Dear Life! sweet Moment! gracious Opportunity! brief Journey so well worth the taking! gentle Exile so well worth enduring! — thy bitterest sorrows are but blessings21 in disguise; thy sharpest pains are brought upon us by ourselves, and even then are turned to warnings for our guidance; while above us, through us, and around us radiates the Supreme22 Love, unalterably tender!
These thoughts, and others like them, all more or less conducive23 to cheerfulness, occupied me till I had finished dressing24. Melancholy25 was now no part of my nature, otherwise I might have been depressed26 by the appearance of the weather and the murkiness27 of the air. But since I learned the simple secrets of physical electricity, atmospheric28 influences have had no effect upon the equable poise29 of my temperament30 — a fact for which I cannot be too grateful, seeing how many of my fellow-creatures permit themselves to be affected31 by changes in the wind, intense heat, intense cold, or other things of the like character.
I went down to breakfast, singing softly on my way, and I found Zara already seated at the head of her table, while Heliobas was occupied in reading and sorting a pile of letters that lay beside his plate. Both greeted me with their usual warmth and heartiness32.
During the repast, however, the brother and sister were strangely silent, and once or twice I fancied that Zara’s eyes filled with tears, though she smiled again so quickly and radiantly that I felt I was mistaken.
A piece of behaviour on the part of Leo, too, filled me with dismay. He had been lying quietly at his master’s feet for some time, when he suddenly arose, sat upright, and lifting his nose in air, uttered a most prolonged and desolate33 howl. Anything more thoroughly34 heartbroken and despairing than that cry I have never heard. After he had concluded it, the poor animal seemed ashamed of what he had done, and creeping meekly35 along, with drooping36 head and tail, he kissed his master’s hand, then mine, and lastly Zara’s. Finally, he went into a distant corner and lay down again, as if his feelings were altogether too much for him.
“Is he ill?” I asked pityingly.
“I think not,” replied Heliobas. “The weather is peculiar37 to-day — close, and almost thunderous; dogs are very susceptible38 to such changes.”
At that moment the page entered bearing a silver salver, on which lay a letter, which he handed to his master and immediately retired.
Heliobas opened and read it.
“Ivan regrets he cannot dine with us to-day,” he said, glancing at his sister; “he is otherwise engaged. He says, however, that he hopes to have the pleasure of looking in during the latter part of the evening.”
Zara inclined her head gently, and made no other reply.
A few seconds afterwards we rose from table, and Zara, linking her arm through mine, said:
“I want to have a talk with you while we can be alone. Come to my room.”
We went upstairs together, followed by the wise yet doleful Leo, who seemed determined40 not to let his mistress out of his sight. When we arrived at our destination, Zara pushed me gently into an easy-chair, and seated herself in another one opposite.
“I am going to ask a favour of you,” she began; “because I know you will do anything to please me or Casimir. Is it not so?”
I assured her she might rely upon my observing; with the truest fidelity41 any request of hers, small or great.
She thanked me and resumed:
“You know I have been working secretly in my studio for some time past. I have been occupied in the execution of two designs — one is finished, and is intended as a gift to Casimir. The other”— she hesitated —“is incomplete. It is the colossal42 figure which was veiled when you first came in to see my little statue of ‘Evening’. I made an attempt beyond my powers — in short, I cannot carry out the idea to my satisfaction. Now, dear, pay great attention to what I say. I have reason to believe that I shall be compelled to take a sudden journey — promise me that when I am gone you will see that unfinished statue completely destroyed — utterly43 demolished44.”
I could not answer her for a minute or two, I was so surprised by her words.
“Going on a journey, Zara?” I said. “Well, if you are, I suppose you will soon return home again; and why should your statue be destroyed in the meantime? You may yet be able to bring it to final perfection.”
Zara shook her head and smiled half sadly.
“I told you it was a favour I had to ask of you,” she said; “and now you are unwilling45 to grant it.”
“I am not unwilling — believe me, dearest, I would do anything to please you,” I assured her; “but it seems so strange to me that you should wish the result of your labour destroyed, simply because you are going on a journey.”
“Strange as it seems, I desire it most earnestly,” said Zara; “otherwise — but if you will not see it done for me, I must preside at the work of demolition46 myself, though I frankly47 confess it would be most painful to me.”
I interrupted her.
“Say no more, Zara!” I exclaimed; “I will do as you wish. When you are gone, you say —”
“When I am gone,” repeated Zara firmly, “and before you yourself leave this house, you will see that particular statue destroyed. You will thus do me a very great service.”
“Well,” I said, “and when are you coming back again? Before I leave Paris?”
“I hope so — I think so,” she replied evasively; “at any rate, we shall meet again soon.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
She smiled. Such a lovely, glad, and triumphant49 smile!
“You will know my destination before to-night has passed away,” she answered. “In the meanwhile I have your promise?”
“Most certainly.”
She kissed me, and as she did so, a lurid50 flash caught my eyes and almost dazzled them. It was a gleam of fiery51 lustre52 from the electric jewel she wore.
The day went on its usual course, and the weather seemed to grow murkier53 every hour. The air was almost sultry, and when during the afternoon I went into the conservatory54 to gather some of the glorious Marechal Niel roses that grew there in such perfection, the intense heat of the place was nearly insupportable. I saw nothing of Heliobas all day, and, after the morning, very little of Zara. She disappeared soon after luncheon55, and I could not find her in her rooms nor in her studio, though I knocked at the door several times. Leo, too, was missing. After being alone for an hour or more, I thought I would pay a visit to the chapel56. But on attempting to carry out this intention I found its doors locked — an unusual circumstance which rather surprised me. Fancying that I heard the sound of voices within, I paused to listen. But all was profoundly silent. Strolling into the hall, I took up at random57 from a side-table a little volume of poems, unknown to me, called “Pygmalion in Cyprus;” and seating myself in one of the luxurious58 Oriental easy-chairs near the silvery sparkling fountain, I began to read. I opened the book I held at “A Ballad59 of Kisses,” which ran as follows:
“There are three kisses that I call to mind,
And I will sing their secrets as I go —
The first, a kiss too courteous60 to be kind,
Was such a kiss as monks61 and maidens62 know,
As sharp as frost, as blameless as the snow.
“The second kiss, ah God! I feel it yet —
And evermore my soul will loathe63 the same —
The toys and joys of fate I may forget,
But not the touch of that divided shame;
It clove64 my lips — it burnt me like a flame.
“The third, the final kiss, is one I use
Morning and noon and night, and not amiss.
Sorrow be mine if such I do refuse!
And when I die, be Love enrapt in bliss65
Re-sanctified in heaven by such a kiss!”
This little gem66, which I read and re-read with pleasure, was only one of many in the same collection, The author was assuredly a man of genius. I studied his word-melodies with intense interest, and noted67 with some surprise how original and beautiful were many of his fancies and similes69. I say I noted them with surprise, because he was evidently a modern Englishman, and yet unlike any other of his writing species. His name was not Alfred Tennyson, nor Edwin Arnold, nor Matthew Arnold, nor Austin Dobson, nor Martin Tupper. He was neither plagiarist70 nor translator — he was actually an original man. I do not give his name here, as I consider it the duty of his own country to find him out and acknowledge him, which, as it is so proud of its literary standing71, of course it will do in due season. On this, my first introduction to his poems, I became speedily absorbed in them, and was repeating to myself softly a verse which I remember now:
“Hers was sweetest of sweet faces,
Hers the tenderest eyes of all;
In her hair she had the traces
Of a heavenly coronal,
Bringing sunshine to sad places
Where the sunlight could not fall.”
Then I was startled by the sound of a clock striking six. I bethought myself of the people who were coming to dinner, and decided72 to go to my room and dress. Replacing the “Pygmalion” book on the table whence I had taken it, I made my way upstairs, thinking as I went of Zara and her strange request, and wondering what journey she was going upon.
I could not come to any satisfactory conclusion on this point, besides, I had a curious disinclination to think about it very earnestly, though the subject kept recurring73 to my mind. Yet always some inward monitor seemed to assure me, as plainly as though the words were spoken in my ear:
“It is useless for you to consider the reason of this, or the meaning of that. Take things as they come in due order: one circumstance explains the other, and everything is always for the best.”
I prepared my Indian crepe dress for the evening, the same I had worn for Madame Didier’s party at Cannes; only, instead of having lilies of the valley to ornament75 it with, I arranged some clusters of the Marechal Niel roses I had gathered from the conservatory — lovely blossoms, with their dewy pale-gold centres forming perfect cups of delicious fragrance76. These, relieved by a few delicate sprays of the maiden-hair fern, formed a becoming finish to my simple costume. As I arrayed myself, and looked at my own reflection in the long mirror, I smiled out of sheer gratitude77. For health, joyous78 and vigorous, sparkled in my eyes, glowed on my cheeks, tinted79 my lips, and rounded my figure. The face that looked back at me from the glass was a perfectly80 happy one, ready to dimple into glad mirth or bright laughter. No shadow of pain or care remained upon it to remind me of past suffering, and I murmured half aloud: “Thank God!”
“Amen!” said a soft voice, and, turning round, I saw Zara.
But how shall I describe her? No words can adequately paint the glorious beauty in which, that night, she seemed to move as in an atmosphere of her own creating. She wore a clinging robe of the richest, softest white satin, caught in at the waist by a zone of pearls — pearls which, from their size and purity, must have been priceless. Her beautiful neck and arms were bare, and twelve rows of pearls were clasped round her slender throat, supporting in their centre the electric stone, which shone with a soft, subdued82 radiance, like the light of the young moon. Her rich, dark hair was arranged in its usual fashion — that is, hanging down in one thick plait, which on this occasion was braided in and out with small pearls. On her bosom83 she wore a magnificent cluster of natural orange-blossoms; and of these, while I gazed admiringly at her, I first spoke74:
“You look like a bride, Zara! You have all the outward signs of one — white satin, pearls, and orange-blossoms!”
She smiled.
“They are the first cluster that has come out in our conservatory,” she said; “and I could not resist them. As to the pearls, they belonged to my mother, and are my favourite ornaments84; and white satin is now no longer exclusively for brides. How soft and pretty that Indian crepe is! Your toilette is charming, and suits you to perfection. Are you quite ready?”
“Quite,” I answered.
She hesitated and sighed. Then she raised her lovely eyes with a sort of wistful tenderness.
“Before we go down I should like you to kiss me once,” she said.
I embraced her fondly, and our lips met with a lingering sisterly caress86.
“You will never forget me, will you?” she asked almost anxiously; “never cease to think of me kindly87?”
“How fanciful you are to-night, Zara dear!” I said. “As if I COULD forget you! I shall always think of you as the loveliest and sweetest woman in the world.”
“And when I am out of the world — what then?” she pursued.
Remembering her spiritual sympathies, I answered at once:
“Even then I shall know you to be one of the fairest of the angels. So you see, Zara darling, I shall always love you.”
“I think you will,” she said meditatively88; “you are one of us. But come! I hear voices downstairs. I think our expected guests have arrived, and we must be in the drawing-room to receive them. Good-bye, little friend!” And she again kissed me.
“Good-bye!” I repeated in astonishment89; “why ‘good-bye’?”
“Because it is my fancy to say the word,” she replied with quiet firmness. “Again, dear little friend, good-bye!”
I felt bewildered, but she would not give me time to utter another syllable90. She took my hand and hurried me with her downstairs, and in another moment we were both in the drawing-room, receiving and saying polite nothings to the Everards and Challoners, who had all arrived together, resplendent in evening costume. Amy Everard, I thought, looked a little tired and fagged, though she rejoiced in a superb “arrangement” by Worth of ruby91 velvet92 and salmon-pink. But, though a perfect dress is consoling to most women, there are times when even that fails of its effect; and then Worth ceases to loom1 before the feminine eye as a sort of demi-god, but dwindles93 insignificantly94 to the level of a mere95 tailor, whose prices are ruinous. And this, I think, was the state of mind in which Mrs. Everard found herself that evening; or else she was a trifle jealous of Zara’s harmonious96 grace and loveliness. Be this as it may, she was irritable97, and whisperingly found fault with, me for being in such good health.
“You will have too much colour if you don’t take care,” she said almost pettishly98, “and nothing is so unfashionable.”
“I know!” I replied with due meekness99. “It is very bad style to be quite well — it is almost improper100.”
She looked at me, and a glimmering101 smile lighted her features. But she would not permit herself to become good-humoured, and she furled and unfurled her fan of pink ostrich102 feathers with some impatience103.
“Where did that child get all those pearls from?” she next inquired, with a gesture of her head towards Zara.
“They belonged to her mother,” I answered, smiling as I heard Zara called a CHILD, knowing, as I did, her real age.
“She is actually wearing a small fortune on her person,” went on Amy; “I wonder her brother allows her. Girls never understand the value of things of that sort. They should be kept for her till she is old enough to appreciate them.”
I made no reply; I was absorbed in watching Heliobas, who at that moment entered the room accompanied by Father Paul. He greeted his guests with warmth and unaffected heartiness, and all present were, I could see, at once fascinated by the dignity of his presence and the charm of his manner. To an uninstructed eye there was nothing unusual about him; but to me there was a change in his expression which, as it were, warned and startled me. A deep shadow of anxiety in his eyes made them look more sombre and less keen; his smile was not so sweet as it was stern, and there was an undefinable SOMETHING in his very bearing that suggested — what? Defiance104? Yes, defiance; and it was this which, when I had realized it, curiously105 alarmed me. For what had he, Heliobas, to do with even the thought of defiance? Did not all his power come from the knowledge of the necessity of obedience106 to the spiritual powers within and without? Quick as light the words spoken to me by Aztul regarding him came back to my remembrance: “Even as he is my Beloved, so let him not fail to hear my voice.” What if he SHOULD fail? A kind of instinct came upon me that some immediate39 danger of this threatened him, and I braced85 myself up to a firm determination, that, if this was so, I, out of my deep gratitude to him, would do my utmost best to warn him in time. While these thoughts possessed107 me, the hum of gay conversation went on, and Zara’s bright laughter ever and again broke like music on the air. Father Paul, too, proved himself to be of quite a festive108 and jovial109 disposition110, for he made himself agreeable to Mrs. Challoner and her daughters, and entertained them with the ease and bonhomie of an accomplished111 courtier and man of the world.
Dinner was announced in the usual way — that is, with the sound of music played by the electric instrument devoted112 to that purpose, a performance which elicited113 much admiration114 from all the guests. Heliobas led the way into the dining-room with Mrs. Everard; Colonel Everard followed, with Zara on one arm and the eldest115 Miss Challoner on the other; Mr. Challoner and myself came next; and Father Paul, with Mrs. Challoner and her other daughter Effie, brought up the rear. There was a universal murmur81 of surprise and delight as the dinner-table came in view; and its arrangement was indeed a triumph of art. In the centre was placed a large round of crystal in imitation of a lake, and on this apparently116 floated a beautiful gondola117 steered118 by the figure of a gondolier, both exquisitely120 wrought121 in fine Venetian glass. The gondolier was piled high with a cargo122 of roses; but the wonder of it all was, that the whole design was lit up by electricity. Electric sparkles, like drops of dew, shone on the leaves of the flowers; the gondola was lit from end to end with electric stars, which were reflected with prismatic brilliancy in the crystal below; the gondolier’s long pole glittered with what appeared to be drops of water tinged123 by the moonlight, but which was really an electric wire, and in his cap flashed an electric diamond. The whole ornament scintillated124 and glowed like a marvellous piece of curiously contrived125 jewel-work. And this was not all. Beside every guest at table a slender vase, shaped like a long-stemmed Nile lily, held roses and ferns, in which were hidden tiny electric stars, causing the blossoms to shine with a transparent126 and almost fairy-like lustre.
Four graceful127 youths, clad in the Armenian costume, stood waiting silently round the table till all present were seated, and then they commenced the business of serving the viands128, with swift and noiseless dexterity129. As soon as the soup was handed round, tongues were loosened, and the Challoners, who had been gazing at everything in almost open-mouthed astonishment, began to relieve their feelings by warm expressions of unqualified admiration, in which Colonel and Mrs. Everard were not slow to join.
“I do say, and I will say, this beats all I’ve ever seen,” said good Mrs. Challoner, as she bent130 to examine the glittering vase of flowers near her plate.
“And this is real electric light? And is it perfectly harmless?”
Heliobas smilingly assured her of the safety of his table decorations. “Electricity,” he said, “though the most powerful of masters, is the most docile131 of slaves. It is capable of the smallest as well as of the greatest uses. It can give with equal certainty life or death; in fact, it is the key-note of creation.”
“Is that your theory, sir?” asked Colonel Everard.
“It is not only my theory,” answered Heliobas, “it is a truth, indisputable and unalterable, to those who have studied the mysteries of electric science.”
“And do you base all your medical treatment on this principle?” pursued the Colonel.
“Certainly. Your young friend here, who came to me from Cannes, looking as if she had but a few months to live, can bear witness to the efficacy of my method.”
Every eye was now turned upon me, and I looked up and laughed.
“Do you remember, Amy,” I said, addressing Mrs. Everard, “how you told me I looked like a sick nun132 at Cannes? What do I look like now?”
“You look as if you had never been ill in your life,” she replied.
“I was going to say,” remarked Mr. Challoner in his deliberate manner, “that you remind me very much of a small painting of Diana that I saw in the Louvre the other day. You have the same sort of elasticity133 in your movements, and the same bright healthy eyes.”
I bowed, still smiling. “I did not know you were such a flatterer, Mr. Challoner! Diana thanks you!”
The conversation now became general, and turned, among other subjects, upon the growing reputation of Raffaello Cellini.
“What surprises me in that young man,” said Colonel Everard, “is his colouring. It is simply marvellous. He was amiable134 enough to present me with a little landscape scene; and the effect of light upon it is so powerfully done that you would swear the sun was actually shining through it.”
The fine sensitive mouth of Heliobas curved in a somewhat sarcastic135 smile.
“Mere trickery, my dear sir — a piece of clap-trap,” he said lightly. “That is what would be said of such pictures — in England at least. And it WILL be said by many oracular, long-established newspapers, while Cellini lives. As soon as he is dead — ah! c’est autre chose! — he will then most probably be acknowledged the greatest master of the age. There may even be a Cellini ‘School of Colouring,’ where a select company of daubers will profess136 to know the secret that has died with him. It is the way of the world!”
Mr. Challoner’s rugged137 face showed signs of satisfaction, and his shrewd eyes twinkled.
“Right you are, sir!” he said, holding up his glass of wine. “I drink to you! Sir, I agree with you! I calculate there’s a good many worlds flying round in space, but a more ridiculous, feeble-minded, contrary sort of world than this one, I defy any archangel to find!”
Heliobas laughed, nodded, and after a slight pause resumed:
“It is astonishing to me that people do not see to what an infinite number of uses they could put the little re-discovery they have made of LUMINOUS138 PAINT. In that simple thing there is a secret, which as yet they do not guess — a wonderful, beautiful, scientific secret, which may perhaps take them a few hundred years to find out. In the meantime they have got hold of one end of the thread; they can make luminous paint, and with it they can paint light-houses, and, what is far more important — ships. Vessels139 in mid-ocean will have no more need of fog-signals and different-coloured lamps; their own coat of paint will be sufficient to light them safely on their way. Even rooms can be so painted as to be perfectly luminous at night. A friend of mine, residing in Italy, has a luminous ballroom140, where the ceiling is decorated with a moon and stars in electric light. The effect is exceedingly lovely; and though people think a great deal of money must have been laid out upon it, it is perhaps the only great ballroom in Italy that has been really cheaply fitted up. But, as I said before, there is another secret behind the invention or discovery of luminous paint — a secret which, when once unveiled, will revolutionize all the schools of art in the world.”
“Do you know this secret?” asked Mrs. Challoner.
“Yes, madame — perfectly.”
“Then why don’t you disclose it for the benefit of everybody?” demanded Erne Challoner.
“Because, my dear young lady, no one would believe me if I did. The time is not yet ripe for it. The world must wait till its people are better educated.”
“Better educated!” exclaimed Mrs. Everard. “Why, there is nothing talked of nowadays but education and progress! The very children are wiser than their parents!”
“The children!” returned Heliobas, half inquiringly, half indignantly. “At the rate things are going, there will soon be no children left; they will all be tired little old men and women before they are in their teens. The very babes will be born old. Many of them are being brought up without any faith in God or religion; the result will be an increase of vice48 and crime. The purblind142 philosophers, miscalled wise men, who teach the children by the light of poor human reason only, and do away with faith in spiritual things, are bringing down upon the generations to come an unlooked-for and most terrific curse. Childhood, the happy, innocent, sweet, unthinking, almost angelic age, at which Nature would have us believe in fairies and all the delicate aerial fancies of poets, who are, after all, the only true sages143 — childhood, I say, is being gradually stamped out under the cruel iron heel of the Period — a period not of wisdom, health, or beauty, but one of drunken delirium144, in which the world rushes feverishly145 along, its eyes fixed146 on one hard, glittering, stony-featured idol147 — Gold. Education! Is it education to teach the young that their chances of happiness depend on being richer than their neighbours? Yet that is what it all tends to. Get on! — be successful! Trample148 on others, but push forward yourself! Money, money! — let its chink be your music; let its yellow shine be fairer than the eyes of love or friendship! Let its piles accumulate and ever accumulate! There are beggars in the streets, but they are impostors! There is poverty in many places, but why seek to relieve it? Why lessen149 the sparkling heaps of gold by so much as a coin? Accumulate and ever accumulate! Live so, and then — die! And then — who knows what then?”
His voice had been full of ringing eloquence150 as he spoke, but at these last words it sank into a low, thrilling tone of solemnity and earnestness. We all looked at him, fascinated by his manner, and were silent.
Mr. Challoner was the first to break the impressive pause.
“I’m not a speaker, sir,” he observed slowly, “but I’ve got a good deal of feeling somewheres; and you’ll allow me to say that I feel your words — I think they’re right true. I’ve often wanted to say what you’ve said, but haven’t seen my way clear to it. Anyhow, I’ve had a very general impression about me that what we call Society has of late years been going, per express service, direct to the devil — if the ladies will excuse me for plain speaking. And as the journey is being taken by choice and free-will, I suppose there’s no hindrance151 or stoppage possible. Besides, it’s a downward line, and curiously free from obstructions152.”
“Bravo, John!” exclaimed Mrs. Challoner. “You are actually corning out! I never heard you indulge in similes before.”
“Well, my dear,” returned her husband, somewhat gratified, “better late than never. A simile68 is a good thing if it isn’t overcrowded. For instance, Mr. Swinburne’s similes are laid on too thick sometimes. There is a verse of his, which, with all my admiration for him, I never could quite fathom153. It is where he earnestly desires to be as ‘Any leaf of any tree;’ or, failing that, he wouldn’t mind becoming ‘As bones under the deep, sharp sea.’ I tried hard to see the point of that, but couldn’t fix it.”
We all laughed. Zara, I thought, was especially merry, and looked her loveliest. She made an excellent hostess, and exerted herself to the utmost to charm — an effort in which she easily succeeded.
The shadow on the face of her brother had not disappeared, and once or twice I noticed that Father Paul looked at him with a certain kindly anxiety.
The dinner approached its end. The dessert, with its luxurious dishes of rare fruit, such as peaches, plantains, hothouse grapes, and even strawberries, was served, and with it a delicious, sparkling, topaz-tinted wine of Eastern origin called Krula, which was poured out to us in Venetian glass goblets154, wherein lay diamond-like lumps of ice. The air was so exceedingly oppressive that evening that we found this beverage156 most refreshing157. When Zara’s goblet155 was filled, she held it up smiling, and said:
“I have a toast to propose.”
“Hear, hear!” murmured the gentlemen, Heliobas excepted.
“To our next merry meeting!” and as she said this she kissed the rim141 of the cup, and made a sign as though wafting158 it towards her brother.
He started as if from a reverie, seized his glass, and drained off its contents to the last drop.
Everyone responded with heartiness to Zara’s toast and then Colonel Everard proposed the health of the fair hostess, which was drunk with enthusiasm.
After this Zara gave the signal, and all the ladies rose to adjourn159 to the drawing-room. As I passed Heliobas on my way out, he looked so sombre and almost threatening of aspect, that I ventured to whisper:
“Remember Azul!”
“She has forgotten ME!” he muttered.
“Never — never!” I said earnestly. “Oh, Heliobas! what is wrong with you?”
He made no answer, and there was no opportunity to say more, as I had to follow Zara. But I felt very anxious, though I scarcely knew why, and I lingered at the door and glanced back at him. As I did so, a low, rumbling160 sound, like chariot-wheels rolling afar off, broke suddenly on our ears.
“Thunder,” remarked Mr. Challoner quietly. “I thought we should have it. It has been unnaturally161 warm all day. A good storm will clear the air.”
In my brief backward look at Heliobas, I noted that when that far-distant thunder sounded, he grew very pale. Why? He was certainly not one to have any dread162 of a storm — he was absolutely destitute163 of fear. I went into the drawing-room with a hesitating step — my instincts were all awake and beginning to warn me, and I murmured softly a prayer to that strong, invisible majestic164 spirit which I knew must be near me — my guardian165 Angel. I was answered instantly — my foreboding grew into a positive certainty that some danger menaced Heliobas, and that if I desired to be his friend, I must be prepared for an emergency. Receiving this, as all such impressions should be received, as a direct message sent me for my guidance, I grew calmer, and braced up my energies to oppose SOMETHING, though I knew not what.
Zara was showing her lady-visitors a large album of Italian photographs, and explaining them as she turned the leaves. As I entered the room, she said eagerly to me:
“Play to us, dear! Something soft and plaintive166. We all delight in your music, you know.”
“Did you hear the thunder just now?” I asked irrelevantly167.
“It WAS thunder? I thought so!” said Mrs. Everard. “Oh, I do hope there is not going to be a storm! I am so afraid of a storm!”
“You are nervous?” questioned Zara kindly, as she engaged her attention with some very fine specimens168 among the photographs, consisting of views from Venice.
“Well, I suppose I am,” returned Amy, half laughing. “Yet I am plucky169 about most things, too. Still I don’t like to hear the elements quarrelling together — they are too much in earnest about it — and no person can pacify170 them.”
Zara smiled, and gently repeated her request to me for some music — a request in which Mrs. Challoner and her daughters eagerly joined. As I went to the piano I thought of Edgar Allan Poe’s exquisite119 poem:
“In Heaven a spirit doth dwell,
Whose heart-strings171 are a lute14;
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars, so legends tell,
Ceasing their hymns172, attend the spell
Of his voice — all mute.”
As I poised173 my fingers above the keys of the instrument, another long, low, ominous174 roll of thunder swept up from the distance and made the room tremble.
“Play — play, for goodness’ sake!” exclaimed Mrs. Everard; “and then we shall not be obliged to fix our attention on the approaching storm!”
I played a few soft opening arpeggio passages, while Zara seated herself in an easy-chair near the window, and the other ladies arranged themselves on sofas and ottomans to their satisfaction. The room was exceedingly close: and the scent175 of the flowers that were placed about in profusion176 was almost too sweet and overpowering.
“And they say (the starry177 choir178
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli’s fire
Is owing to that lyre,
By which lie sits and sings —
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.”
How these verses haunted me! With them floating in my mind, I played — losing myself in mazes179 of melody, and travelling harmoniously180 in and out of the different keys with that sense of perfect joy known only to those who can improvise181 with ease, and catch the unwritten music of nature, which always appeals most strongly to emotions that are unspoilt by contact with the world, and which are quick to respond to what is purely182 instinctive183 art. I soon became thoroughly absorbed, and forgot that there were any persons present. In fancy I imagined myself again in view of the glory of the Electric Ring — again I seemed to behold184 the opaline radiance of the Central Sphere:
“Where Love’s a grown-up God,
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued185 with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.”
By-and-by I found my fingers at the work of tenderly unravelling186 a little skein of major melody, as soft and childlike as the innocent babble187 of a small brooklet188 flowing under ferns. I followed this airy suggestion obediently, till it led me of itself to its fitting end, when I ceased playing. I was greeted by a little burst of applause, and looking up, saw that all the gentlemen had come in from the dining-room, and were standing near me. The stately figure of Heliobas was the most prominent in the group; he stood erect189, one hand resting lightly on the framework of the piano, and his eyes met mine fixedly190.
“You were inspired,” he said with a grave smile, addressing me; “you did not observe our entrance.”
I was about to reply, when a loud, appalling191 crash of thunder rattled192 above us, as if some huge building had suddenly fallen into ruins. It startled us all into silence for a moment, and we looked into each other’s faces with a certain degree of awe193.
“That was a good one,” remarked Mr. Challoner. “There was nothing undecided about that clap. Its mind was made up.”
Zara suddenly rose from her seat, and drew aside the window-curtains.
“I wonder if it is raining,” she said.
Amy Everard uttered a little shriek194 of dismay.
“Oh, don’t open the blinds!” she exclaimed. “It is really dangerous!”
Heliobas glanced at her with a little sarcastic smile.
“Take a seat on the other side of the room, if you are alarmed, madame,” he said quietly, placing a chair in the position he suggested, which Amy accepted eagerly.
She would, I believe, have gladly taken refuge in the coal-cellar had he offered it. Zara, in the meantime, who had not heard Mrs. Everard’s exclamation195 of fear, had drawn196 up one of the blinds, and stood silently looking out upon the night. Instinctively197 we all joined her, with the exception of Amy, and looked out also. The skies were very dark; a faint moaning wind stirred the tops of the leafless trees; but there was no rain. A dry volcanic198 heat pervaded199 the atmosphere — in fact we all felt the air so stifling200, that Heliobas threw open the window altogether, saying, as he did so:
“In a thunderstorm, it is safer to have the windows open than shut; besides, one cannot suffocate201.”
A brilliant glare of light flashed suddenly upon our vision. The heavens seemed torn open from end to end, and a broad lake of pale blue fire lay quivering in the heart of the mountainous black clouds — for a second only. An on-rushing, ever-increasing, rattling202 roar of thunder ensued, that seemed to shake the very earth, and all was again darkness.
“This is magnificent!” cries Mrs. Challoner, who, with her family, had travelled a great deal, and was quite accustomed to hurricanes and other inconveniences caused by the unaccommodating behaviour of the elements. “I don’t think I ever saw anything like it, John dear, even that storm we saw at Chamounix was not any better than this.”
“Well,” returned her husband meditatively, “you see we had the snow mountains there, and the effect was pretty lively. Then there were the echoes — those cavernous echoes were grand! What was that passage in Job, Effie, that I used to say they reminded me of?”
“‘The pillars of heaven tremble, and are astonished at His reproof203 . . . The thunder of His power, who can understand?’” replied Effie Challoner reverently204.
“That’s it!” he replied. “I opine that Job was pretty correct in his ideas — don’t you, reverend sir?” turning to Father Paul.
The priest nodded, and held up his finger warningly.
“That lady — Mrs. Everard — is going to sing or play, I think,” he observed. “Shall we not keep silence?”
I looked towards Amy in some surprise. I knew she sang very prettily205, but I had thought she was rendered too nervous by the storm to do aught but sit quiet in her chair. However, there she was at the piano, and in another moment her fresh, sweet mezzo-soprano rang softly through the room in Tosti’s plaintive song, “Good-bye!” We listened, but none of us moved from the open window where we still inhaled206 what air there was, and watched the lowering sky.
“Hush207! a voice from the far-away,
‘Listen and learn,’ it seems to say;
‘All the to-morrows shall be as to-day,’”
sang Amy with pathetic sweetness. Zara suddenly moved, as if oppressed, from her position among us as we stood clustered together, and stepped out through the French window into the outside balcony, her head uncovered to the night.
“You will catch cold!” Mrs. Challoner and I both called to her simultaneously208. She shook her head, smiling back at us; and folding her arms lightly on the stone balustrade, leaned there and looked up at the clouds.
“The link must break, and the lamp must die;
Good-bye to Hope! Good-bye — good-bye!”
Amy’s voice was a peculiarly thrilling one, and on this occasion sounded with more than its usual tenderness. What with her singing and the invisible presence of the storm, an utter silence possessed us — not one of us cared to move.
Heliobas once stepped to his sister’s side in the open balcony, and said something, as I thought, to warn her against taking cold; but it was a very brief whisper, and he almost immediately returned to his place amongst us. Zara looked very lovely out there; the light coming from the interior of the room glistened209 softly on the sheen of her satin dress and its ornaments of pearls; and the electric stone on her bosom shone faintly, like a star on a rainy evening. Her beautiful face, turned upwards210 to the angry sky, was half in light and half in shade; a smile parted her lips, and her eyes were bright with a look of interest and expectancy211. Another sudden glare, and the clouds were again broken asunder212; but this time in a jagged and hasty manner, as though a naked sword had been thrust through them and immediately withdrawn213.
“That was a nasty flash,” said Colonel Everard, with an observant glance at the lovely Juliet-like figure on the balcony. “Mademoiselle, had you not better come in?”
“When it begins to rain I will come in,” she said, without changing her posture214. “I hear the singing so well out here. Besides, I love the storm.”
A tumultuous crash of thunder, tremendous for its uproar215 and the length of time it was prolonged, made us look at each other again with anxious faces.
“What are we waiting for? Oh, my heart!
Kiss me straight on the brows and part!
Again! again, my heart, my heart!
What are we waiting for, you and I?
A pleading look — a stifled216 cry!
Good-bye for ever —-”
Horror! what was that? A lithe swift serpent of fire twisting venomously through the dark heavens! Zara raised her arms, looked up, smiled, and fell — senseless! With such appalling suddenness that we had scarcely recovered from the blinding terror of that forked lightning-flash, when we saw her lying prone217 before us on the balcony where one instant before she had stood erect and smiling! With exclamations218 of alarm and distress219 we lifted and bore her within the room and laid her tenderly down upon the nearest sofa. At that moment a deafening220, terrific thunder-clap — one only — as if a huge bombshell had burst in the air, shook the ground under our feet; and then with a swish and swirl221 of long pent-up and suddenly-released wrath222, down came the rain.
Amy’s voice died away in a last “Good-bye!” and she rushed from the piano, with pale face and trembling lips, gasping223 out:
“What has happened? What is the matter?”
“She has been stunned224 by a lightning-flash,” I said, trying to speak calmly, while I loosened Zara’s dress and sprinkled her forehead with eau-de-Cologne from a scent-bottle Mrs. Challoner had handed to me. “She will recover in a few minutes.”
But my limbs trembled under me, and tears, in spite of myself, forced their way into my eyes.
Heliobas meanwhile — his countenance225 white and set as a marble mask — shut the window fiercely, pulled down the blind, and drew the heavy silken curtains close. He then approached his sister’s senseless form, and, taking her wrist tenderly, felt for her pulse. We looked on in the deepest anxiety. The Challoner girls shivered with terror, and began to cry. Mrs. Everard, with more self-possession, dipped a handkerchief in cold water and laid it on Zara’s temples; but no faint sigh parted the set yet smiling lips — no sign of life was visible. All this while the rain swept down in gusty226 torrents227 and rattled furiously against the window-panes; while the wind, no longer a moan, had risen into a shriek, as of baffled yet vindictive228 anger. At last Heliobas spoke.
“I should be glad of other medical skill than my own,” he said, in low and stifled accents. “This may be a long fainting-fit.”
Mr. Challoner at once proffered229 his services.
“I’ll go for you anywhere you like,” he said cheerily; “and I think my wife and daughters had better come with me. Our carriage is sure to be in waiting. It will be necessary for the lady to have perfect quiet when she recovers, and visitors are best away. You need not be alarmed, I am sure. By her colour it is evident she is only in a swoon. What doctor shall I send?”
Heliobas named one Dr. Morini, 10, Avenue de l’Alma.
“Right! He shall be here straight. Come, wife — come, girls! Mrs. Everard, we’ll send back our carriage for you and the Colonel. Good-night! We’ll call to-morrow and inquire after mademoiselle.”
Heliobas gratefully pressed his hand as he withdrew, and his wife and daughters, with whispered farewells, followed him. We who were left behind all remained near Zara, doing everything we could think of to restore animation230 to that senseless form.
Some of the servants, too, hearing what had happened, gathered in a little cluster at the drawing-room door, looking with pale and alarmed faces at the death-like figure of their beautiful mistress. Half an hour or more must have passed in this manner; within the room there was a dreadful silence — but outside the rain poured down in torrents, and the savage231 wind howled and tore at the windows like a besieging232 army. Suddenly Amy Everard, who had been quietly and skilfully233 assisting me in rubbing Zara’s hands and bathing her forehead, grew faint, staggered, and would have fallen had not her husband caught her on his arm.
“I am frightened,” she gasped234. “I cannot bear it — she looks so still, and she is growing — rigid235, like a corpse236! Oh, if she should be dead!” And she hid her face on her husband’s breast.
At that moment we heard the grating of wheels on the gravel237 outside; it was the Challoners’ carriage returned. The coachman, after depositing his master and family at the Grand Hotel, had driven rapidly back in the teeth of the stinging sleet238 and rain to bring the message that Dr. Morini would be with us as soon as possible.
“Then,” whispered Colonel Everard gently to me, “I’ll take Amy home. She is thoroughly upset, and it’s no use having her going off into hysterics. I’ll call with Challoner to-morrow;” and with a kindly parting nod of encouragement to us all, he slipped softly out of the room, half leading, half carrying his trembling wife; and in a couple of minutes we heard the carriage again drive away.
Left alone at last with Heliobas and Father Paul, I, kneeling at the side of my darling Zara, looked into their faces for comfort, but found none. The dry-eyed despair on the countenance of Heliobas pierced me to the heart; the pitying, solemn expression of the venerable priest touched me as with icy cold. The lovely, marble-like whiteness and stillness of the figure before me filled me with a vague terror. Making a strong effort to control my voice, I called, in a low, clear tone:
“Zara! Zara!”
No sign — not the faintest flicker239 of an eyelash! Only the sound of the falling rain and the moaning wind — the thunder had long ago ceased. Suddenly a something attracted my gaze, which first surprised and then horrified240 me. The jewel — the electric stone on Zara’s bosom no longer shone! It was like a piece of dull unpolished pebble241. Grasping at the meaning of this, with overwhelming instinctive rapidity, I sprang up and caught the arm of Heliobas.
“You — you!” I whispered hurriedly. “YOU can restore her! Do as you did with Prince Ivan; you can — you must! That stone she wears — the light has gone out of it. If that means — and I am sure it does — that life has for a little while gone out of HER, YOU can bring it back. Quick — Quick! You have the power!”
He looked at me with burning grief-haunted eyes; and a sigh that was almost a groan242 escaped his lips.
“I have NO power,” he said. “Not over her. I told you she was dominated by a higher force than mine. What can I do? Nothing — worse than nothing — I am utterly helpless.”
I stared at him in a kind of desperate horror.
“Do you mean to tell me,” I said slowly, “that she is dead — really dead?”
He was about to answer, when one of the watching servants announced in a low tone: “Dr. Morini.”
The new-comer was a wiry, keen-eyed little Italian; his movements were quick, decisive, and all to the point of action. The first thing he did was to scatter243 the little group of servants right and left, and send them about their business. The next, to close the doors of the room against all intrusion. He then came straight up to Heliobas, and pressing his hand in a friendly manner, said briefly244:
“How and when did this happen?”
Heliobas told him in as few words as possible. Dr. Morini then bent over Zara’s lifeless form, and examined her features attentively245. He laid his car against her heart and listened. Finally, he caught sight of the round, lustreless246 pebble hanging at her neck suspended by its strings of pearls. Very gently he moved this aside; looked, and beckoned247 us to come and look also. Exactly on the spot where the electric stone had rested, a small circular mark, like a black bruise248, tainted249 the fair soft skin — a mark no larger than a small finger-ring.
“Death by electricity,” said Dr. Morini quietly. “Must have been instantaneous. The lightning-flash, or downward electric current, lodged250 itself here, where this mark is, and passed directly through the heart. Perfectly painless, but of course fatal. She has been dead some time.”
And, replacing the stone ornament in its former position, he stepped back with a suggestive glance at Father Paul. I listened and saw — but I was in a state of stupefaction. Dead? My beautiful, gay, strong Zara DEAD? Impossible! I knelt beside her; I called her again and again by every endearing and tender name I could think of; I kissed her sweet lips. Oh, they were cold as ice, and chilled my blood! As one in a dream, I saw Heliobas advance; he kissed her forehead and mouth; he reverently unclasped the pearls from about her throat, and with them took off the electric stone. Then Father Paul stepped slowly forward, and in place of that once brilliant gem, now so dim and destitute of fire, he laid a crucifix upon the fair and gentle breast, motionless for ever.
At sight of this sacred symbol, some tense cord seemed to snap in my brain, and I cried out wildly:
“Oh, no, no! Not that! That is for the dead; Zara is not dead! It is all a mistake — a mistake! She will be quite well presently; and she will smile and tell you how foolish you were to think her dead! Dead? She cannot be dead; it is impossible — quite impossible!” And I broke into a passion of sobs251 and tears.
Very gently and kindly Dr. Morini drew me away, and by dint252 of friendly persuasion253, in which there was also a good deal of firm determination, led me into the hall, where he made me swallow a glass of wine. As I could not control my sobs, he spoke with some sternness:
“Mademoiselle, you can do no good by giving way in this manner. Death is a very beautiful and solemn thing, and it is irreverent to show unseemly passion in such a great Presence. You loved your friend — let it be a comfort to you that she died painlessly. Control yourself, in order to assist in rendering254 her the last few gentle services necessary; and try to console the desolate brother, who looks in real need of encouragement.”
These last words roused me. I forced back my tears, and dried my eyes.
“I will, Dr. Morini,” I said, in a trembling voice. “I am ashamed to be so weak. I know what I ought to do, and I will do it. You may trust me.”
He looked at me approvingly.
“That is well,” he said briefly. “And now, as I am of no use here, I will say good-night. Remember, excessive grief is mere selfishness; resignation is heroism255.”
He was gone. I nerved myself to the task I had before me, and within an hour the fair casket of what had been Zara lay on an open bier in the little chapel, lights burning round it, and flowers strewn above it in mournful profusion.
We left her body arrayed in its white satin garb256; the cluster of orange-blossoms she had gathered still bloomed upon the cold breast, where the crucifix lay; but in the tresses of the long dark hair I wove a wreath of lilies instead of the pearls we had undone257.
And now I knelt beside the bier absorbed in thought. Some of the weeping servants had assembled, and knelt about in little groups. The tall candles on the altar were lit, and Father Paul, clad in mourning priestly vestments, prayed there in silence. The storm of rain and wind still raged without, and the windows of the chapel shook and rattled with the violence of the tempest.
A distant clock struck ONE! with a deep clang that echoed throughout the house. I shuddered258. So short a time had elapsed since Zara had been alive and well; now, I could not bear to think that she was gone from me for ever. For ever, did I say? No, not for ever — not so long as love exists — love that shall bring us together again in that far-off Sphere where —-
Hush! what was that? The sound of the organ? I looked around me in startled wonderment. There was no one seated at the instrument; it was shut close. The lights on the altar and round the bier burnt steadily259; the motionless figure of the priest before the tabernacle; the praying servants of the household — all was unchanged. But certainly a flood of music rolled grandly on the ear — music that drowned for a moment the howling noise of the battering260 wind. I rose softly, and touched one of the kneeling domestics on the shoulder.
“Did you hear the organ?” I said.
The woman looked up at me with tearful, alarmed eyes.
“No, mademoiselle.”
I paused, listening. The music grew louder and louder, and surged round me in waves of melody. Evidently no one in the chapel heard it but myself. I looked about for Heliobas, but he had not entered. He was most probably in his study, whither he had retired to grieve in secret when we had borne Zara’s body to its present couch of dreamless sleep.
These sounds were meant for me alone, then? I waited, and the music gradually died away; and as I resumed my kneeling position by the bier all was again silence, save for the unabated raging of the storm.
A strange calmness now fell on my spirits. Some invisible hand seemed to hold me still and tearless. Zara was dead. I realized it now. I began to consider that she must have known her fate beforehand. This was what she had meant when she said she was going on a journey. The more I thought of this the quieter I became, and I hid my face in my hands and prayed earnestly.
A touch roused me — an imperative261, burning touch. An airy brightness, like a light cloud with sunshine falling through it, hovered262 above Zara’s bier! I gazed breathlessly; I could not move my lips to utter a sound. A face looked at me — a face angelically beautiful! It smiled. I stretched out my hands; I struggled for speech, and managed to whisper:
“Zara, Zara! you have come back!”
Her voice, so sweetly familiar, answered me: “To life? Ah, never, never again! I am too happy to return. But save him — save my brother! Go to him; he is in danger; to you is given the rescue. Save him; and for me rejoice, and grieve no more!”
The face vanished, the brightness faded, and I sprang up from my knees in haste. For one instant I looked at the beautiful dead body of the friend I loved, with its set mouth and placid263 features, and then I smiled. This was not Zara — SHE was alive and happy; this fair clay was but clay doomed264 to perish, but SHE was imperishable.
“Save him — save my brother!” These words rang in my ears. I hesitated no longer — I determined to seek Heliobas at once. Swiftly and noiselessly I slipped out of the chapel. As the door swung behind me I heard a sound that first made me stop in sudden alarm, and then hurry on with increased eagerness. There was no mistaking it — it was the clash of steel!
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1
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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3
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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4
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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6
engenders
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的第三人称单数 ) | |
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7
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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8
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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10
quota
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| n.（生产、进出口等的）配额，（移民的）限额 | |
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11
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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12
tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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13
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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14
lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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15
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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16
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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17
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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18
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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19
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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20
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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21
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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22
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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conducive
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| adj.有益的，有助的 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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27
murkiness
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| n.阴暗；混浊；可疑；黝暗 | |
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28
atmospheric
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| adj.大气的，空气的；大气层的；大气所引起的 | |
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29
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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30
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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32
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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33
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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34
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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35
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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40
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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41
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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42
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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43
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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44
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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45
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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46
demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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47
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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48
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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49
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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50
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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51
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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52
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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53
murkier
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| adj.阴暗的( murky的比较级 )；昏暗的；（指水）脏的；混浊的 | |
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54
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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55
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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56
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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57
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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58
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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59
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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60
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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61
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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62
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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63
loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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64
clove
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| n.丁香味 | |
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65
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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66
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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67
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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68
simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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69
similes
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| （使用like或as等词语的）明喻( simile的名词复数 ) | |
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70
plagiarist
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| n.剽窃者，文抄公 | |
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71
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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72
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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73
recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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74
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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75
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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76
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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77
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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78
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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79
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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80
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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81
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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82
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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83
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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84
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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85
braced
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|
| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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86
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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87
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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88
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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89
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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90
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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91
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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92
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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93
dwindles
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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94
insignificantly
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95
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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96
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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97
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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98
pettishly
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99
meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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100
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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101
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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102
ostrich
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| n.鸵鸟 | |
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103
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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104
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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105
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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106
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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107
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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108
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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109
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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110
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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111
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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112
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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113
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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115
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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116
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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117
gondola
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| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
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118
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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119
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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120
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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121
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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122
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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123
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
scintillated
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| v.（言谈举止中）焕发才智( scintillate的过去式和过去分词 )；谈笑洒脱；闪耀；闪烁 | |
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125
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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126
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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127
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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128
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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129
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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130
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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131
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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132
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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133
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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134
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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135
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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136
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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137
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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138
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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139
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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140
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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141
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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142
purblind
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| adj.半盲的；愚笨的 | |
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143
sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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144
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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145
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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146
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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147
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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148
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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149
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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150
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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151
hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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152
obstructions
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| n.障碍物( obstruction的名词复数 )；阻碍物；阻碍；阻挠 | |
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153
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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154
goblets
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| n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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155
goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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156
beverage
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| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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157
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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158
wafting
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的现在分词 ) | |
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159
adjourn
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| v.（使）休会，（使）休庭 | |
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160
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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161
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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162
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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163
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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164
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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165
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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166
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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167
irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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168
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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169
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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170
pacify
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| vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒)；抚慰 | |
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171
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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172
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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173
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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174
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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175
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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176
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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177
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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178
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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179
mazes
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| 迷宫( maze的名词复数 )； 纷繁复杂的规则； 复杂难懂的细节； 迷宫图 | |
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180
harmoniously
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| 和谐地，调和地 | |
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181
improvise
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| v.即兴创作；临时准备，临时凑成 | |
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182
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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183
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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184
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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185
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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186
unravelling
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| 解开，拆散，散开( unravel的现在分词 )； 阐明； 澄清； 弄清楚 | |
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187
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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188
brooklet
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| n. 细流, 小河 | |
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189
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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190
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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191
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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192
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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193
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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194
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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195
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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196
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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197
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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198
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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199
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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200
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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201
suffocate
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| vt.使窒息，使缺氧，阻碍；vi.窒息，窒息而亡，阻碍发展 | |
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202
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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203
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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204
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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205
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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206
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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207
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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208
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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209
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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210
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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211
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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212
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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213
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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214
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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215
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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216
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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217
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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218
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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219
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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220
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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221
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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222
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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223
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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224
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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225
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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226
gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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227
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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228
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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229
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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230
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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231
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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232
besieging
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
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233
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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234
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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235
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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236
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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237
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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238
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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239
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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240
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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241
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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242
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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243
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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244
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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245
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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246
lustreless
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| adj.无光泽的，无光彩的，平淡乏味的 | |
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247
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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248
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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249
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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250
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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251
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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252
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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253
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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254
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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255
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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256
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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257
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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258
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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259
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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260
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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261
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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262
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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263
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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264
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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