的比喻，使用他的语言来描述。但是，这都不像你那样能充分表达他的意思。对他有点零零星星的了解，这是很平常的；要彻底了解他，也许就不寻常了。但是要把他的剧本朗诵好，可就不是一般的才华了。”

“先生，蒙你夸奖。”克劳福德故作正经地鞠了一躬说。

两位先生都瞥了范妮一眼，看她能否也说出一句半句类似的赞扬话。然而，两人都看出这是不可能的。她刚才能注意听也算是赞扬了，他们对此应该知足了。

伯特伦夫人表示了自己的赞赏，而且措辞热烈。“这真像演出一样，”她说，“只可惜托马斯爵士不在场。”

克劳福德喜不自禁。智力平庸、精神萎靡的伯特伦夫人尚且如此欣赏，她那朝气蓬勃、富有见识的外甥女该怎样欣赏，就可想而知了。想到这里，他不禁自鸣得意起来。

“我认为你很有表演天赋，克劳福德先生。”过了不久，伯特伦夫人又说，“你听我说，我想你早晚会在你诺福克家里建一个剧场。我的意思是说，等你在那里定居之后。我真是这么想的。我想你会在你诺福克的家里布置一个剧场。”

“你真这么想吗，夫人？”克劳福德急忙嚷道，“不，不，决不会的。您老人家完全想错了。埃弗灵厄姆不会有剧场的！噢！不会的。”他带着意味深长的笑容望着范妮，那意思显然是说：“这位女士决不会允许在埃弗灵厄姆搞个剧场。”

埃德蒙全看明白了，还看出范妮决计不予理会，这恰好表明她已完全听明白了对方的意思。他心想，这么快就意识到对她的恭维，这么快就领会了对她的暗示，总比根本没听懂要好。

还在进一步讨论朗诵的问题，发言的只是两位年轻人，不过他们俩站在炉火边，谈论学校里普遍忽视对孩子们进行朗诵训练，谈论大人们——头脑聪明、见多识广的大人们在这方面的粗俗无知。这是学校不重视朗诵训练的必然结果，在有些人身上，这种粗俗无知几乎达到不可思议的地步。他们曾经见识过，当突然叫这些人朗诵的时候，他们由于控制不好自己的声音，不懂抑扬顿挫，缺乏预见和判断，念得磕磕巴巴、错误频频。这都属于次因引起的问题，都是由初因导致的，这就是早年不重视，没有养成习惯。范妮又一次听得津津有味。

“就是在我这一行里，”埃德蒙含笑说，“朗诵的艺术也很少研究啊！很少有人去注意训练自己念得又清晰又有技巧啊！不过，我说的主要是过去，而不是现在。现在到处都有改进。但是在二十年、三十年、四十年前接受圣职的人当中，从他们的实际行动来看，多数人肯定认为，朗诵就是朗诵，布道就是布道。现在情况不同了。这个问题受到了应有的重视。现在人们认识到，在传播颠扑不破的真理时，清晰的朗诵和饱满的精神能起到很重要的作用。而且，跟以前相比，现在已有更多的人在这方面有了修养，有了鉴别力，掌握了批评的知识。不管在哪个教堂，台下的听众大多都有一定的见识，他们能辨别，会批评。”

埃德蒙接受圣职后，已主持过一次礼拜。克劳福德了解了这一点之后，向他提出了各种各样的问题，问他有什么感受，主持得是否成功。他问这些问题的时候，虽然出于友好关心和快嘴快舌问得随便一些，但丝毫没有取笑之心，也没有轻薄之意。埃德蒙心里清楚，那会让范妮觉得太唐突。因此，埃德蒙很乐意回答他的问题。克劳福德进一步问到主持礼拜时某些具体段落应该怎样朗诵，并发表了自己的意见。这表明，他过去考虑过这个问题，并且很有见地。埃德蒙越来越高兴了。这才是通向范妮的心灵之路。光靠殷勤、机智、好脾气是赢不来她的心的。光靠这些特点，而没有情趣和情感，以及对严肃问题的严肃态度，至少不会很快赢得她的心。

“我们的礼拜仪式很有美感，”克劳福德说，“即使在朗诵这一环上随便一些，马虎一些，也破坏不了。不过有些累赘的、重复的地方，也需要朗诵好，让听众觉不出来。至少，就我来说，我必须承认，我就不是总听得那么专心（讲到这里瞥了范妮一眼），二十次中有十九次我在想这样一段祈祷文应该怎样念，希望自己能拿来念一念——你说什么了吗？”他急忙走向范妮，用轻柔的声音问她。听她说了声“没有”之后，他又问道：“你肯定没说什么吗？我刚才看到你的嘴唇在动。我以为你想告诉我应该专心一些，不要让自己思想开小差。你不打算对我这样说吗？”

“的确没有，你很了解你的职责，用不着我——即使——”

她停下来了，觉得自己陷入了困窘。有好一阵工夫，尽管对方在追问、在等待，她却不愿再多说一句话。于是，克劳福德又回到刚才站的地方，继续说了下去，好像不曾有过这么一段温柔的插曲似的。

“布道布得好，比把祈祷文念好还难得。布道词本身好，也不算稀奇。写得好没有讲得好困难。就是说，人们对写作技巧和规则有更多的研究。一篇十分好的布道词，讲得又非常好，能给人以莫大的快乐。我每听到一次这样的布道，总感到无比敬慕，真有点想接受圣职，自己也去布道。教堂讲坛上的口才，如果真的好，那就值得给予最高的赞赏和尊崇。一个传道者，如果能在有限的、普通牧师已经讲过千万遍的主题上，打动并影响形形色色的听众，能讲出一点新鲜的或令人振奋的东西，讲出一点令人关注的内容，而又不让人反感或倒胃口，那他在公众中所起的作用，你怎样敬佩都不过分。我就愿意做这样一个人。”

埃德蒙大笑起来。

“我真的愿意。我每遇到一个优秀的传教士布道，总是有点羡慕。不过，我得有一帮伦敦的听众。我只给有知识的人布道，讲给能够评价我的布道词的人们听。我不知道我会不会喜欢经常布道。也许，尽管大家盼着我一连五六个星期天都讲，我只是偶尔讲一讲，整个春天讲上一两次。但是不能经常讲，经常讲不行。”

范妮不得不听，这时不由自主地摇了摇头。克劳福德又马上来到她身边，求她说出她这是什么意思。埃德蒙一见他拉了一把椅子紧挨着她坐下，便意识到这可是一场不折不扣的进攻战，眉目传情和弦外之音都要一齐用上。埃德蒙不声不响地退到一个角落，转过脸去，拿起一张报纸，衷心地希望亲爱的小范妮经过说服，能解释一下她为什么摇头，让她这位狂热的追求者感到心满意足。他同样热切地希望用自己喃喃的读报声，来盖住那两人之间传出的每一个声响。他读着各种各样的广告：“南威尔士最令人向往的地产”“致父母与监护人”“极棒的老练狩猎者”。

这当儿，范妮恨自己只能管住自己没作声，却没管住自己不摇头，伤心地看着埃德蒙做出这样的反应。她试图在她那文雅稳重的天性所能允许的范围内，尽力挫败克劳福德先生，既避开他的目光，又避而不答他的问话。而他却是挫不败的，既不断地做眉眼，又不停地追问。

“你摇头是什么意思？”他问，“你摇头是想表示什么？恐怕是不赞成吧。可不赞成什么呢？我说了什么话惹你不高兴了？你觉得我在这个问题上出言不当吗？轻率不切题吗？真是这样的话，你就告诉我。我有错你就告诉我。我想请你改正我的错误。确切点说，我恳求你，把你手里的活放一放。你摇头究竟是什么意思呀？”

范妮忙说：“求求你，先生，不要这样——求求你，克劳福德先生。”连说了两遍都没用。她想走也走不了——克劳福德还用低低的急切的声音，还是那样紧紧地挨着她，继续重复刚才问过的问题。范妮越发忐忑，越发不悦了。

“你怎么能，先生？你实在让我吃惊——我奇怪你怎么能——”

“我让你吃惊了吗？”克劳福德问，“你觉得奇怪吗？我对你的请求你有什么不理解的吗？我马上向你解释我为什么这样催问你，为什么对你的一颦一笑、一举一动这么感兴趣，为什么我会这么好奇。我不会让你老是觉得奇怪。”

范妮忍不住微微一笑，但是没有说话。

“你是在听我说我不愿意经常履行牧师职责的时候摇头的。是的，就是这个字眼。经常，我不怕这个字眼。我可以对任何人拼它，念它，写它。我看不出这个字眼有什么可怕的。你觉得我应该认为它有什么可怕的吗？”

“也许，先生，”范妮最后厌烦得不得不说话了，“也许，先生，我觉得很遗憾，你并不总是像你那一刻那样了解自己。”

克劳福德总算逗得她开口说话了，心里好生高兴，便决意让她说下去。可怜的范妮，她原以为这样狠狠地责备一番会让他闭口无言，没料到自己却犯了个可悲的错误。对方只是从追问这件事转到追问那件事，由这套话换成那套话。他总会找个问题请求她解释。这个机会太好了。自从他在她姨父房里与她见面以来，他还从没遇到过这么好的机会，在他离开曼斯菲尔德以前可能再也遇不到这么好的机会。伯特伦夫人就在桌子的那一头，这根本算不了什么，因为你总可以把她看作只是半睡半醒，而埃德蒙读广告依然大有益处。

“哦，”经过一阵迅疾的提问和勉强的回答之后，克劳福德说道，“我比先前更觉得幸福，因为我现在更清楚了你对我的看法。你觉得我不稳重——容易受一时心血来潮的支配，容易受诱惑，容易放弃。你有这样的看法，难怪——不过，我们走着瞧。我不是光靠嘴巴向你证明你冤屈了我，不是靠向你保证说我的感情是可靠的。我的行为将为我担保——别离、距离、时间将为我做证。它们会证明，只要有人有权得到你，我就有权得到你。就人品而言，你比我强得多，这我完全清楚。你有些品质，我以前认为人身上不可能达到这个程度。你像个天使，身上有些东西超出了——不仅超出了人们所能看见的范围，因为人们永远看不到这样的东西——而且超出了人们的想象。不过，我仍不气馁。我不是靠和你一样好来赢得你。这是不可能的。应该是谁最能看出你的美德，谁最崇拜你的人品，谁对你最忠贞不贰，谁才最有权利得到你的爱。我的信心就建立在这个基础上。凭着这点权利，我就可以得到你，也会有资格得到你。我很了解你，你一旦意识到我对你的感情正像我对你表白的这样，我就大有希望了。是的，最亲爱、最甜蜜的范妮——不仅如此——（看到她不高兴地往后退）请原谅。也许我现在还没有权利——可我又能怎么称呼你呢？难道你认为你会以别的名字出现在我的心目中吗？不，我白天想的，夜里梦的，全是‘范妮’。这个名字已经成了实实在在的甜蜜的象征，根本找不到别的字眼来形容你。”

范妮简直是再也坐不住了，几乎想冒人人反对的风险溜走了。恰在这时，一阵愈来愈近的脚步声给她解了围。她早就盼着这脚步声了，早就奇怪为什么还不出现。

由巴德利带领的一伙人庄重地出现了，有端茶盘的、提茶水壶的、拿蛋糕的，把她从痛苦的身心围困中解救了出来。克劳福德先生不得不挪了个位置。范妮自由了，忙碌起来了，也得到了保护。

埃德蒙毫不遗憾地回到了可以说话又可以听别人说话的人们中间。他觉得两人谈的时间够长的了，并且看到范妮因为烦恼而涨红了脸。不过他心里在想，既然你说我听了那么长时间，说话的一方决不会没有收获。

* * *

[1]莎士比亚历史剧《亨利八世》中的人物。

[2]皆为《亨利八世》中的人物，国王即亨利八世，王后即亨利八世的妻子，伯金翰即伯金翰公爵，克伦威尔系红衣主教沃尔西的仆人。