(原版)澳大利亚语文第六册 LESSON 53
LESSON 53 WHEN DID YOU LAST SEE YOUR FATHER
WHEN DID YOU LAST SEE YOUR FATHER
III
Lady Harrington's preparations were made none too soon. Hardly had she finished them when a party of Roundheads rode noisily into the courtyard. Greeting her with more or less courtesy, they demanded speech with her husband.
Lady Harrington told them that Sir Ralph had left home yesterday, and haughtily declined to give them any further information.
The Roundheads quite plainly disbelieved her words, and proceeded to search the house for this "pestilent Royalist," as they called him. Up and down they tramped—from garret [1] to basement, from gunroom to pantry, and, when they reached the Oak Parlour, Lady Harrington felt her heart stand still. But, though they were very watchful, they missed the secret panel.
Safe! surely safe now! she whispered to herself. Yet no! It seemed good to the leader of the band to examine each member of the. household in this very room.
One by one the servants were called in and questioned, each answering as best he could. Some lied without a blush. Others stammered in their tale; but it was not long till the questioner had drawn from them the story of last night's dinner party and its guests.
None, however, could reveal the purpose of the meeting. All that the servants knew was that at moonrise Lord John Illingworth and the other gentlemen had ridden away, and that their master had not accompanied them.
This seemed to show that the Roundheads had been right in thinking that Sir Ralph lay hidden somewhere near. They were about to begin a fresh search, when a poor scared groom turned their thoughts into a new channel by confessing that he had been told to leave his master's horse ready saddled in the stable, and that this morning it was gone.
So! so! quoth one of the soldiers. "Then methinks our bird hath flown! Let us after him to the coast!"
Others, however, were of a more cautious mind. "Summon the children," said one. "It may be that his babes will tell the truth!" So Lady Harrington and her son and daughter were called in.
The mother's set face told the Roundheads very plainly that no news of her husband could be got out of her. As for little Juliet, she was so filled with alarm that she could only weep.
Tush! said one harsh fellow seated close to the examiner. "This is no nursery: send the infant hence!" So Juliet was dismissed, and her brother took her place.
Very small and fair he looked, standing on a hassock before his father's table and facing the grim circle of men. But he held himself with a childish grace, and there was not a trace of fear in his blue eyes.
Your name? queried the examiner.
Basil Harrington, was the reply.
Age?
Five years and three months on last Saturday.
And when did you last see your father?
After bedtime yesterday, replied the boy.
Were there others with him?
No; he and my mother were alone.
And what did he say to you?
AND WHEN DID YOU LAST SEE YOUR FATHER?
He bade me take care of Mother, and I mean to do so. You shall not trouble her any more.
Right, my lad! said the examiner not unkindly. "We shall soon leave you in peace. But did not your father say more?"
Yes, he told me to be a good Cavalier, and that I shall always be. Then, throwing back his head, with flashing eyes and ringing voice he repeated his father's words, "Down with the Commonwealth! Long live our exiled King!"
For this the harsh Puritan would have struck him in the face, but the examiner stayed his hand. "Nay, brother," said he, "the Lord Protector himself would be glad of such a spirit, were it put forth in the rightful cause! Begone, child!" he added, turning again to Basil. "Your tongue trips a vast deal too freely." Yet now there was more than a little softness in his tone.
So the Roundheads got to horse once more, and set off to follow, as they believed, the Royalist fugitive [2] who, half an hour later, crept thankfully from his narrow hiding place at home.
As for the examiner, riding on his way, he could not forget the boy as he had stood before him in the dim Oak Parlour of the Manor. Without knowing it, he echoed the prayer of good old Lord John—"Heaven help him; he is his father's son!"
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[1] garret: Small room just under the roof of a house.
[2] fugitive: One who is running away from the law.
