Now, not only the crater but its steaming effluvia was utterly6 unlike anything I had ever before beheld7. There was no trace of lava8 to be seen, or of pumice, ashes, or of volcanic9 rejecta in any form whatever. There were no sulphuric odours, no pungent10 fumes11, nothing to teach the olfactory12 nerves what might be the nature of the silvery steam rising from the crater incessantly14 in a vast circle, ringing its circumference15 halfway16 down the slope.
Under this thin curtain of steam a ring of pale yellow flames played and sparkled, completely encircling the slope.
The crater was about half a mile deep; the sides sloped gently to the bottom.
But the odd feature of the entire phenomenon was this: the bottom of the crater seemed to be entirely17 free from fire and vapour. It was disk-shaped, sandy, and flat, about a quarter of a mile in diameter. Through my field-glasses I could see patches of grass and wild flowers growing in the sand here and there, and the sparkle of water, and a crow or two, feeding and walking about.
I looked at the girl who was standing18 beside me, then cast a glance around at the very unusual landscape.
We were standing on the summit of a mountain some two thousand feet high, looking into a cup-shaped depression or crater, on the edges of which we stood.
This low, flat-topped mountain, as I say, was grassy and quite treeless, although it rose like a truncated19 sugar-cone out of a wilderness20 of trees which stretched for miles below us, north, south, east, and west, bordered on the horizon by towering blue mountains, their distant ranges enclosing the forests as in a vast amphitheatre.
From the centre of this enormous green floor of foliage21 rose our grassy hill, and it appeared to be the only irregularity which broke the level wilderness as far as the base of the dim blue ranges encircling the horizon.
Except for the log bungalow22 of Mr. Blythe on the eastern edge of this grassy plateau, there was not a human habitation in sight, nor a trace of man’s devastating23 presence in the wilderness around us.
Again I looked questioningly at the girl beside me and she looked back at me rather seriously.
“Shall we seat ourselves here in the sun?” she asked.
I nodded.
Very gravely we settled down side by side on the thick green grass.
“Now,” she said, “I shall tell you why I wrote you to come out here. Shall I?”
“By all means, Miss Blythe.”
Sitting cross-legged, she gathered her ankles into her hands, settling herself as snugly25 on the grass as a bird settles on its nest.
“The phenomena26 of nature,” she said, “have always interested me intensely, not only from the artistic27 angle but from the scientific point of view.
“It is different with father. He is a painter; he cares only for the artistic aspects of nature. Phenomena of a scientific nature bore him. Also, you may have noticed that he is of a — a slightly impatient disposition28.”
I had noticed it. He had been anything but civil to me when I arrived the night before, after a five-hundred mile trip on a mule29, from the nearest railroad — a journey performed entirely alone and by compass, there being no trail after the first fifty miles.
To characterize Blythe as slightly impatient was letting him down easy. He was a selfish, bad-tempered30 old pig.
“Yes,” I said, answering her, “I did notice a negligible trace of impatience31 about your father.”
She flushed.
“You see I did not inform my father that I had written to you. He doesn’t like strangers; he doesn’t like scientists. I did not dare tell him that I had asked you to come out here. It was entirely my own idea. I felt that I must write you because I am positive that what is happening in this wilderness is of vital scientific importance.”
“How did you get a letter out of this distant and desolate32 place?” I asked.
“Every two months the storekeeper at Windflower Station sends in a man and a string of mules33 with staples34 for us. The man takes our further orders and our letters back to civilization.”
I nodded.
“He took my letter to you — among one or two others I sent ——”
A charming colour came into her cheeks. She was really extremely pretty. I liked that girl. When a girl blushes when she speaks to a man he immediately accepts her heightened colour as a personal tribute. This is not vanity: it is merely a proper sense of personal worthiness36.
She said thoughtfully:
“The mail bag which that man brought to us last week contained a letter which, had I received it earlier, would have made my invitation to you unnecessary. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
“I am not,” said I, looking into her beautiful eyes.
I twisted my mustache into two attractive points, shot my cuffs37, and glanced at her again, receptively.
She had a far-away expression in her eyes. I straightened my necktie. A man, without being vain, ought to be conscious of his own worth.
“And now,” she continued, “I am going to tell you the various reasons why I asked so celebrated38 a scientist as yourself to come here.”
I thanked her for her encomium39.
“Ever since my father retired40 from Boston to purchase this hill and the wilderness surrounding it,” she went on, “ever since he came here to live a hermit’s life — a life devoted41 solely42 to painting landscapes — I also have lived here all alone with him.
“That is three years, now. And from the very beginning — from the very first day of our arrival, somehow or other I was conscious that there was something abnormal about this corner of the world.”
She bent43 forward, lowering her voice a trifle:
“Have you noticed,” she asked, “that so many things seem to be circular out here?”
“Circular?” I repeated, surprised.
“Yes. That crater is circular; so is the bottom of it; so is this plateau, and the hill; and the forests surrounding us; and the mountain ranges on the horizon.”
“But all this is natural.”
“Perhaps. But in those woods, down there, there are, here and there, great circles of crumbling44 soil —perfect circles a mile in diameter.”
“Mounds45 built by prehistoric47 man, no doubt.”
She shook her head:
“These are not prehistoric mounds.”
“Why not?”
“Because they have been freshly made.”
“How do you know?”
“The earth is freshly upheaved; great trees, partly uprooted48, slant49 at every angle from the sides of the enormous piles of newly upturned earth; sand and stones are still sliding from the raw ridges50.”
She leaned nearer and dropped her voice still lower:
“More than that,” she said, “my father and I both have seen one of these huge circles in the making!”
“What!” I exclaimed, incredulously.
“It is true. We have seen several. And it enrages52 father.”
“Enrages?”
“Yes, because it upsets the trees where he is painting landscapes, and tilts53 them in every direction. Which, of course, ruins his picture; and he is obliged to start another, which vexes54 him dreadfully.”
I think I must have gaped55 at her in sheer astonishment56.
“But there is something more singular than that for you to investigate,” she said calmly. “Look down at that circle of steam which makes a perfect ring around the bowl of the crater, halfway down. Do you see the flicker57 of fire under the vapour?”
“Yes.”
She leaned so near and spoke58 in such a low voice that her fragrant59 breath fell upon my cheek:
“In the fire, under the vapours, there are little animals.”
“What!!”
“Little beasts live in the fire — slim, furry60 creatures, smaller than a weasel. I’ve seen them peep out of the fire and scurry61 back into it. . . . Now are you sorry that I wrote you to come? And will you forgive me for bringing you out here?”
An indescribable excitement seized me, endowing me with a fluency62 and eloquence63 unusual:
“I thank you from the bottom of my heart!” I cried; “— from the depths of a heart the emotions of which are entirely and exclusively of scientific origin!”
In the impulse of the moment I held out my hand; she laid hers in it with charming diffidence.
“Yours is the discovery,” I said. “Yours shall be the glory. Fame shall crown you; and perhaps if there remains64 any reflected light in the form of a by-product65, some modest and negligible little ray may chance to illuminate66 me.”
Surprised and deeply moved by my eloquence, I bent over her hand and saluted67 it with my lips.
She thanked me. Her pretty face was rosy68.
It appeared that she had three cows to milk, new-laid eggs to gather, and the construction of some fresh butter to be accomplished69.
At the bars of the grassy pasture slope she dropped me a curtsey, declining very shyly to let me carry her lacteal paraphernalia70.
So I continued on to the bungalow garden, where Blythe sat on a camp stool under a green umbrella, painting a picture of something or other.
“Mr. Blythe!” I cried, striving to subdue71 my enthusiasm. “The eyes of the scientific world are now open upon this house! The searchlight of Fame is about to be turned upon you —”
“I prefer privacy,” he interrupted. “That’s why I came here. I’ll be obliged if you’ll turn off that searchlight.”
“But, my dear Mr. Blythe —”
“I want to be let alone,” he repeated irritably72. “I came out here to paint and to enjoy privately73 my own paintings.”
If what stood on his easel was a sample of his pictures, nobody was likely to share his enjoyment74.
“Your work,” said I, politely, “is — is ——”
“Is what!” he snapped. ”What is it — if you think you know?”
“It is entirely, so to speak, per se— by itself —”
“What the devil do you mean by that?”
I looked at his picture, appalled75. The entire canvas was one monotonous76 vermillion conflagration77. I examined it with my head on one side, then on the other side; I made a funnel78 with both hands and peered intently through it at the picture. A menacing murmuring sound came from him.
“Satisfying — exquisitely80 satisfying,” I concluded. “I have often seen such sunsets —”
“What!”
“I mean such prairie fires —”
“Damnation!” he exclaimed. “I’m painting a bowl of nasturtiums!”
“I was speaking purely81 in metaphor,” said I with a sickly smile. “To me a nasturtium by the river brink82 is more than a simple flower. It is a broader, grander, more magnificent, more stupendous symbol. It may mean anything, everything — such as sunsets and conflagrations83 and G?tterd?mmerungs! Or —” and my voice was subtly modulated84 to an appealing and persuasive85 softness —“it may mean nothing at all — chaos86, void, vacuum, negation87, the exquisite79 annihilation of what has never even existed.”
He glared at me over his shoulder. If he was infected by Cubist tendencies he evidently had not understood what I said.
“If you won’t talk about my pictures I don’t mind your investigating this district,” he grunted88, dabbing89 at his palette and plastering a wad of vermilion upon his canvas; “but I object to any public invasion of my artistic privacy until I am ready for it.”
“When will that be?”
He pointed90 with one vermilion-soaked brush toward a long, low, log building.
“In that structure,” he said, “are packed one thousand and ninety-five paintings — all signed by me. I have executed one or two every day since I came here. When I have painted exactly ten thousand pictures, no more, no less, I shall erect91 here a gallery large enough to contain them all.
“Only real lovers of art will ever come here to study them. It is five hundred miles from the railroad. Therefore, I shall never have to endure the praises of the dilettante92, the patronage93 of the idler, the vapid94 rhapsodies of the vulgar. Only those who understand will care to make the pilgrimage.”
He waved his brushes at me:
“The conservation of national resources is all well enough — the setting aside of timber reserves, game preserves, bird refuges, all these projects are very good in a way. But I have dedicated95 this wilderness as a last and only refuge in all the world for true Art! Because true Art, except for my pictures, is, I believe, now practically extinct! . . . You’re in my way. Would you mind getting out?”
I had sidled around between him and his bowl of nasturtiums, and I hastily stepped aside. He squinted96 at the flowers, mixed up a flamboyant97 mess of colour on his palette, and daubed away with unfeigned satisfaction, no longer noticing me until I started to go. Then:
“What is it you’re here for, anyway?” he demanded abruptly98. I said with dignity:
“I am here to investigate those huge rings of earth thrown up in the forest as by a gigantic mole99.” He continued to paint for a few moments:
“Well, go and investigate ’em,” he snapped. “I’m not infatuated with your society.”
“What do you think they are?” I asked, mildly ignoring his wretched manners.
“I don’t know and I don’t care, except, that sometimes when I begin to paint several trees, the very trees I’m painting are suddenly heaved up and tilted100 in every direction, and all my work goes for nothing. That makes me mad! Otherwise, the matter has no interest for me.”
“But what in the world could cause —”
“I don’t know and I don’t care!” he shouted, waving palette and brushes angrily. “Maybe it’s an army of moles101 working all together under the ground; maybe it’s some species of circular earthquake. I don’t know! I don’t care! But it annoys me. And if you can devise any scientific means to stop it, I’ll be much obliged to you. Otherwise, to be perfectly102 frank, you bore me.”
“The mission of Science,” said I solemnly, “is to alleviate103 the inconveniences of mundane104 existence. Science, therefore, shall extend a helping105 hand to her frailer106 sister, Art —”
“Science can’t patronize Art while I’m around!” he retorted. “I won’t have it!”
“But, my dear Mr. Blythe —”
“I won’t dispute with you, either! I don’t like to dispute!” he shouted. “Don’t try to make me. Don’t attempt to inveigle107 me into discussion! I know all I want to know. I don’t want to know anything you want me to know, either!”
I looked at the old pig in haughty108 silence, nauseated109 by his conceit110.
After he had plastered a few more tubes of vermilion over his canvas he quieted down, and presently gave me an oblique111 glance over his shoulder.
“Well,” he said, “what else are you intending to investigate?”
“Those little animals that live in the crater fires,” I said bluntly.
“Yes,” he nodded, indifferently, “there are creatures which live somewhere in the fires of that crater.”
“Do you realize what an astounding112 statement you are making?” I asked.
“It doesn’t astound113 me. What do I care whether it astounds114 you or anybody else? Nothing interests me except Art.”
“But —”
“I tell you nothing interests me except Art!” he yelled. “Don’t dispute it! Don’t answer me! Don’t irritate me! I don’t care whether anything lives in the fire or not! Let it live there!”
“But have you actually seen live creatures in the flames?”
“Plenty! Plenty! What of it? What about it? Let ’em live there, for all I care. I’ve painted pictures of ’em, too. That’s all that interests me.”
“What do they look like, Mr. Blythe?”
“Look like? I don’t know! They look like weasels or rats or bats or cats or — stop asking me questions! It irritates me! It depresses me! Don’t ask any more! Why don’t you go in to lunch? And — tell my daughter to bring me a bowl of salad out here. I’ve no time to stuff myself. Some people have. I haven’t. You’d better go in to lunch. . . . And tell my daughter to bring me seven tubes of Chinese vermilion with my salad!”
“You don’t mean to mix —” I began, then checked myself before his fury.
“I’d rather eat vermilion paint on my salad than sit here talking to you!” he shouted.
I cast a pitying glance at this impossible man, and went into the house. After all, he was her father. I had to endure him.
After Miss Blythe had carried to her father a large bucket of lettuce115 leaves, she returned to the veranda116 of the bungalow.
A delightful117 luncheon118 awaited us; I seated her, then took the chair opposite.
A delicious omelette, fresh biscuit, salad, and strawberry preserves, and a tall tumbler of iced tea imbued119 me with a sort of mild exhilaration.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Blythe down in the garden, munching120 his lettuce leaves like an ill-tempered rabbit, and daubing away at his picture while he munched121.
“Your father,” said I politely, “is something of a genius.”
“I am so glad you think so,” she said gratefully. “But don’t tell him so. He has been surfeited122 with praise in Boston. That is why we came out here.”
“Art,” said I, “is like science, or tobacco, or tooth-wash. Every man to his own brand. Personally, I don’t care for his kind. But who can say which is the best kind of anything? Only the consumer. Your father is his own consumer. He is the best judge of what he likes. And that is the only true test of art, or anything else.”
“How delightfully123 you reason!” she said. “How logically, how generously!”
“Reason is the handmaid of Science, Miss Blythe.”
She seemed to understand me. Her quick intelligence surprised me, because I myself was not perfectly sure whether I had emitted piffle or an epigram.
As we ate our strawberry preserves we discussed ways and means of capturing a specimen124 of the little fire creatures which, as she explained, so frequently peeped out at her from the crater fires, and, at her slightest movement, scurried125 back again into the flames. Of course I believed that this was only her imagination. Yet, for years I had entertained a theory that fire supported certain unknown forms of life.
“I have long believed,” said I, “that fire is inhabited by living organisms which require the elements and temperature of active combustion126 for their existence — micro?rganisms, but not,” I added smilingly, “any higher type of life.”
“In the fireplace,” she ventured diffidently, “I sometimes see curious things — dragons and snakes and creatures of grotesque127 and peculiar128 shapes.”
I smiled indulgently, charmed by this innocently offered contribution to science. Then she rose, and I rose and took her hand in mine, and we wandered over the grass toward the crater, while I explained to her the difference between what we imagine we see in the glowing coals of a grate fire and my own theory that fire is the abode129 of living animalculae.
On the grassy edge of the crater we paused and looked down the slope, where the circle of steam rose, partly veiling the pale flash of fire underneath130.
“How near can we go?” I inquired.
“Quite near. Come; I’ll guide you.”
Leading me by the hand, she stepped over the brink and we began to descend the easy grass slope together.
There was no difficulty about it at all. Down we went, nearer and nearer to the wall of steam, until at last, when but fifteen feet away from it, I felt the heat from the flames which sparkled below the wall of vapour.
Here we seated ourselves upon the grass, and I knitted my brows and fixed131 my eyes upon this curious phenomenon, striving to discover some reason for it.
Except for the vapour and the fires, there was nothing whatever volcanic about this spectacle, or in the surroundings.
From where I sat I could see that the bed of fire which encircled the crater; and the wall of vapour which crowned the flames, were about three hundred feet wide. Of course this barrier was absolutely impassable. There was no way of getting through it into the bottom of the crater.
A slight pressure from Miss Blythe’s fingers engaged my attention; I turned toward her, and she said:
“There is one more thing about which I have not told you. I feel a little guilty, because that is the real reason I asked you to come here.”
“What is it?”
“I think there are emeralds on the floor of that crater.”
“Emeralds!”
“I think so.” She felt in the ruffled132 pocket of her apron133, drew out a fragment of mineral, and passed it to me.
I screwed a jeweler’s glass into my eye and examined it in astonished silence. It was an emerald; a fine, large, immensely valuable stone, if my experience counted for anything. One side of it was thickly coated with vermilion paint.
“Where did this come from?” I asked in an agitated134 voice.
“From the floor of the crater. Is it really an emerald?”
I lifted my head and stared at the girl incredulously.
“It happened this way,” she said excitedly. “Father was painting a picture up there by the edge of the crater. He left his palette on the grass to go to the bungalow for some more tubes of colour. While he was in the house, hunting for the colours which he wanted, I stepped out on the veranda, and I saw some crows alight near the palette and begin to stalk about in the grass. One bird walked right over his wet palette; I stepped out and waved my sun-bonnet to frighten him off, but he had both feet in a sticky mass of Chinese vermilion, and for a moment was unable to free himself.
“I almost caught him, but he flapped away over the edge of the crater, high above the wall of vapour, sailed down onto the crater floor, and alighted.
“But his feet bothered him; he kept hopping135 about on the bottom of the crater, half running, half flying; and finally he took wing and rose up over the hill.
“As he flew above me, and while I was looking up at his vermilion feet, something dropped from his claws and nearly struck me. It was that emerald.”
When I had recovered sufficient composure to speak steadily136, I took her beautiful little hand in mine.
“This,” said I, “is the most exciting locality I have ever visited for purposes of scientific research. Within this crater may lie millions of value in emeralds. You are probably, today, the wealthiest heiress upon the face of the globe!”
I gave her a winning glance. She smiled, shyly, and blushingly withdrew her hand.
For several exquisite minutes I sat there beside her in a sort of heavenly trance. How beautiful she was! How engaging — how sweet — how modestly appreciative137 of the man beside her, who had little beside his scientific learning, his fame, and a kind heart to appeal to such youth and loveliness as hers!
There was something about her that delicately appealed to me. Sometimes I pondered what this might be; sometimes I wondered how many emeralds lay on that floor of sandy gravel24 below us.
Yes, I loved her. I realised it now. I could even endure her father for her sake. I should make a good husband. I was quite certain of that.
I turned and gazed upon her, meltingly. But I did not wish to startle her, so I remained silent, permitting the chaste138 language of my eyes to interpret for her what my lips had not yet murmured. It was a brief but beautiful moment in my life.
“The way to do,” said I, “is to trap several dozen crows, smear139 their feet with glue, tie a ball of Indian twine140 to the ankle of every bird, then liberate141 them. Some are certain to fly into the crater and try to scrape the glue off in the sand. Then,” I added, triumphantly142, “all we have to do is to haul in our birds and detach the wealth of Midas from their sticky claws!”
“That is an excellent suggestion,” she said gratefully, “but I can do that after you have gone. All I wanted you to tell me was whether the stone is a genuine emerald.”
I gazed at her blankly.
“You are here for purposes of scientific investigation,” she added, sweetly. “I should not think of taking your time for the mere35 sake of accumulating wealth for my father and me.”
There didn’t seem to be anything for me to say at that moment. Chilled, I gazed at the flashing ring of fire.
And, as I gazed, suddenly I became aware of a little, pointed muzzle143, two pricked-up ears, and two ruby-red eyes gazing intently out at me from the mass of flames.
The girl beside me saw it, too.
“Don’t move!” she whispered. “That is one of the flame creatures. It may venture out if you keep perfectly still.”
Rigid144 with amazement145, I sat like a stone image, staring at the most astonishing sight I had ever beheld.
For several minutes the ferret-like creature never stirred from where it crouched146 in the crater fire; the alert head remained pointed toward us; I could even see that its thick fur must have possessed147 the qualities of asbestos, because here and there a hair or two glimmered148 incandescent149; and its eyes, nose, and whiskers glowed and glowed as the flames pulsated150 around it.
After a long while it began to move out of the fire, slowly, cautiously, cunning eyes fixed on us — a small, slim, wiry, weasel-like creature on which the sunlight fell with a vitreous glitter as it crept forward into the grass.
Then, from the fire behind, another creature of the same sort appeared, another, others, then dozens of eager, lithe151, little animals appeared everywhere from the flames and began to frisk and play and run about in the grass and nibble152 the fresh, green, succulent herbage with a snipping153 sound quite audible to us.
One came so near my feet that I could examine it minutely.
Its fur and whiskers seemed heavy and dense154 and like asbestos fibre, yet so fine as to appear silky. Its eyes, nose, and claws were scarlet155, and seemed to possess a glassy surface.
I waited my opportunity, and when the little thing came nosing along within reach, I seized it.
Instantly it emitted a bewildering series of whistling shrieks157, and twisted around to bite me. Its body was icy.
“Don’t let it bite!” cried the girl. “Be careful, Mr. Smith!”
But its jaws158 were toothless; only soft, cold gums pinched me, and I held it twisting and writhing159, while the icy temperature of its body began to benumb my fingers and creep up my wrist, paralyzing my arm; and its incessant13 and piercing shrieks deafened160 me.
In vain I transferred it to the other hand, and then passed it from one hand to the other, as one shifts a lump of ice or a hot potato, in an attempt to endure the temperature: it shrieked161 and squirmed and doubled, and finally wriggled162 out of my stiffened163 and useless hands, and scuttled164 away into the fire.
It was an overwhelming disappointment. For a moment it seemed unendurable.
“Never mind,” I said, huskily, “if I caught one in my hands, I can surely catch another in a trap.”
“I am so sorry for your disappointment,” she said, pitifully.
“Do you care, Miss Blythe?” I asked.
She blushed.
“Of course I care,” she murmured.
My hands were too badly frost-nipped to become eloquent165. I merely sighed and thrust them into my pockets. Even my arm was too stiff to encircle her shapeful waist. Devotion to Science had temporarily crippled me. Love must wait. But, as we ascended166 the grassy slope together, I promised myself that I would make her a good husband, and that I should spend at least part of every day of my life in trapping crows and smearing167 their claws with glue.
That evening I was seated on the veranda beside Wilna — Miss Blythe’s name was Wilna — and what with gazing at her and fitting together some of the folding box-traps which I always carried with me — and what with trying to realise the pecuniary168 magnificence of our future existence together, I was exceedingly busy when Blythe came in to display, as I supposed, his most recent daub to me.
The canvas he carried presented a series of crimson169 speckles, out of which burst an eruption170 of green streaks171 — and it made me think of stepping on a caterpillar172.
My instinct was to placate173 this impossible man. He was her father. I meant to honour him if I had to assault him to do it.
“Supremely satisfying!” I nodded, chary174 of naming the subject. “It is a stride beyond the art of the future: it is a flying leap out of the Not Yet into the Possibly Perhaps! I thank you for enlightening me, Mr. Blythe. I am your debtor175.”
He fairly snarled176 at me:
“What are you talking about!” he demanded.
I remained modestly mute.
To Wilna he said, pointing passionately177 at his canvas:
“The crows have been walking all over it again! I’m going to paint in the woods after this, earthquakes or no earthquakes. Have the trees been heaved up anywhere recently?”
“Not since last week,” she said, soothingly178. “It usually happens after a rain.”
“I think I’ll risk it then — although it did rain early this morning. I’ll do a moonlight down there this evening.” And, turning to me: “If you know as much about science as you do about art you won’t have to remain here long — I trust.”
“What?” said I, very red.
He laughed a highly disagreeable laugh, and marched into the house. Presently he bawled179 for dinner, and Wilna went away. For her sake I had remained calm and dignified180, but presently I went out and kicked up the turf two or three times; and, having foozled my wrath181, I went back to dinner, realising that I might as well begin to accustom182 myself to my future father-in-law.
It seemed that he had a mania183 for prunes184, and that’s all he permitted anybody to have for dinner.
Disgusted, I attempted to swallow the loathly stewed186 fruit, watching Blythe askance as he hurriedly stuffed himself, using a tablespoon, with every symptom of relish187.
“Now,” he cried, shoving back his chair, “I’m going to paint a moonlight by moonlight. Wilna, if Billy arrives, make him comfortable, and tell him I’ll return by midnight.” And without taking the trouble to notice me at all, he strode away toward the veranda, chewing vigorously upon his last prune185.
“Your father,” said I, “is eccentric. Genius usually is. But he is a most interesting and estimable man. I revere188 him.”
“It is kind of you to say so,” said the girl, in a low voice.
I thought deeply for a few moments, then:
“Who is ‘Billy?’” I inquired, casually189.
I couldn’t tell whether it was a sudden gleam of sunset light on her face, or whether she blushed.
“Billy,” she said softly, “is a friend of father’s. His name is William Green.”
“Oh.”
“He is coming out here to visit — father — I believe.”
“Oh. An artist; and doubtless of mature years.”
“He is a mineralogist by profession,” she said, “— and somewhat young.”
“Oh.”
“Twenty-four years old,” she added. Upon her pretty face was an absent expression, vaguely190 pleasant. Her blue eyes became dreamy and exquisitely remote.
I pondered deeply for a while:
“Wilna?” I said.
“Yes, Mr. Smith?” as though aroused from agreeable meditation191.
But I didn’t know exactly what to say, and I remained uneasily silent, thinking about that man Green and his twenty-four years, and his profession, and the bottom of the crater, and Wilna — and striving to satisfy myself that there was no logical connection between any of these.
“I think,” said I, “that I’ll take a bucket of salad to your father.”
Why I should have so suddenly determined192 to ingratiate myself with the old grouch193 I scarcely understood: for the construction of a salad was my very best accomplishment194.
Wilna looked at me in a peculiar manner, almost as though she were controlling a sudden and not unpleasant inward desire to laugh.
Evidently the finer and more delicate instincts of a woman were divining my motive195 and sympathizing with my mental and sentimental196 perplexity.
So when she said: “I don’t think you had better go near my father,” I was convinced of her gentle solicitude197 in my behalf.
“With a bucket of salad,” I whispered softly, “much may be accomplished, Wilna.” And I took her little hand and pressed it gently and respectfully. “Trust all to me,” I murmured.
She stood with her head turned away from me, her slim hand resting limply in mine. From the slight tremor198 of her shoulders I became aware how deeply her emotion was now swaying her. Evidently she was nearly ready to become mine.
But I remained calm and alert. The time was not yet. Her father had had his prunes, in which he delighted. And when pleasantly approached with a bucket of salad he could not listen otherwise than politely to what I had to say to him. Quick action was necessary — quick but diplomatic action — in view of the imminence199 of this young man Green, who evidently was persona grata at the bungalow of this irritable200 old dodo.
Tenderly pressing the pretty hand which I held, and saluting201 the finger-tips with a gesture which was, perhaps, not wholly ungraceful, I stepped into the kitchen, washed out several heads of lettuce, deftly202 chopped up some youthful onions, constructed a seductive French dressing203, and, stirring together the crisp ingredients, set the savoury masterpiece away in the ice-box, after tasting it. It was delicious enough to draw sobs205 from any pig.
When I went out to the veranda, Wilna had disappeared. So I unfolded and set up some more box-traps, determined to lose no time.
Sunset still lingered beyond the chain of western mountains as I went out across the grassy plateau to the cornfield.
Here I set and baited several dozen aluminium206 crow-traps, padding the jaws so that no injury could be done to the birds when the springs snapped on their legs.
Then I went over to the crater and descended its gentle, grassy slope. And there, all along the borders of the vapoury wall, I set box-traps for the lithe little denizens207 of the fire, baiting every trap with a handful of fresh, sweet clover which I had pulled up from the pasture beyond the cornfield.
My task ended, I ascended the slope again, and for a while stood there immersed in pleasurable premonitions.
Everything had been accomplished swiftly and methodically within the few hours in which I had first set eyes upon this extraordinary place — everything! — love at first sight, the delightfully lightning-like wooing and winning of an incomparable maiden208 and heiress; the discovery of the fire creatures; the solving of the emerald problem.
And now everything was ready, crow-traps, fire-traps, a bucket of irresistible209 salad for Blythe, a modest and tremulous avowal210 for Wilna as soon as her father tasted the salad and I had pleasantly notified him of my intentions concerning his lovely offspring.
Daylight faded from rose to lilac; already the mountains were growing fairy-like under that vague, diffuse211 lustre212 which heralds213 the rise of the full moon. It rose, enormous, yellow, unreal, becoming imperceptibly silvery as it climbed the sky and hung aloft like a stupendous arc-light flooding the world with a radiance so white and clear that I could very easily have written verses by it, if I wrote verses.
Down on the edge of the forest I could see Blythe on his camp-stool, madly besmearing his moonlit canvas, but I could not see Wilna anywhere. Maybe she had shyly retired somewhere by herself to think of me.
So I went back to the house, filled a bucket with my salad, and started toward the edge of the woods, singing happily as I sped on feet so light and frolicsome214 that they seemed to skim the ground. How wonderful is the power of love!
When I approached Blythe he heard me coming and turned around.
“What the devil do you want?” he asked with characteristic civility.
“I have brought you,” said I gaily215, “a bucket of salad.”
“I don’t want any salad!”
“W-what?”
“I never eat it at night.”
I said confidently:
“Mr. Blythe, if you will taste this salad I am sure you will not regret it.” And with hideous216 cunning I set the bucket beside him on the grass and seated myself near it. The old dodo grunted and continued to daub the canvas; but presently, as though forgetfully, and from sheer instinct, he reached down into the bucket, pulled out a leaf of lettuce, and shoved it into his mouth.
My heart leaped exultantly217. I had him!
“Mr. Blythe,” I began in a winningly modulated voice, and, at the same instant, he sprang from his camp-chair, his face distorted.
“There are onions in this salad!” he yelled. “What the devil do you mean! Are you trying to poison me! What are you following me about for, anyway? Why are you running about under foot every minute!”
“My dear Mr. Blythe,” I protested — but he barked at me, kicked over the bucket of salad, and began to dance with rage.
“What’s the matter with you, anyway!” he bawled. “Why are you trying to feed me? What do you mean by trying to be attentive218 to me!”
“I— I admire and revere you —”
“No you don’t!” he shouted. “I don’t want you to admire me! I don’t desire to be revered219! I don’t like attention and politeness! Do you hear! It’s artificial — out of date — ridiculous! The only thing that recommends a man to me is his bad manners, bad temper, and violent habits. There’s some meaning to such a man, none at all to men like you!”
He ran at the salad bucket and kicked it again.
“They all fawned220 on me in Boston!” he panted. “They ran about under foot! They bought my pictures! And they made me sick! I came out here to be rid of ’em!”
I rose from the grass, pale and determined.
“You listen to me, you old grouch!” I hissed221. “I’ll go. But before I go I’ll tell you why I’ve been civil to you. There’s only one reason in the world: I want to marry your daughter! And I’m going to do it!”
I stepped nearer him, menacing him with outstretched hand:
“As for you, you pitiable old dodo, with your bad manners and your worse pictures, and your degraded mania for prunes, you are a necessary evil that’s all, and I haven’t the slightest respect for either you or your art!”
“Is that true?” he said in an altered voice.
“True?” I laughed bitterly. “Of course it’s true, you miserable222 dauber!”
“D-dauber!” he stammered223.
“Certainly! I said ‘dauber,’ and I mean it. Why, your work would shame the pictures on a child’s slate224!”
“Smith,” he said unsteadily, “I believe I have utterly misjudged you. I believe you are a good deal of a man, after all —”
“I’m man enough,” said I, fiercely, “to go back, saddle my mule, kidnap your daughter, and start for home. And I’m going to do it!”
“Wait!” he cried. “I don’t want you to go. If you’ll remain I’ll be very glad. I’ll do anything you like. I’ll quarrel with you, and you can insult my pictures. It will agreeably stimulate225 us both. Don’t go, Smith —”
“If I stay, may I marry Wilna?”
“If you ask me I won’t let you!”
“Very well!” I retorted, angrily. “Then I’ll marry her anyway!”
“That’s the way to talk! Don’t go, Smith. I’m really beginning to like you. And when Billy Green arrives you and he will have a delightfully violent scene —”
“What!”
He rubbed his hands gleefully.
“He’s in love with Wilna. You and he won’t get on. It is going to be very stimulating226 for me — I can see that! You and he are going to behave most disagreeably to each other. And I shall be exceedingly unpleasant to you both! Come, Smith, promise me that you’ll stay!”
Profoundly worried, I stood staring at him in the moonlight, gnawing227 my mustache.
“Very well,” I said, “I’ll remain if —”
Something checked me, I did not quite know what for a moment. Blythe, too, was staring at me in an odd, apprehensive228 way. Suddenly I realised that under my feet the ground was stirring.
“Look out!” I cried; but speech froze on my lips as beneath me the solid earth began to rock and crack and billow up into a high, crumbling ridge51, moving continually, as the sod cracks, heaves up, and crumbles229 above the subterranean231 progress of a mole.
Up into the air we were slowly pushed on the ever-growing ridge; and with us were carried rocks and bushes and sod, and even forest trees.
I could hear their tap-roots part with pistol-like reports; see great pines and hemlocks232 and oaks moving, slanting233, settling, tilting234 crazily in every direction as they were heaved upward in this gigantic disturbance235.
Blythe caught me by the arm; we clutched each other, balancing on the crest236 of the steadily rising mound46.
“W-what is it?” he stammered. “Look! It’s circular. The woods are rising in a huge circle. What’s happening? Do you know?”
Over me crept a horrible certainty that something living was moving under us through the depths of the earth — something that, as it progressed, was heaping up the surface of the world above its unseen and burrowing237 course — something dreadful, enormous, sinister238, and alive!
“Look out!” screamed Blythe; and at the same instant the crumbling summit of the ridge opened under our feet and a fissure239 hundreds of yards long yawned ahead of us.
And along it, shining slimily in the moonlight, a vast, viscous240, ringed surface was moving, retracting241, undulating, elongating242, writhing, squirming, shuddering243.
“It’s a worm!” shrieked Blythe. “Oh, God! It’s a mile long!”
As in a nightmare we clutched each other, struggling frantically244 to avoid the fissure; but the soft earth slid and gave way under us, and we fell heavily upon that ghastly, living surface.
Instantly a violent convulsion hurled245 us upward; we fell on it again, rebounding246 from the rubbery thing, strove to regain247 our feet and scramble248 up the edges of the fissure, strove madly while the mammoth249 worm slid more rapidly through the rocking forests, carrying us forward with a speed increasing.
Through the forest we tore, reeling about on the slippery back of the thing, as though riding on a plowshare, while trees clashed and tilted and fell from the enormous furrow250 on every side; then, suddenly out of the woods into the moonlight, far ahead of us we could see the grassy upland heave up, cake, break, and crumble230 above the burrowing course of the monster.
“It’s making for the crater!” gasped251 Blythe; and horror spurred us on, and we scrambled252 and slipped and clawed the billowing sides of the furrow until we gained the heaving top of it.
As one runs in a bad dream, heavily, half-paralyzed, so ran Blythe and I, toiling253 over the undulating, tumbling upheaval254 until, half-fainting, we fell and rolled down the shifting slope onto solid and unvexed sod on the very edges of the crater.
Below us we saw, with sickened eyes, the entire circumference of the crater agitated, saw it rise and fall as avalanches255 of rock and earth slid into it, tons and thousands of tons rushing down the slope, blotting256 from our sight the flickering257 ring of flame, and extinguishing the last filmy jet of vapour.
Suddenly the entire crater caved in and filled up under my anguished258 eyes, quenching259 for all eternity260 the vapour wall, the fire, and burying the little denizens of the flames, and perhaps a billion dollars’ worth of emeralds under as many billion tons of earth.
Quieter and quieter grew the earth as the gigantic worm bored straight down into depths immeasurable. And at last the moon shone upon a world that lay without a tremor in its milky261 lustre.
“I shall name it Verma gigantica,” said I, with a hysterical262 sob204; “but nobody will ever believe me when I tell this story!”
Still terribly shaken, we turned toward the house. And, as we approached the lamplit veranda, I saw a horse standing there and a young man hastily dismounting.
And then a terrible thing occurred; for, before I could even shriek156, Wilna had put both arms around that young man’s neck, and both of his arms were clasping her waist.
Blythe was kind to me. He took me around the back way and put me to bed.
And there I lay through the most awful night I ever experienced, listening to the piano below, where Wilna and William Green were singing, “Un Peu d’Amour.”
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1
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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2
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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3
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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4
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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5
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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6
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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7
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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8
lava
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| n.熔岩，火山岩 | |
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9
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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10
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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11
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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12
olfactory
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| adj.嗅觉的 | |
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13
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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14
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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15
circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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16
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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17
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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18
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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19
truncated
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| adj.切去顶端的，缩短了的，被删节的v.截面的( truncate的过去式和过去分词 )；截头的；缩短了的；截去顶端或末端 | |
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20
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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21
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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22
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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23
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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24
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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25
snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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26
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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27
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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28
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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29
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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bad-tempered
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| adj.脾气坏的 | |
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31
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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32
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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33
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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34
staples
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| n.（某国的）主要产品( staple的名词复数 )；钉书钉；U 形钉；主要部份v.用钉书钉钉住( staple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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35
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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worthiness
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| 价值，值得 | |
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cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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38
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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encomium
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| n.赞颂；颂词 | |
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40
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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42
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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43
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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44
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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45
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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46
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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47
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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48
uprooted
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| v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的过去式和过去分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
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49
slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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50
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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51
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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52
enrages
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| 使暴怒( enrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53
tilts
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| （意欲赢得某物或战胜某人的）企图，尝试( tilt的名词复数 ) | |
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54
vexes
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| v.使烦恼( vex的第三人称单数 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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55
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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56
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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57
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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58
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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59
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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60
furry
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| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
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61
scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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62
fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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63
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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64
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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65
by-product
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| n.副产品，附带产生的结果 | |
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66
illuminate
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| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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67
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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68
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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69
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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70
paraphernalia
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| n.装备；随身用品 | |
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71
subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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72
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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73
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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74
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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75
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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76
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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77
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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78
funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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79
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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81
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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82
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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83
conflagrations
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| n.大火（灾）( conflagration的名词复数 ) | |
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84
modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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85
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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86
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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87
negation
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| n.否定；否认 | |
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88
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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89
dabbing
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| 石面凿毛，灰泥抛毛 | |
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90
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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91
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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92
dilettante
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| n.半瓶醋，业余爱好者 | |
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93
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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94
vapid
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| adj.无味的；无生气的 | |
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95
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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96
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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97
flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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98
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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99
mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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100
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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101
moles
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| 防波堤( mole的名词复数 )； 鼹鼠； 痣； 间谍 | |
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102
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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103
alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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104
mundane
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| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
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105
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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106
frailer
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| 脆弱的( frail的比较级 )； 易损的； 易碎的 | |
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107
inveigle
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| v.诱骗 | |
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108
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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109
nauseated
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| adj.作呕的，厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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111
oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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112
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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113
astound
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| v.使震惊，使大吃一惊 | |
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114
astounds
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| v.使震惊，使大吃一惊( astound的第三人称单数 ) | |
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115
lettuce
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| n.莴苣；生菜 | |
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116
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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117
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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118
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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119
imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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120
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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121
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
surfeited
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| v.吃得过多( surfeit的过去式和过去分词 )；由于过量而厌腻 | |
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123
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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124
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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125
scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
combustion
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| n.燃烧；氧化；骚动 | |
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127
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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128
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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129
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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130
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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131
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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132
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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133
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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134
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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135
hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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136
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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137
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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138
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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139
smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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140
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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141
liberate
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| v.解放，使获得自由，释出，放出；vt.解放，使获自由 | |
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142
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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143
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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144
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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145
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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146
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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148
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149
incandescent
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| adj.遇热发光的， 白炽的，感情强烈的 | |
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150
pulsated
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| v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的过去式和过去分词 )；跳动；脉动；受（激情）震动 | |
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151
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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152
nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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153
snipping
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| n.碎片v.剪( snip的现在分词 ) | |
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154
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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155
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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156
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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157
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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158
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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159
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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160
deafened
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| 使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 )； 使隔音 | |
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161
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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163
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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164
scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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165
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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166
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
smearing
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| 污点，拖尾效应 | |
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168
pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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169
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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170
eruption
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| n.火山爆发；（战争等）爆发；（疾病等）发作 | |
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171
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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172
caterpillar
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| n.毛虫，蝴蝶的幼虫 | |
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173
placate
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| v.抚慰，平息(愤怒) | |
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174
chary
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| adj.谨慎的，细心的 | |
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175
debtor
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| n.借方，债务人 | |
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176
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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177
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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178
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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179
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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180
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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181
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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182
accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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183
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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184
prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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185
prune
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| n.酶干；vt.修剪，砍掉，削减；vi.删除 | |
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186
stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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187
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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188
revere
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| vt.尊崇，崇敬，敬畏 | |
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189
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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190
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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191
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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192
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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193
grouch
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| n.牢骚，不满；v.抱怨 | |
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194
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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195
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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196
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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197
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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198
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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199
imminence
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| n.急迫，危急 | |
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200
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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201
saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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202
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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203
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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204
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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205
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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206
aluminium
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| n.铝 (=aluminum) | |
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207
denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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208
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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209
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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210
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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211
diffuse
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| v.扩散；传播；adj.冗长的；四散的，弥漫的 | |
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212
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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213
heralds
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| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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214
frolicsome
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| adj.嬉戏的，闹着玩的 | |
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215
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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216
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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217
exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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218
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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219
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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220
fawned
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| v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的过去式和过去分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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221
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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222
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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223
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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224
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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225
stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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226
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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227
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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228
apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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229
crumbles
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| 酥皮水果甜点( crumble的名词复数 ) | |
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230
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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231
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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232
hemlocks
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| 由毒芹提取的毒药( hemlock的名词复数 ) | |
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233
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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234
tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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235
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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236
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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237
burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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238
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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239
fissure
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| n.裂缝；裂伤 | |
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240
viscous
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| adj.粘滞的，粘性的 | |
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241
retracting
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| v.撤回或撤消( retract的现在分词 )；拒绝执行或遵守；缩回；拉回 | |
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242
elongating
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| v.延长，加长( elongate的现在分词 ) | |
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243
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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244
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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245
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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246
rebounding
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| 蹦跳运动 | |
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247
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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248
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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249
mammoth
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| n.长毛象；adj.长毛象似的，巨大的 | |
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250
furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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251
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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252
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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253
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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254
upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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255
avalanches
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| n.雪崩( avalanche的名词复数 ) | |
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256
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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257
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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258
anguished
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| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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259
quenching
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| 淬火，熄 | |
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260
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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261
milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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262
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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