Nor Powers of Darkness me molest1.
— Evening Hymn2.
One of the few advantages that India has over England is a great Knowability. After five years’ service a man is directly or indirectly3 acquainted with the two or three hundred Civilians5 in his Province, all the Messes of ten or twelve Regiments6 and Batteries, and some fifteen hundred other people of the non-official caste. In ten years his knowledge should be doubled, and at the end of twenty he knows, or knows something about, every Englishman in the Empire, and may travel anywhere and everywhere without paying hotel-bills.
Globe-trotters who expect entertainment as a right, have, even within my memory, blunted this open-heartedness, but none the less today, if you belong to the Inner Circle and are neither a Bear nor a Black Sheep, all houses are open to you, and our small world is very, very kind and helpful.
Rickett of Kamartha stayed with Polder of Kumaon some fifteen years ago. He meant to stay two nights, but was knocked down by rheumatic fever, and for six weeks disorganized Polder’s establishment, stopped Polder’s work, and nearly died in Polder’s bedroom. Polder behaves as though he had been placed under eternal obligation by Rickett, and yearly sends the little Ricketts a box of presents and toys. It is the same everywhere. The men who do not take the trouble to conceal7 from you their opinion that you are an incompetent8 ass9, and the women who blacken your character and misunderstand your wife’s amusements, will work themselves to the bone in your behalf if you fall sick or into serious trouble.
Heatherlegh, the Doctor, kept, in addition to his regular practice, a hospital on his private account — an arrangement of loose boxes for Incurables10, his friend called it — but it was really a sort of fitting-up shed for craft that had been damaged by stress of weather. The weather in India is often sultry, and since the tale of bricks is always a fixed11 quantity, and the only liberty allowed is permission to work overtime12 and get no thanks, men occasionally break down and become as mixed as the metaphors13 in this sentence.
Heatherlegh is the dearest doctor that ever was, and his invariable prescription14 to all his patients is, “lie low, go slow, and keep cool.” He says that more men are killed by overwork than the importance of this world justifies15. He maintains that overwork slew16 Pansay, who died under his hands about three years ago. He has, of course, the right to speak authoritatively17, and he laughs at my theory that there was a crack in Pansay’s head and a little bit of the Dark World came through and pressed him to death. “Pansay went off the handle,” says Heatherlegh, “after the stimulus18 of long leave at Home. He may or he may not have behaved like a blackguard to Mrs. Keith–Wessington. My notion is that the work of the Katabundi Settlement ran him off his legs, and that he took to brooding and making much of an ordinary P. & O. flirtation19. He certainly was engaged to Miss Mannering, and she certainly broke off the engagement. Then he took a feverish20 chill and all that nonsense about ghosts developed. Overwork started his illness, kept it alight, and killed him poor devil. Write him off to the System — one man to take the work of two and a half men.”
I do not believe this. I used to sit up with Pansay sometimes when Heatherlegh was called out to patients, and I happened to be within claim. The man would make me most unhappy by describing in a low, even voice, the procession that was always passing at the bottom of his bed. He had a sick man’s command of language. When he recovered I suggested that he should write out the whole affair from beginning to end, knowing that ink might assist him to ease his mind. When little boys have learned a new bad word they are never happy till they have chalked it up on a door. And this also is Literature.
He was in a high fever while he was writing, and the blood-and-thunder Magazine diction he adopted did not calm him. Two months afterward21 he was reported fit for duty, but, in spite of the fact that he was urgently needed to help an undermanned Commission stagger through a deficit22, he preferred to die; vowing23 at the last that he was hag-ridden. I got his manuscript before he died, and this is his version of the affair, dated 1885:
My doctor tells me that I need rest and change of air. It is not improbable that I shall get both ere long — rest that neither the red-coated messenger nor the midday gun can break, and change of air far beyond that which any homeward-bound steamer can give me. In the meantime I am resolved to stay where I am; and, in flat defiance24 of my doctor’s orders, to take all the world into my confidence. You shall learn for yourselves the precise nature of my malady25; and shall, too, judge for yourselves whether any man born of woman on this weary earth was ever so tormented26 as I.
Speaking now as a condemned27 criminal might speak ere the drop-bolts are drawn28, my story, wild and hideously29 improbable as it may appear, demands at least attention. That it will ever receive credence31 I utterly32 disbelieve. Two months ago I should have scouted33 as mad or drunk the man who had dared tell me the like. Two months ago I was the happiest man in India. Today, from Peshawur to the sea, there is no one more wretched. My doctor and I are the only two who know this. His explanation is, that my brain, digestion34, and eyesight are all slightly affected35; giving rise to my frequent and persistent36 “delusions37.” Delusions, indeed! I call him a fool; but he attends me still with the same unwearied smile, the same bland38 professional manner, the same neatly39 trimmed red whiskers, till I begin to suspect that I am an ungrateful, evil-tempered invalid40. But you shall judge for your-selves.
Three years ago it was my fortune — my great misfortune — to sail from Gravesend to Bombay, on return from long leave, with one Agnes Keith–Wessington, wife of an officer on the Bombay side. It does not in the least concern you to know what manner of woman she was. Be content with the knowledge that, ere the voyage had ended, both she and I were desperately41 and unreasoningly in love with one another. Heaven knows that I can make the admission now without one particle of vanity. In matters of this sort there is always one who gives and another who accepts. From the first day of our ill-omened attachment42, I was conscious that Agnes’s passion was a stronger, a more dominant43, and — if I may use the expression — a purer sentiment than mine. Whether she recognized the fact then, I do not know. Afterward it was bitterly plain to both of us.
Arrived at Bombay in the spring of the year, we went our respective ways, to meet no more for the next three or four months, when my leave and her love took us both to Simla. There we spent the season together; and there my fire of straw burned itself out to a pitiful end with the closing year. I attempt no excuse. I make no apology. Mrs. Wessington had given up much for my sake, and was prepared to give up all. From my own lips, in August, 1882, she learned that I was sick of her presence, tired of her company, and weary of the sound of her voice. Ninety-nine women out of a hundred would have wearied of me as I wearied of them; seventy-five of that number would have promptly44 avenged45 themselves by active and obtrusive46 flirtation with other men. Mrs. Wessington was the hundredth. On her neither my openly expressed aversion nor the cutting brutalities with which I garnished47 our interviews had the least effect.
“Jack48, darling!” was her one eternal cuckoo cry: “I’m sure it’s all a mistake — a hideous30 mistake; and we’ll be good friends again some day. Please forgive me, Jack, dear.”
I was the offender49, and I knew it. That knowledge transformed my pity into passive endurance, and, eventually, into blind hate — the same instinct, I suppose, which prompts a man to savagely50 stamp on the spider he has but half killed. And with this hate in my bosom51 the season of 1882 came to an end.
Next year we met again at Simla — she with her monotonous52 face and timid attempts at reconciliation53, and I with loathing54 of her in every fibre of my frame. Several times I could not avoid meeting her alone; and on each occasion her words were identically the same. Still the unreasoning wail55 that it was all a “mistake”; and still the hope of eventually “making friends.” I might have seen had I cared to look, that that hope only was keeping her alive. She grew more wan56 and thin month by month. You will agree with me, at least, that such conduct would have driven any one to despair. It was uncalled for; childish; unwomanly. I maintain that she was much to blame. And again, sometimes, in the black, fever-stricken night-watches, I have begun to think that I might have been a little kinder to her. But that really is a “delusion.” I could not have continued pretending to love her when I didn’t; could I? It would have been unfair to us both.
Last year we met again — on the same terms as before. The same weary appeal, and the same curt57 answers from my lips. At least I would make her see how wholly wrong and hopeless were her attempts at resuming the old relationship. As the season wore on, we fell apart — that is to say, she found it difficult to meet me, for I had other and more absorbing interests to attend to. When I think it over quietly in my sick-room, the season of 1884 seems a confused nightmare wherein light and shade were fantastically intermingled — my courtship of little Kitty Mannering; my hopes, doubts, and fears; our long rides together; my trembling avowal59 of attachment; her reply; and now and again a vision of a white face flitting by in the ’rickshaw with the black and white liveries I once watched for so earnestly; the wave of Mrs. Wessington’s gloved hand; and, when she met me alone, which was but seldom, the irksome monotony of her appeal. I loved Kitty Mannering; honestly, heartily60 loved her, and with my love for her grew my hatred61 for Agnes. In August Kitty and I were engaged. The next day I met those accursed “magpie” jhampanies at the back of Jakko, and, moved by some passing sentiment of pity, stopped to tell Mrs. Wessington everything. She knew it already.
“So I hear you’re engaged, Jack dear.” Then, without a moment’s pause: “I’m sure it’s all a mistake — a hideous mistake. We shall be as good friends some day, Jack, as we ever were.”
My answer might have made even a man wince62. It cut the dying woman before me like the blow of a whip. “Please forgive me, Jack; I didn’t mean to make you angry; but it’s true, it’s true!”
And Mrs. Wessington broke down completely. I turned away and left her to finish her journey in peace, feeling, but only for a moment or two, that I had been an unutterably mean hound. I looked back, and saw that she had turned her ’rickshaw with the idea, I suppose, of overtaking me.
The scene and its surroundings were photographed on my memory. The rain-swept sky (we were at the end of the wet weather), the sodden63, dingy64 pines, the muddy road, and the black powder-riven cliffs formed a gloomy background against which the black and white liveries of the jhampanies, the yellow-paneled ’rickshaw and Mrs. Wessington’s down-bowed golden head stood out clearly. She was holding her handkerchief in her left hand and was leaning hack65 exhausted66 against the ’rickshaw cushions. I turned my horse up a bypath near the Sanjowlie Reservoir and literally67 ran away. Once I fancied I heard a faint call of “Jack!” This may have been imagination. I never stopped to verify it. Ten minutes later I came across Kitty on horseback; and, in the delight of a long ride with her, forgot all about the interview.
A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and the inexpressible burden of her existence was removed from my life. I went Plainsward perfectly68 happy. Before three months were over I had forgotten all about her, except that at times the discovery of some of her old letters reminded me unpleasantly of our bygone relationship. By January I had disinterred what was left of our correspondence from among my scattered69 belongings70 and had burned it. At the beginning of April of this year, 1885, I was at Simla — semi-deserted Simla — once more, and was deep in lover’s talks and walks with Kitty. It was decided71 that we should be married at the end of June. You will understand, therefore, that, loving Kitty as I did, I am not saying too much when I pronounce myself to have been, at that time, the happiest man in India.
Fourteen delightful72 days passed almost before I noticed their flight. Then, aroused to the sense of what was proper among mortals circumstanced as we were, I pointed73 out to Kitty that an engagement ring was the outward and visible sign of her dignity as an engaged girl; and that she must forthwith come to Hamilton’s to be measured for one. Up to that moment, I give you my word, we had completely forgotten so trivial a matter. To Hamilton’s we accordingly went on the 15th of April, 1885. Remember that — whatever my doctor may say to the contrary — I was then in perfect health, enjoying a well-balanced mind and an absolute tranquil74 spirit. Kitty and I entered Hamilton’s shop together, and there, regardless of the order of affairs, I measured Kitty for the ring in the presence of the amused assistant. The ring was a sapphire75 with two diamonds. We then rode out down the slope that leads to the Combermere Bridge and Peliti’s shop.
While my Waler was cautiously feeling his way over the loose shale78, and Kitty was laughing and chattering79 at my side — while all Simla, that is to say as much of it as had then come from the Plains, was grouped round the Reading-room and Peliti’s veranda80 — I was aware that some one, apparently81 at a vast distance, was calling me by my Christian82 name. It struck me that I had heard the voice before, but when and where I could not at once determine. In the short space it took to cover the road between the path from Hamilton’s shop and the first plank83 of the Combermere Bridge I had thought over half a dozen people who might have committed such a solecism, and had eventually decided that it must have been singing in my ears. Immediately opposite Peliti’s shop my eye was arrested by the sight of four jhampanies in “magpie” livery, pulling a yellow-paneled, cheap, bazar ’rickshaw. In a moment my mind flew back to the previous season and Mrs. Wessington with a sense of irritation84 and disgust. Was it not enough that the woman was dead and done with, without her black and white servitors reappearing to spoil the day’s happiness? Whoever employed them now I thought I would call upon, and ask as a personal favor to change her jhampanies’ livery. I would hire the men myself, and, if necessary, buy their coats from off their backs. It is impossible to say here what a flood of undesirable85 memories their presence evoked86.
“Kitty,” I cried, “there are poor Mrs. Wessington’s jhampanies turned up again! I wonder who has them now?”
Kitty had known Mrs. Wessington slightly last season, and had always been interested in the sickly woman.
“What? Where?” she asked. “I can’t see them anywhere.”
Even as she spoke87 her horse, swerving88 from a laden89 mule90, threw himself directly in front of the advancing ’rickshaw. I had scarcely time to utter a word of warning when, to my unutterable horror, horse and rider passed through men and carriage as if they had been thin air.
“What’s the matter?” cried Kitty; “what made you call out so foolishly, Jack? If I am engaged I don’t want all creation to know about it. There was lots of space between the mule and the veranda; and, if you think I can’t ride — There!”
Whereupon wilful91 Kitty set off, her dainty little head in the air, at a hand-gallop in the direction of the Bandstand; fully92 expecting, as she herself afterward told me, that I should follow her. What was the matter? Nothing indeed. Either that I was mad or drunk, or that Simla was haunted with devils. I reined93 in my impatient cob, and turned round. The ’rickshaw had turned too, and now stood immediately facing me, near the left railing of the Combermere Bridge.
“Jack! Jack, darling!” (There was no mistake about the words this time: they rang through my brain as if they had been shouted in my ear.) “It’s some hideous mistake, I’m sure. Please forgive me, Jack, and let’s be friends again.”
The ’rickshaw-hood94 had fallen back, and inside, as I hope and pray daily for the death I dread95 by night, sat Mrs. Keith–Wessington, handkerchief in hand, and golden head bowed on her breast.
How long I stared motionless I do not know. Finally, I was aroused by my syce taking the Waler’s bridle96 and asking whether I was ill. From the horrible to the commonplace is but a step. I tumbled off my horse and dashed, half fainting, into Peliti’s for a glass of cherry-brandy. There two or three couples were gathered round the coffee-tables discussing the gossip of the day. Their trivialities were more comforting to me just then than the consolations97 of religion could have been. I plunged99 into the midst of the conversation at once; chatted, laughed, and jested with a face (when I caught a glimpse of it in a mirror) as white and drawn as that of a corpse100. Three or four men noticed my condition; and, evidently setting it down to the results of over-many pegs102, charitably endeavoured to draw me apart from the rest of the loungers. But I refused to be led away. I wanted the company of my kind — as a child rushes into the midst of the dinner-party after a fright in the dark. I must have talked for about ten minutes or so, though it seemed an eternity103 to me, when I heard Kitty’s clear voice outside inquiring for me. In another minute she had entered the shop, prepared to roundly upbraid104 me for failing so signally in my duties. Something in my face stopped her.
“Why, Jack,” she cried, “what have you been doing? What has happened? Are you ill?” Thus driven into a direct lie, I said that the sun had been a little too much for me. It was close upon five o’clock of a cloudy April afternoon, and the sun had been hidden all day. I saw my mistake as soon as the words were out of my mouth: attempted to recover it; blundered hopelessly and followed Kitty in a regal rage, out of doors, amid the smiles of my acquaintances. I made some excuse (I have forgotten what) on the score of my feeling faint; and cantered away to my hotel, leaving Kitty to finish the ride by herself.
In my room I sat down and tried calmly to reason out the matter. Here was I, Theobald Jack Pansay, a well-educated Bengal Civilian4 in the year of grace, 1885, presumably sane105, certainly healthy, driven in terror from my sweetheart’s side by the apparition106 of a woman who had been dead and buried eight months ago. These were facts that I could not blink. Nothing was further from my thought than any memory of Mrs. Wessington when Kitty and I left Hamilton’s shop. Nothing was more utterly commonplace than the stretch of wall opposite Peliti’s. It was broad daylight. The road was full of people; and yet here, look you, in defiance of every law of probability, in direct outrage107 of Nature’s ordinance108, there had appeared to me a face from the grave.
Kitty’s Arab had gone through the ’rickshaw: so that my first hope that some woman marvelously like Mrs. Wessington had hired the carriage and the coolies with their old livery was lost. Again and again I went round this treadmill109 of thought; and again and again gave up baffled and in despair. The voice was as inexplicable110 as the apparition. I had originally some wild notion of confiding111 it all to Kitty; of begging her to marry me at once; and in her arms defying the ghostly occupant of the ’rickshaw. “After all,” I argued, “the presence of the ’rickshaw is in itself enough to prove the existence of a spectral112 illusion. One may see ghosts of men and women, but surely never of coolies and carriages. The whole thing is absurd. Fancy the ghost of a hillman!”
Next morning I sent a penitent113 note to Kitty, imploring114 her to overlook my strange conduct of the previous afternoon. My Divinity was still very wroth, and a personal apology was necessary. I explained, with a fluency115 born of night-long pondering over a falsehood, that I had been attacked with sudden palpitation of the heart — the result of indigestion. This eminently116 practical solution had its effect; and Kitty and I rode out that afternoon with the shadow of my first lie dividing us.
Nothing would please her save a canter round Jakko. With my nerves still unstrung from the previous night I feebly protested against the notion, suggesting Observatory117 Hill, Jutogh, the Boileaugunge road — anything rather than the Jakko round. Kitty was angry and a little hurt: so I yielded from fear of provoking further misunderstanding, and we set out together toward Chota Simla. We walked a greater part of the way, and, according to our custom, cantered from a mile or so below the Convent to the stretch of level road by the Sanjowlie Reservoir. The wretched horses appeared to fly, and my heart beat quicker and quicker as we neared the crest118 of the ascent119. My mind had been full of Mrs. Wessington all the afternoon; and every inch of the Jakko road bore witness to our oldtime walks and talks. The bowlders were full of it; the pines sang it aloud overhead; the rain-fed torrents120 giggled121 and chuckled122 unseen over the shameful123 story; and the wind in my ears chanted the iniquity124 aloud.
As a fitting climax125, in the middle of the level men call the Ladies’ Mile the Horror was awaiting me. No other ’rickshaw was in sight — only the four black and white jhampanies, the yellow-paneled carriage, and the golden head of the woman within — all apparently just as I had left them eight months and one fortnight ago! For an instant I fancied that Kitty must see what I saw — we were so marvelously sympathetic in all things. Her next words undeceived me —“Not a soul in sight! Come along, Jack, and I’ll race you to the Reservoir buildings!” Her wiry little Arab was off like a bird, my Waler following close behind, and in this order we dashed under the cliffs. Half a minute brought us within fifty yards of the ’rickshaw. I pulled my Waler and fell back a little. The ’rickshaw was directly in the middle of the road; and once more the Arab passed through it, my horse following. “Jack! Jack dear! Please forgive me,” rang with a wail in my ears, and, after an interval:—“It’s a mistake, a hideous mistake!”
I spurred my horse like a man possessed126. When I turned my head at the Reservoir works, the black and white liveries were still waiting — patiently waiting — under the grey hillside, and the wind brought me a mocking echo of the words I had just heard. Kitty bantered127 me a good deal on my silence throughout the remainder of the ride. I had been talking up till then wildly and at random128. To save my life I could not speak afterward naturally, and from Sanjowlie to the Church wisely held my tongue.
I was to dine with the Mannerings that night, and had barely time to canter home to dress. On the road to Elysium Hill I overheard two men talking together in the dusk. —“It’s a curious thing,” said one, “how completely all trace of it disappeared. You know my wife was insanely fond of the woman (‘never could see anything in her myself), and wanted me to pick up her old ’rickshaw and coolies if they were to be got for love or money. Morbid129 sort of fancy I call it; but I’ve got to do what the Memsahib tells me. Would you believe that the man she hired it from tells me that all four of the men — they were brothers — died of cholera130 on the way to Hardwar, poor devils, and the ’rickshaw has been broken up by the man himself. ‘Told me he never used a dead Memsahib’s ’rickshaw. ‘Spoiled his luck. Queer notion, wasn’t it? Fancy poor little Mrs. Wessington spoiling any one’s luck except her own!” I laughed aloud at this point; and my laugh jarred on me as I uttered it. So there were ghosts of ’rickshaws after all, and ghostly employments in the other world! How much did Mrs. Wessington give her men? What were their hours? Where did they go?
And for visible answer to my last question I saw the infernal Thing blocking my path in the twilight131. The dead travel fast, and by short cuts unknown to ordinary coolies. I laughed aloud a second time and checked my laughter suddenly, for I was afraid I was going mad. Mad to a certain extent I must have been, for I recollect132 that I reined in my horse at the head of the ’rickshaw, and politely wished Mrs. Wessington “Good-evening.” Her answer was one I knew only too well. I listened to the end; and replied that I had heard it all before, but should be delighted if she had anything further to say. Some malignant133 devil stronger than I must have entered into me that evening, for I have a dim recollection of talking the commonplaces of the day for five minutes to the Thing in front of me.
“Mad as a hatter, poor devil — or drunk. Max, try and get him to come home.”
Surely that was not Mrs. Wessington’s voice! The two men had overheard me speaking to the empty air, and had returned to look after me. They were very kind and considerate, and from their words evidently gathered that I was extremely drunk. I thanked them confusedly and cantered away to my hotel, there changed, and arrived at the Mannerings’ ten minutes late. I pleaded the darkness of the night as an excuse; was rebuked134 by Kitty for my unlover-like tardiness135; and sat down.
The conversation had already become general; and under cover of it, I was addressing some tender small talk to my sweetheart when I was aware that at the further end of the table a short red-whiskered man was describing, with much broidery, his encounter with a mad unknown that evening.
A few sentences convinced me that he was repeating the incident of half an hour ago. In the middle of the story he looked round for applause, as professional story-tellers do, caught my eye, and straightway collapsed136. There was a moment’s awkward silence, and the red-whiskered man muttered something to the effect that he had “forgotten the rest,” thereby137 sacrificing a reputation as a good story-teller which he had built up for six seasons past. I blessed him from the bottom of my heart, and — went on with my fish.
In the fulness of time that dinner came to an end; and with genuine regret I tore myself away from Kitty — as certain as I was of my own existence that It would be waiting for me outside the door. The red-whiskered man, who had been introduced to me as Doctor Heatherlegh, of Simla, volunteered to bear me company as far as our roads lay together. I accepted his offer with gratitude138.
My instinct had not deceived me. It lay in readiness in the Mall, and, in what seemed devilish mockery of our ways, with a lighted head-lamp. The red-whiskered man went to the point at once, in a manner that showed he had been thinking over it all dinner time.
“I say, Pansay, what the deuce was the matter with you this evening on the Elysium road?” The suddenness of the question wrenched139 an answer from me before I was aware.
“That!” said I, pointing to It.
“That may be either D. T. or Eyes for aught I know. Now you don’t liquor. I saw as much at dinner, so it can’t be D. T. There’s nothing whatever where you’re pointing, though you’re sweating and trembling with fright like a scared pony140. Therefore, I conclude that it’s Eyes. And I ought to understand all about them. Come along home with me. I’m on the Blessington lower road.”
To my intense delight the ’rickshaw instead of waiting for us kept about twenty yards ahead — and this, too whether we walked, trotted141, or cantered. In the course of that long night ride I had told my companion almost as much as I have told you here.
“Well, you’ve spoiled one of the best tales I’ve ever laid tongue to,” said he, “but I’ll forgive you for the sake of what you’ve gone through. Now come home and do what I tell you; and when I’ve cured you, young man, let this be a lesson to you to steer142 clear of women and indigestible food till the day of your death.”
The ’rickshaw kept steady in front; and my red-whiskered friend seemed to derive143 great pleasure from my account of its exact whereabouts.
“Eyes, Pansay — all Eyes, Brain, and Stomach. And the greatest of these three is Stomach. You’ve too much conceited144 Brain, too little Stomach, and thoroughly145 unhealthy Eyes. Get your Stomach straight and the rest follows. And all that’s French for a liver pill. I’ll take sole medical charge of you from this hour! for you’re too interesting a phenomenon to be passed over.”
By this time we were deep in the shadow of the Blessington lower road and the ’rickshaw came to a dead stop under a pine-clad, over-hanging shale cliff. Instinctively146 I halted too, giving my reason. Heatherlegh rapped out an oath.
“Now, if you think I’m going to spend a cold night on the hillside for the sake of a stomach-cum-Brain-cum-Eye illusion. . . . Lord, ha’ mercy! What’s that?”
There was a muffled147 report, a blinding smother148 of dust just in front of us, a crack, the noise of rent boughs149, and about ten yards of the cliff-side — pines, undergrowth, and all — slid down into the road below, completely blocking it up. The uprooted150 trees swayed and tottered151 for a moment like drunken giants in the gloom, and then fell prone152 among their fellows with a thunderous crash. Our two horses stood motionless and sweating with fear. As soon as the rattle153 of falling earth and stone had subsided154, my companion muttered:—“Man, if we’d gone forward we should have been ten feet deep in our graves by now. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth.’ . . . Come home, Pansay, and thank God. I want a peg101 badly.”
We retraced155 our way over the Church Ridge77, and I arrived at Dr. Heatherlegh’s house shortly after midnight.
His attempts toward my cure commenced almost immediately, and for a week I never left his sight. Many a time in the course of that week did I bless the good-fortune which had thrown me in contact with Simla’s best and kindest doctor. Day by day my spirits grew lighter156 and more equable. Day by day, too, I became more and more inclined to fall in with Heatherlegh’s “spectral illusion” theory, implicating157 eyes, brain, and stomach. I wrote to Kitty, telling her that a slight sprain158 caused by a fall from my horse kept me indoors for a few days; and that I should be recovered before she had time to regret my absence.
Heatherlegh’s treatment was simple to a degree. It consisted of liver pills, cold-water baths, and strong exercise, taken in the dusk or at early dawn — for, as he sagely159 observed: “A man with a sprained160 ankle doesn’t walk a dozen miles a day, and your young woman might be wondering if she saw you.”
At the end of the week, after much examination of pupil and pulse, and strict injunctions as to diet and pedestrianism, Heatherlegh dismissed me as brusquely as he had taken charge of me. Here is his parting benediction161: “Man, I can certify162 to your mental cure, and that’s as much as to say I’ve cured most of your bodily ailments163. Now, get your traps out of this as soon as you can; and be off to make love to Miss Kitty.”
I was endeavoring to express my thanks for his kindness. He cut me short.
“Don’t think I did this because I like you. I gather that you’ve behaved like a blackguard all through. But, all the same, you’re a phenomenon, and as queer a phenomenon as you are a blackguard. No!”— checking me a second time —“not a rupee, please. Go out and see if you can find the eyes-brain-and-stomach business again. I’ll give you a lakh for each time you see it.”
Half an hour later I was in the Mannerings’ drawing-room with Kitty — drunk with the intoxication164 of present happiness and the fore-knowledge that I should never more be troubled with Its hideous presence. Strong in the sense of my new-found security, I proposed a ride at once; and, by preference, a canter round Jakko.
Never had I felt so well, so overladen with vitality165 and mere76 animal spirits, as I did on the afternoon of the 30th of April. Kitty was delighted at the change in my appearance, and complimented me on it in her delightfully166 frank and outspoken167 manner. We left the Mannerings’ house together, laughing and talking, and cantered along the Chota Simla road as of old.
I was in haste to reach the Sanjowlie Reservoir and there make my assurance doubly sure. The horses did their best, but seemed all too slow to my impatient mind. Kitty was astonished at my boisterousness168. “Why, Jack!” she cried at last, “you are behaving like a child. What are you doing?”
We were just below the Convent, and from sheer wantonness I was making my Waler plunge98 and curvet across the road as I tickled169 it with the loop of my riding-whip.
“Doing?” I answered; “nothing, dear. That’s just it. If you’d been doing nothing for a week except lie up, you’d be as riotous170 as I.”
“‘Singing and murmuring in your feastful mirth,
Joying to feel yourself alive;
Lord over Nature, Lord of the visible Earth,
Lord of the senses five.’”
My quotation171 was hardly out of my lips before we had rounded the corner above the Convent; and a few yards further on could see across to Sanjowlie. In the centre of the level road stood the black and white liveries, the yellow-paneled ’rickshaw, and Mrs. Keith–Wessington. I pulled up, looked, rubbed my eyes, and, I believe must have said something. The next thing I knew was that I was lying face downward on the road with Kitty kneeling above me in tears.
“Has it gone, child!” I gasped172. Kitty only wept more bitterly.
“Has what gone, Jack dear? what does it all mean? There must be a mistake somewhere, Jack. A hideous mistake.” Her last words brought me to my feet — mad — raving173 for the time being.
“Yes, there is a mistake somewhere,” I repeated, “a hideous mistake. Come and look at It.”
I have an indistinct idea that I dragged Kitty by the wrist along the road up to where It stood, and implored174 her for pity’s sake to speak to It; to tell It that we were betrothed175; that neither Death nor Hell could break the tie between us; and Kitty only knows how much more to the same effect. Now and again I appealed passionately176 to the Terror in the ’rickshaw to bear witness to all I had said, and to release me from a torture that was killing177 me. As I talked I suppose I must have told Kitty of my old relations with Mrs. Wessington, for I saw her listen intently with white face and blazing eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Pansay,” she said, “that’s quite enough. Syce ghora láo.”
The syces, impassive as Orientals always are, had come up with the recaptured horses; and as Kitty sprang into her saddle I caught hold of the bridle, entreating178 her to hear me out and forgive. My answer was the cut of her riding-whip across my face from mouth to eye, and a word or two of farewell that even now I cannot write down. So I judged, and judged rightly, that Kitty knew all; and I staggered back to the side of the ’rickshaw. My face was cut and bleeding, and the blow of the riding-whip had raised a livid blue wheal on it. I had no self-respect. Just then, Heatherlegh, who must have been following Kitty and me at a distance, cantered up.
“Doctor,” I said, pointing to my face, “here’s Miss Mannering’s signature to my order of dismissal and . . . I’ll thank you for that lakh as soon as convenient.”
Heatherlegh’s face, even in my abject179 misery180, moved me to laughter.
“I’ll stake my professional reputation”— he began.
“Don’t be a fool,” I whispered. “I’ve lost my life’s happiness and you’d better take me home.”
As I spoke the ’rickshaw was gone. Then I lost all knowledge of what was passing. The crest of Jakko seemed to heave and roll like the crest of a cloud and fall in upon me.
Seven days later (on the 7th of May, that is to say) I was aware that I was lying in Heatherlegh’s room as weak as a little child. Heatherlegh was watching me intently from behind the papers on his writing-table. His first words were not encouraging; but I was too far spent to be much moved by them.
“Here’s Miss Kitty has sent back your letters. You corresponded a good deal, you young people. Here’s a packet that looks like a ring, and a cheerful sort of a note from Mannering Papa, which I’ve taken the liberty of reading and burning. The old gentleman’s not pleased with you.”
“And Kitty?” I asked, dully.
“Rather more drawn than her father from what she says. By the same token you must have been letting out any number of queer reminiscences just before I met you. ‘Says that a man who would have behaved to a woman as you did to Mrs. Wessington ought to kill himself out of sheer pity for his kind. She’s a hot-headed little virago181, your mash182. ‘Will have it too that you were suffering from D. T. when that row on the Jakko road turned up. ‘Says she’ll die before she ever speaks to you again.”
I groaned183 and turned over to the other side.
“Now you’ve got your choice, my friend. This engagement has to be broken off; and the Mannerings don’t want to be too hard on you. Was it broken through D. T. or epileptic fits? Sorry I can’t offer you a better exchange unless you’d prefer hereditary184 insanity185. Say the word and I’ll tell ’em it’s fits. All Simla knows about that scene on the Ladies’ Mile. Come! I’ll give you five minutes to think over it.”
During those five minutes I believe that I explored thoroughly the lowest circles of the Inferno186 which it is permitted man to tread on earth. And at the same time I myself was watching myself faltering187 through the dark labyrinths188 of doubt, misery, and utter despair. I wondered, as Heatherlegh in his chair might have wondered, which dreadful alternative I should adopt. Presently I heard myself answering in a voice that I hardly recognized —
“They’re confoundedly particular about morality in these parts. Give ’em fits, Heatherlegh, and my love. Now let me sleep a bit longer.”
Then my two selves joined, and it was only I (half crazed, devil-driven I) that tossed in my bed, tracing step by step the history of the past month.
“But I am in Simla,” I kept repeating to myself. “I, Jack Pansay, am in Simla and there are no ghosts here. It’s unreasonable189 of that woman to pretend there are. Why couldn’t Agnes have left me alone? I never did her any harm. It might just as well have been me as Agnes. Only I’d never have come hack on purpose to kill her. Why can’t I be left alone — left alone and happy?”
It was high noon when I first awoke: and the sun was low in the sky before I slept — slept as the tortured criminal sleeps on his rack, too worn to feel further pain.
Next day I could not leave my bed. Heatherlegh told me in the morning that he had received an answer from Mr. Mannering, and that, thanks to his (Heatherlegh’s) friendly offices, the story of my affliction had traveled through the length and breadth of Simla, where I was on all sides much pitied.
“And that’s rather more than you deserve,” he concluded, pleasantly, “though the Lord knows you’ve been going through a pretty severe mill. Never mind; we’ll cure you yet, you perverse190 phenomenon.”
I declined firmly to be cured. “You’ve been much too good to me already, old man,” said I; “but I don’t think I need trouble you further.”
In my heart I knew that nothing Heatherlegh could do would lighten the burden that had been laid upon me.
With that knowledge came also a sense of hopeless, impotent rebellion against the unreasonableness191 of it all. There were scores of men no better than I whose punishments had at least been reserved for another world; and I felt that it was bitterly, cruelly unfair that I alone should have been singled out for so hideous a fate. This mood would in time give place to another where it seemed that the ’rickshaw and I were the only realities in a world of shadows; that Kitty was a ghost; that Mannering, Heatherlegh, and all the other men and women I knew were all ghosts; and the great, grey hills themselves but vain shadows devised to torture me. From mood to mood I tossed backward and forward for seven weary days; my body growing daily stronger and stronger, until the bedroom looking-glass told me that I had returned to everyday life, and was as other men once more. Curiously192 enough my face showed no signs of the struggle I had gone through. It was pale indeed, but as expression-less and commonplace as ever. I had expected some permanent alteration193 — visible evidence of the disease that was eating me away. I found nothing.
On the 15th of May, I left Heatherlegh’s house at eleven o’clock in the morning; and the instinct of the bachelor drove me to the Club. There I found that every man knew my story as told by Heatherlegh, and was, in clumsy fashion, abnormally kind and attentive194. Nevertheless I recognized that for the rest of my natural life I should be among but not of my fellows; and I envied very bitterly indeed the laughing coolies on the Mall below. I lunched at the Club, and at four o’clock wandered aimlessly down the Mall in the vague hope of meeting Kitty. Close to the Band-stand the black and white liveries joined me; and I heard Mrs. Wessington’s old appeal at my side. I had been expecting this ever since I came out; and was only surprised at her delay. The phantom195 ’rickshaw and I went side by side along the Chota Simla road in silence. Close to the bazar, Kitty and a man on horseback overtook and passed us. For any sign she gave I might have been a dog in the road. She did not even pay me the compliment of quickening her pace; though the rainy afternoon had served for an excuse.
So Kitty and her companion, and I and my ghostly Light-o’-Love, crept round Jakko in couples. The road was streaming with water; the pines dripped like roof-pipes on the rocks below, and the air was full of fine, driving rain. Two or three times I found myself saying to myself almost aloud: “I’m Jack Pansay on leave at Simla — at Simla! Everyday, ordinary Simla. I mustn’t forget that — I mustn’t forget that.” Then I would try to recollect some of the gossip I had heard at the Club: the prices of So-and-So’s horses — anything, in fact, that related to the workaday Anglo–Indian world I knew so well. I even repeated the multiplication-table rapidly to myself, to make quite sure that I was not taking leave of my senses. It gave me much comfort; and must have prevented my hearing Mrs. Wessington for a time.
Once more I wearily climbed the Convent slope and entered the level road. Here Kitty and the man started off at a canter, and I was left alone with Mrs. Wessington. “Agnes,” said I, “will you put back your hood and tell me what it all means?” The hood dropped noiselessly, and I was face to face with my dead and buried mistress. She was wearing the dress in which I had last seen her alive; carried the same tiny handkerchief in her right hand; and the same cardcase in her left. (A woman eight months dead with a cardcase!) I had to pin myself down to the multiplication-table, and to set both hands on the stone parapet of the road, to assure myself that that at least was real.
“Agnes,” I repeated, “for pity’s sake tell me what it all means.” Mrs. Wessington leaned forward, with that odd, quick turn of the head I used to know so well, and spoke.
If my story had not already so madly overleaped the bounds of all human belief I should apologize to you now. As I know that no one — no, not even Kitty, for whom it is written as some sort of justification196 of my conduct — will believe me, I will go on. Mrs. Wessington spoke and I walked with her from the Sanjowlie road to the turning below the Commander-inChief’s house as I might walk by the side of any living woman’s ’rickshaw, deep in conversation. The second and most tormenting197 of my moods of sickness had suddenly laid hold upon me, and like the Prince in Tennyson’s poem, “I seemed to move amid a world of ghosts.” There had been a garden-party at the Commander-inChief’s, and we two joined the crowd of homeward-bound folk. As I saw them then it seemed that they were the shadows — impalpable, fantastic shadows — that divided for Mrs. Wessington’s ’rickshaw to pass through. What we said during the course of that weird198 interview I cannot — indeed, I dare not — tell. Heatherlegh’s comment would have been a short laugh and a remark that I had been “mashing a brain-eye-and-stomach chimera199.” It was a ghastly and yet in some indefinable way a marvelously dear experience. Could it be possible, I wondered, that I was in this life to woo a second time the woman I had killed by my own neglect and cruelty?
I met Kitty on the homeward road — a shadow among shadows.
If I were to describe all the incidents of the next fortnight in their order, my story would never come to an end; and your patience would be exhausted. Morning after morning and evening after evening the ghostly ’rickshaw and I used to wander through Simla together. Wherever I went there the four black and white liveries followed me and bore me company to and from my hotel. At the Theatre I found them amid the crowd or yelling jhampanies; outside the Club veranda, after a long evening of whist; at the Birthday Ball, waiting patiently for my reappearance; and in broad daylight when I went calling. Save that it cast no shadow, the ’rickshaw was in every respect as real to look upon as one of wood and iron. More than once, indeed, I have had to check myself from warning some hard-riding friend against cantering over it. More than once I have walked down the Mall deep in conversation with Mrs. Wessington to the unspeakable amazement200 of the passers-by.
Before I had been out and about a week I learned that the “fit” theory had been discarded in favor of insanity. However, I made no change in my mode of life. I called, rode, and dined out as freely as ever. I had a passion for the society of my kind which I had never felt before; I hungered to be among the realities of life; and at the same time I felt vaguely201 unhappy when I had been separated too long from my ghostly companion. It would be almost impossible to describe my varying moods from the 15th of May up to today.
The presence of the ’rickshaw filled me by turns with horror, blind fear, a dim sort of pleasure, and utter despair. I dared not leave Simla; and I knew that my stay there was killing me. I knew, moreover, that it was my destiny to die slowly and a little every day. My only anxiety was to get the penance202 over as quietly as might be. Alternately I hungered for a sight of Kitty and watched her outrageous203 flirtations with my successor — to speak more accurately204, my successors — with amused interest. She was as much out of my life as I was out of hers. By day I wandered with Mrs. Wessington almost content. By night I implored Heaven to let me return to the world as I used to know it. Above all these varying moods lay the sensation of dull, numbing205 wonder that the Seen and the Unseen should mingle58 so strangely on this earth to hound one poor soul to its grave.
August 27. — Heatherlegh has been indefatigable206 in his attendance on me; and only yesterday told me that I ought to send in an application for sick leave. An application to escape the company of a phantom! A request that the Government would graciously permit me to get rid of five ghosts and an airy ’rickshaw by going to England. Heatherlegh’s proposition moved me to almost hysterical207 laughter. I told him that I should await the end quietly at Simla; and I am sure that the end is not far off. Believe me that I dread its advent208 more than any word can say; and I torture myself nightly with a thousand speculations209 as to the manner of my death.
Shall I die in my bed decently and as an English gentleman should die; or, in one last walk on the Mall, will my soul be wrenched from me to take its place forever and ever by the side of that ghastly phantasm? Shall I return to my old lost allegiance in the next world, or shall I meet Agnes loathing her and bound to her side through all eternity? Shall we two hover210 over the scene of our lives till the end of Time? As the day of my death draws nearer, the intense horror that all living flesh feels toward escaped spirits from beyond the grave grows more and more powerful. It is an awful thing to go down quick among the dead with scarcely one-half of your life completed. It is a thousand times more awful to wait as I do in your midst, for I know not what unimaginable terror. Pity me, at least on the score of my “delusion,” for I know you will never believe what I have written here. Yet as surely as ever a man was done to death by the Powers of Darkness I am that man.
In justice, too, pity her. For as surely as ever woman was killed by man, I killed Mrs. Wessington. And the last portion of my punishment is ever now upon me.
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1
molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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3
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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4
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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civilians
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| 平民，百姓( civilian的名词复数 )； 老百姓 | |
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6
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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incurables
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| 无法治愈，不可救药( incurable的名词复数 ) | |
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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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12
overtime
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| adj.超时的，加班的；adv.加班地 | |
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13
metaphors
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| 隐喻( metaphor的名词复数 ) | |
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14
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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15
justifies
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| 证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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16
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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17
authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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deficit
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| n.亏空，亏损；赤字，逆差 | |
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vowing
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的现在分词形式） | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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25
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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32
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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scouted
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| 寻找，侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 )； 物色（优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等） | |
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digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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46
obtrusive
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| adj.显眼的；冒失的 | |
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47
garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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49
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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50
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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51
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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52
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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53
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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54
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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55
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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56
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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57
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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58
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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59
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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60
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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61
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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62
wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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63
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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64
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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66
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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67
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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68
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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69
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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70
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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71
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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72
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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73
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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74
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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75
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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76
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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77
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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78
shale
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| n.页岩，泥板岩 | |
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79
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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80
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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81
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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82
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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83
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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84
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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85
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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86
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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87
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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88
swerving
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的现在分词 ) | |
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89
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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90
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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91
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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92
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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93
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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94
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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95
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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96
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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97
consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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98
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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99
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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100
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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101
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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102
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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103
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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104
upbraid
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| v.斥责，责骂，责备 | |
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105
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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106
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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107
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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108
ordinance
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| n.法令；条令；条例 | |
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109
treadmill
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| n.踏车；单调的工作 | |
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110
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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111
confiding
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|
| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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112
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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113
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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114
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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115
fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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116
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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117
observatory
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| n.天文台，气象台，瞭望台，观测台 | |
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118
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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119
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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120
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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121
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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124
iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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125
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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126
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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127
bantered
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| v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的过去式和过去分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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128
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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129
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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130
cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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131
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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132
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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133
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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134
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
tardiness
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| n.缓慢；迟延；拖拉 | |
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136
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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137
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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138
gratitude
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|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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139
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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140
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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141
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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142
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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143
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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144
conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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145
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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146
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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147
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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148
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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149
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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150
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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151
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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152
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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153
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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154
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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155
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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156
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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157
implicating
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| vt.牵涉，涉及（implicate的现在分词形式） | |
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158
sprain
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| n.扭伤,扭筋 | |
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159
sagely
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| adv. 贤能地，贤明地 | |
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160
sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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161
benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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162
certify
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| vt.证明，证实；发证书(或执照)给 | |
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163
ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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164
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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165
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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166
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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167
outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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168
boisterousness
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| n.喧闹；欢跃；（风暴）狂烈 | |
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169
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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170
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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171
quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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172
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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173
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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174
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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175
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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176
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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177
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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178
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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179
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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180
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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181
virago
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| n.悍妇 | |
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182
mash
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| n.麦芽浆，糊状物，土豆泥；v.把…捣成糊状，挑逗，调情 | |
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183
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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184
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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185
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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186
inferno
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| n.火海；地狱般的场所 | |
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187
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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188
labyrinths
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| 迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 )； （文字，建筑）错综复杂的 | |
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189
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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190
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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191
unreasonableness
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| 无理性； 横逆 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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193
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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194
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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196
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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197
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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198
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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199
chimera
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| n.神话怪物；梦幻 | |
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200
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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201
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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202
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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203
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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204
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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205
numbing
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| adj.使麻木的，使失去感觉的v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的现在分词 ) | |
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206
indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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207
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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208
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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209
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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210
hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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