英文
A Changed Man IV
“O, the pity of it! Such a dashing soldier—so popular—such an acquisition to the town—the soul of social life here! And now! …One should not speak ill of the dead, but that dreadful Mr. Sainway—it was too cruel of him!”
This is a summary of what was said when Captain, now the Reverend, John Maumbry was enabled by circumstances to indulge his heart's desire of returning to the scene of his former exploits in the capacity of a minister of the Gospel. A low-lying district of the town, which at that date was crowded with impoverished cottagers, was crying for a curate, and Mr. Maumbry generously offered himself as one willing to undertake labours that were certain to produce little result, and no thanks, credit, or emolument.
Let the truth be told about him as a clergyman; he proved to be anything but a brilliant success. Painstaking, single-minded, deeply in earnest as all could see, his delivery was laboured, his sermons were dull to listen to, and alas, too, too long. Even the dispassionate judges who sat by the hour in the bar-parlour of the White Hart—an inn standing at the dividing line between the poor quarter aforesaid and the fashionable quarter of Maumbry's former triumphs, and hence affording a position of strict impartiality—agreed in substance with the young ladies to the westward, though their views were somewhat more tersely expressed: “Surely, God A'mighty spwiled a good sojer to make a bad pa'son when He shifted Cap'n Ma'mbry into a sarpless!”
The latter knew that such things were said, but he pursued his daily labours in and out of the hovels with serene unconcern.
It was about this time that the invalid in the oriel became more than a mere bowing acquaintance of Mrs. Maumbry's. She had returned to the town with her husband, and was living with him in a little house in the centre of his circle of ministration, when by some means she became one of the invalid's visitors. After a general conversation while sitting in his room with a friend of both, an incident led up to the matter that still rankled deeply in her soul. Her face was now paler and thinner than it had been; even more attractive, her disappointments having inscribed themselves as meek thoughtfulness on a look that was once a little frivolous. The two ladies had called to be allowed to use the window for observing the departure of the Hussars, who were leaving for barracks much nearer to London.
The troopers turned the corner of Barrack Road into the top of High Street, headed by their band playing “The girl I left behind me” (which was formerly always the tune for such times, though it is now nearly disused). They came and passed the oriel, where an officer or two, looking up and discovering Mrs. Maumbry, saluted her, whose eyes filled with tears as the notes of the band waned away. Before the little group had recovered from that sense of the romantic which such spectacles impart, Mr. Maumbry came along the pavement. He probably had bidden his former brethren-in-arms a farewell at the top of the street, for he walked from that direction in his rather shabby clerical clothes, and with a basket on his arm which seemed to hold some purchases he had been making for his poorer parishioners. Unlike the soldiers he went along quite unconscious of his appearance or of the scene around.
The contrast was too much for Laura. With lips that now quivered，she asked the invalid what he thought of the change that had come to her.
It was difficult to answer, and with a wilfulness that was too strong in her she repeated the question.
“Do you think,” she added, “that a woman's husband has a right to do such a thing, even if he does feel a certain call to it?”
Her listener sympathized too largely with both of them to be anything but unsatisfactory in his reply. Laura gazed longingly out of the window towards the thin dusty line of Hussars, now smalling towards the Mellstock Ridge. “I,” she said, “who should have been in their van on the way to London, am doomed to fester in a hole in Durnover Lane!”
Many events had passed and many rumours had been current concerning her before the invalid saw her again after her leave-taking that day.
中文
浪子回头 四
“唉，太可惜了！这么英俊潇洒的一个军人——这么受人追捧——简直就是全镇的骄傲——社交生活的灵魂人物啊！结果现在！……虽然不该说死人的坏话，但是都怪那个可恶的圣威先生——他这是造孽啊！”
当蒙布里上尉，现在已经是约翰·蒙布里牧师，得天时地利，如愿回到了原来建功立业的地方，成为一个传福音的牧师时，大家各种说长道短，总结起来不外如是。镇上有一片低洼地区，当时密密麻麻地挤满了贫民窟居民，正急需一位副牧师，蒙布里便慷慨地主动请缨，虽然明知自己的努力很可能徒劳无功，也不会有感谢、赞扬或酬劳。
如果诚实地评价他作为一名传教士的成就，那完全跟出色沾不上边。大家都能看出他勤勉努力、专心致志、虔诚真挚，但是他的演讲太过刻意，他的布道太过枯燥，而且，唉，太过冗长。就连那些此刻正坐在白鹿客栈的酒吧厅里——客栈就坐落在刚提到的贫民窟和之前蒙布里混得风生水起的富人区的分界线上，因此从地理位置上来说也是严格的不偏不倚的——公正的看客判官也大体上赞同西城区那些年轻姑娘的观点，虽然他们表达得更加简洁尖刻：“唉，上帝他老人家真是毁了个优秀的军人，造出来个糟糕的牧师，把蒙布里上尉弄得跟个木乃伊一样干巴巴的！”
蒙布里知道别人怎么评论他，但他依然每天出入那些肮脏破败的小屋，内心平静，毫不受影响。
飘窗后的病人就是在这个时候同蒙布里太太有了更深的交情。她同丈夫一起回到了镇上，就住在他的辖区正中央的一所小房子里，通过某种渠道她成了这位病人的访客。她与一位两人共同的朋友正坐在他屋里聊天，外面发生的事又触及了她心底的痛处。她的脸比原来苍白消瘦了许多，失落使她的脸庞多了些柔和与若有所思，让她那以前有些轻佻的脸现在显得更迷人了。这两位女士来访是希望借飘窗一用，好目送骠骑兵团拔营离开，他们要迁到离伦敦更近的军营去了。
士兵们转过军营路拐角，踏上高街顶端，走在最前面的是领头的乐队，正在演奏《我留下的姑娘》（从前但凡这种时刻就会奏这曲子，不过现在已经弃用了）。他们渐渐走近，经过飘窗，有一两位军官抬头看到了蒙布里太太，向她行礼致意。她听着乐声逐渐远去，不禁热泪盈眶。这三人还没从刚才那壮观场面带来的浪漫气氛中回过神来，就看见蒙布里先生沿着人行道走来。他大概已经在街头跟从前的战友们道过别了，因为他正从那个方向过来。蒙布里先生穿着寒碜的教士长袍，胳膊上还挎着个篮子，里面装的似乎是他为贫苦的教众买的一些东西。跟那些骑兵完全不同，他对自己的外表或者周围环境淡然置之。
对萝拉来说这种反差实在是太强烈了。她嘴唇开始颤抖，问那位病人他怎么看待她的际遇变化。
这个问题对方很难回答，但她一时情绪激动，又任性地重复了一遍这个问题。
“你认为，”她又补充说，“作为有家室的人，一个丈夫有权这样做吗，就算是他觉得自己受到了神召？”
她的倾听者对她和她丈夫都抱着巨大的同情，因此没法给出一个满意的回答。萝拉满怀向往地望着窗外，骑兵们现在正朝着梅尔斯托克岭的方向逐渐远去，变成了尘土飞扬的一条细线。“我，”她说，“本来应该坐在马车里跟着他们一起去伦敦的，结果却注定要在邓诺威巷的窟窿里头腐烂化脓！”
从她那天离开到病人再见到她，这中间发生了许多事，有许多关于她的传言。
