这一章非常短，在它所在的位置上似乎也无足轻重，但尽管如此还是应当读一读，因为它既是上一章的续篇，也是未来某一章的钥匙，到时候自会见分晓。
“这么说，你打定主意今天早上要当我的旅伴了，嗯？”医生说道，这时哈里·梅利在早餐桌旁同他和奥利弗会合了。“哎呀，你这人连着两个半小时都拿不准主意、变卦不断！”
“总有一天你会说出另一番话来的。”哈里说，毫无缘由地红了脸。
“但愿我有充分的理由那样说，”洛斯伯恩先生答道，“虽说我承认并不指望会有。可昨天早上你还急匆匆拿定主意，要留在这儿，像个孝顺儿子似的陪你母亲去海边。不到中午，你又宣布要给我面子，陪我一路同行到伦敦。到了晚上，你又神神秘秘地催我趁女眷们还没起身就动身；结果就是，小奥利弗在这儿被按在早餐桌前，本该去草地上寻摸各类植物奇观的。太不像话了，是不是，奥利弗？”
“先生，您和梅利先生走的时候，我要是不在家送一送，会非常过意不去的。”奥利弗接口道。
“好小子，”医生说，“你回来要来看我。不过说正经的，哈里；是不是那些大人物有了什么信儿，才让你这么急着要走？”
“那些大人物，”哈里答道，“我猜你指的是我最威严的伯父，我来了以后根本没跟我通过信；而且一年里这个时候，也多半不会出什么事非得让我立刻去他们跟前不可。”
“嗯，”医生说，“你是个怪人。不过圣诞节前的选举他们肯定会把你弄进议会，你这忽东忽西、变来变去的做派，倒不失为政治生涯的好铺垫。这里面有道理。训练总是好的，不管赛的是位子、奖杯，还是大彩金。”
哈里·梅利那神情，仿佛能顺着这番短话再补一两句，保准让医生大吃一惊；可他只说了句“到时候瞧吧”，便不再往下接。不久驿车赶到门前；贾尔斯进来取行李，好心的医生便忙不迭出去盯着装车。
“奥利弗，”哈里·梅利低声说，“我跟你说句话。”
奥利弗走到梅利先生招手唤他的窗凹里；他满心诧异，不知对方这一举一动里怎会既含哀伤又带雀跃。
“你现在写得一手好字了吧？”哈里把手搭在他臂上说。
“希望是，先生。”奥利弗答。
“我也许有一阵子不回家了；希望你给我写信——就说每两星期一封：隔周周一：寄伦敦通用邮局。行吗？”
“噢！当然，先生；能写我太荣幸了。”奥利弗叫道，领了这差事喜不自胜。
“我想知道我母亲和梅利小姐——她们怎样，”年轻人说，“你写满一张纸也不妨，说说你们去哪儿散步、聊些什么，还有她——我是说她们——看上去快不快乐、身子可好。你明白我的意思？”
“噢！明白，先生，全明白。”奥利弗答。
“这事你最好别对她们提起，”哈里急匆匆地说，“因为我母亲若知道了，定会急着多给我写信，那对她是个麻烦和操心事。就当你我之间的秘密；记着，什么都得告诉我！我就指望你了。”
奥利弗觉得自己受了重用，又体面又得意，忠实地许诺：通信必守秘密、必说得一清二楚。梅利先生向他道别，再三表示看重他、会护着他。
医生已在车中；贾尔斯（说定留下来）手把着车门；女仆们立在园中观望。哈里朝那格窗淡淡瞥了一眼，便跳上车。
“走！”他喊，“快，飞跑，全速！今天除了飞，什么也赶不上我的脚步。”
“嗨哟！”医生急慌慌放下前窗玻璃，朝御手喊，“赶不上我的，可比飞差得远呢。听见没？”
铃铛叮当、车轮咔嗒，直到远得声息难辨，只剩飞驰的影儿还看得见，车子沿着路弯转而去，几乎没在尘云里：时而全然隐没，时而因遮拦之物或路途曲折稍缓，又露出身形。直待那尘云也望不见了，看的人才散去。
却有一名旁观者，车已去出好几里，仍定定望着车子消失处；原来哈里抬眼望窗时，那白帘后藏着不让瞧见的，正是罗丝本人。
“他看来兴致很高，挺快活，”她终于说，“我一度还怕他不是这样。是我错了。我，我真是太高兴了。”
泪既是喜的记号，也是悲的记号；可罗丝坐在窗边出神，仍朝同一方向望，泪顺着脸淌下，那泪里似更多哀愁，少于欢喜。
IS A VERY SHORT ONE, AND MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT IMPORTANCE IN ITS
PLACE, BUT IT SHOULD BE READ NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST,
AND A KEY TO ONE THAT WILL FOLLOW WHEN ITS TIME ARRIVES
“And so you are resolved to be my travelling companion this morning;
eh?” said the doctor, as Harry Maylie joined him and Oliver at the
breakfast-table. “Why, you are not in the same mind or intention two
half-hours together!”
“You will tell me a different tale one of these days,” said Harry,
colouring without any perceptible reason.
“I hope I may have good cause to do so,” replied Mr. Losberne; “though
I confess I don’t think I shall. But yesterday morning you had made up
your mind, in a great hurry, to stay here, and to accompany your
mother, like a dutiful son, to the sea-side. Before noon, you announce
that you are going to do me the honour of accompanying me as far as I
go, on your road to London. And at night, you urge me, with great
mystery, to start before the ladies are stirring; the consequence of
which is, that young Oliver here is pinned down to his breakfast when
he ought to be ranging the meadows after botanical phenomena of all
kinds. Too bad, isn’t it, Oliver?”
“I should have been very sorry not to have been at home when you and
Mr. Maylie went away, sir,” rejoined Oliver.
“That’s a fine fellow,” said the doctor; “you shall come and see me
when you return. But, to speak seriously, Harry; has any communication
from the great nobs produced this sudden anxiety on your part to be
gone?”
“The great nobs,” replied Harry, “under which designation, I presume,
you include my most stately uncle, have not communicated with me at
all, since I have been here; nor, at this time of the year, is it
likely that anything would occur to render necessary my immediate
attendance among them.”
“Well,” said the doctor, “you are a queer fellow. But of course they
will get you into parliament at the election before Christmas, and
these sudden shiftings and changes are no bad preparation for political
life. There’s something in that. Good training is always desirable,
whether the race be for place, cup, or sweepstakes.”
Harry Maylie looked as if he could have followed up this short dialogue
by one or two remarks that would have staggered the doctor not a
little; but he contented himself with saying, “We shall see,” and
pursued the subject no farther. The post-chaise drove up to the door
shortly afterwards; and Giles coming in for the luggage, the good
doctor bustled out, to see it packed.
“Oliver,” said Harry Maylie, in a low voice, “let me speak a word with
you.”
Oliver walked into the window-recess to which Mr. Maylie beckoned him;
much surprised at the mixture of sadness and boisterous spirits, which
his whole behaviour displayed.
“You can write well now?” said Harry, laying his hand upon his arm.
“I hope so, sir,” replied Oliver.
“I shall not be at home again, perhaps for some time; I wish you would
write to me—say once a fort-night: every alternate Monday: to the
General Post Office in London. Will you?”
“Oh! certainly, sir; I shall be proud to do it,” exclaimed Oliver,
greatly delighted with the commission.
“I should like to know how—how my mother and Miss Maylie are,” said the
young man; “and you can fill up a sheet by telling me what walks you
take, and what you talk about, and whether she—they, I mean—seem happy
and quite well. You understand me?”
“Oh! quite, sir, quite,” replied Oliver.
“I would rather you did not mention it to them,” said Harry, hurrying
over his words; “because it might make my mother anxious to write to me
oftener, and it is a trouble and worry to her. Let it be a secret
between you and me; and mind you tell me everything! I depend upon
you.”
Oliver, quite elated and honoured by a sense of his importance,
faithfully promised to be secret and explicit in his communications.
Mr. Maylie took leave of him, with many assurances of his regard and
protection.
The doctor was in the chaise; Giles (who, it had been arranged, should
be left behind) held the door open in his hand; and the women-servants
were in the garden, looking on. Harry cast one slight glance at the
latticed window, and jumped into the carriage.
“Drive on!” he cried, “hard, fast, full gallop! Nothing short of flying
will keep pace with me, today.”
“Halloa!” cried the doctor, letting down the front glass in a great
hurry, and shouting to the postillion; “something very short of flying
will keep pace with _me_. Do you hear?”
Jingling and clattering, till distance rendered its noise inaudible,
and its rapid progress only perceptible to the eye, the vehicle wound
its way along the road, almost hidden in a cloud of dust: now wholly
disappearing, and now becoming visible again, as intervening objects,
or the intricacies of the way, permitted. It was not until even the
dusty cloud was no longer to be seen, that the gazers dispersed.
And there was one looker-on, who remained with eyes fixed upon the spot
where the carriage had disappeared, long after it was many miles away;
for, behind the white curtain which had shrouded her from view when
Harry raised his eyes towards the window, sat Rose herself.
“He seems in high spirits and happy,” she said, at length. “I feared
for a time he might be otherwise. I was mistaken. I am very, very
glad.”
Tears are signs of gladness as well as grief; but those which coursed
down Rose’s face, as she sat pensively at the window, still gazing in
the same direction, seemed to tell more of sorrow than of joy.
