He had written to the brokers4, requesting them to sell sufficient India Stock to bring in a sum of six thousand pounds. They had replied that they could not carry out the order unless they had the particulars of the Stock and of the amount standing5 in the Squire's name at the India House. But when Arthur took the letter to the Squire's room and read it to him, the outcome surprised him. The old man sat up in bed and confounded him by the vigor6 of his answer. "Want to know how much I hold?" he cried. "D--n their impudence7! Then they'll not know! Want to look at my books and see what I'm worth! What next? What is it to them what I hold? You bid 'em sell--" beating the counterpane with his stick--"you bid 'em sell two thousand two hundred pounds--at two hundred and seventy-five, that's near the mark! That's all they've got to do, the impudent8 puppies! Do you write, d'you hear, and tell 'em to do it!"
Arthur cursed the old man's unreasonableness10, and wondered what he was to do. If there was going to be all this difficulty about the particulars, what about the certificates? How was he to get them? For the Squire as he sat erect11, thrusting forward his bandaged head, and clutching the stick that lay beside him, grew almost threatening. He was in arms in defence of his moneybags and his secrets, and his nephew saw that it would take a bolder man than himself to cross him.
He hesitated. "I am afraid, sir," he ventured at last, "there's a difficulty here that I had not foreseen. The certificates----"
"They don't want the certificates--yet! Don't they say so? Plain as a pikestaff!"
"Perhaps, sir," doubtfully. "If Welshes have got them----"
"Welshes have not got them!"
Arthur did not know what to say to that. At last, in a tone as reasonable as he could compass, "I am afraid the difficulty is, sir," he said, "that they cannot make out a transfer until they have the particulars; which I fancy we can only get from the certificates."
"Then they may go to blazes!" the Squire replied, and he lay down with his face to the wall. Not he! There might be officials at the India House who knew this or that and Welshes, who had acted for him in making one purchase or another, might know a part. But to no living man had he ever entrusted13 the secret of his fortune, or the result of those long years of stinting14 and sparing and saving that had cleared the mortgaged estate, and had been continued because habit was strong and age is penurious15. No, to no man living! That was his secret while the breath was in him. Afterwards--but he was not going to give it up yet.
Presently he bade Arthur go, and Arthur went, troubled in his mind, and much less assured of his position than he had been an hour before. He thanked his stars that he had not given way to the temptation to cut loose from the bank. It would never have done, he saw that now. And how was he going to extract his money, his six thousand, from this unreasonable9 old dotard--for so he styled him in his wrath16?
However, the riddle17 solved itself before many hours had passed.
That afternoon he was absent, and Jos, about whom Miss Peacock was growing anxious, had gone out to take the air. The butler, left on guard, occupied himself with laying the table in the dining-room, where, if the Squire tapped the floor, he could hear him. He heard no summons, but presently as he went about his work he heard someone moving upstairs and he pricked18 up his ears. Surely the Squire was not getting out of bed? Weak and blind as he was--but again he heard heavy footsteps, and, thoroughly19 alarmed, the man lost no time. He hurried up the stairs, and entered his master's room. The Squire was out of bed. He was on his feet, clinging to the post at the foot of the bed, and feeling helplessly about him with the other hand.
"Lord, ha' mercy!" Calamy cried, eying the gaunt figure with dismay. He hastened forward to support it.
The Squire collapsed20 on the bed as soon as he was touched. "I canna do it," he groaned21, "I canna do it. It's going round wi' me. Who is it?"
"Calamy, sir," the butler answered, and added bluntly, "If you want to get into your coffin22, master, you're going the right way to do it!"
"Anyway, I canna do it," the Squire repeated, and remained motionless for a moment. "I couldn't manage the stairs if 'twere ever so."
"You'd manage 'em one way. You'd fall down 'em. You get to bed, sir. You get to bed. There, I'll heave you up."
"I'm weaker than I thought," the Squire muttered. He suffered himself to be put into bed.
"You've lost blood, sir, that's what it is," the butler said. "And at your age it's not to be replaced in a week, nor a fortnight. You lie still, sir. Maybe in a month you'll be tramping the stairs. But blindfold--it's the Lord's mercy as you didn't fall and only stop in Kingdom Come! For if fall you did, I don't know where else you'd stop."
"I'm afraid so. Anyway I canna do it!"
"Only feet foremost."
The Squire sighed and turned himself to the wall, perhaps to hide the tear that helplessness forced from old eyes. He couldn't do it, and he must put up with the consequences. He could not any longer be sufficient to himself. It was a sad thought, but apparently23 he made up his mind to it, for twenty-four hours later, when Jos and Arthur were with him, he sent the girl away. When she had gone he sought under the pillow for his keys, and after handling them for a time, "Is the door shut? And no one here but you?"
"We are quite alone, sir."
"No one within hearing, lad?"
"Not a soul, sir."
"It's not that I mistrust the wench," the Squire muttered. "She's a Griffin and a good girl, a good girl. But she's a tongue like other women." By this time he had found what he wanted, and holding the bunch by one of the keys he offered it to Arthur. "That's the key. Now you listen to me. Go down to the dining-room, and don't you do anything till you've locked the door and seen there's no one at the windows. The panel, right side of the fireplace--are you minding me? Ay? Well, pass your hand down the moulding next the hearth24 and you'll feel a crack across it, and, an inch below, another. They're so small you as good as can't see them, when you know they're there. Twist that bit, top part to the right, and you'll see a key-hole. Turn the key and pull, and the panel comes open, and you'll see a cupboard door behind it. Same key unlocks it. Are you minding me?"
"I am, sir, I quite understand."
"Well, on the middle shelf--you'll see a box. The key to that box is the next on the bunch. Open it and you will have the India Stock Certificates." The Squire sighed and for a moment was silent. "There's one for two thousand two hundred, which will do it. Bring it here. You needn't," drily, "go routing among the others, once you've found it. Then lock up, and slip the moulding into place. But be sure, lad, before you do aught, that the door is locked."
"I will be careful," Arthur assured him. "I quite understand, sir."
"It's not that I distrust Jos," the Squire repeated--as if he defended himself against an accusation26. "But tell a secret to a woman, and you tell it to the parish."
"Shall I do it now, sir?"
"Ay. And bring back the keys. Don't let 'em out of your hands."
Arthur went downstairs, and as he descended27 the shallow steps he smiled. Men, even the sharpest of men, were easy to manage if you had patience.
The afternoon was drawing in. The corners in the hall were growing dim. The sky seen through the open door was pale green. The air came in from the garden, sweet but chilly28, laden29 with the scent30 of lilac and gilly flowers. A single rook cawed. The peace of the country was upon all. He could hear his mother and Josina talking somewhere within the house.
He slipped into the dining-room and, locking himself in, looked round him. The paint on the panelled walls was faded, blistered31 in places by the sun, or soiled where elbows had rubbed it or the butler's tray standing against it through long years, had marked it. The panels were large, dating from Dutch William or Anne, of chestnut32 and set in heavy mouldings.
Arthur glanced at the windows to make sure that he was unseen, then he stepped to the hearth and felt for and found the bit of moulding, in front of which, though he had forgotten to mention it, the Squire had hung an old almanac. Arthur twisted the upper end to the right, uncovered the key-hole, and within a minute had the inner door open.
It masked a cupboard, contrived33 in the thickness of the chimney-breast, perhaps at the time when the open shaft34 had been closed and a smaller fireplace had been inserted. Inside, two shelves formed three receptacles. In the uppermost were parcels of old letters secured with dusty and faded ribands, and piled at random35 one on another--the relics36 of the love-letters or law-letters of past generations. In the lowest compartment37 were bigger bundles secured with straps38, which Arthur judged to contain leases and farm agreements, and the like. Some were of late date--he took up one or two bundles and looked at the endorsements--none of them appeared to be very old.
The middle space displayed a row of old ledgers39 and farm books, and standing alone before them a small iron box. It was with this no doubt that his business lay and he tried his key in it. The key fitted. He opened the box.
It contained three certificates and, though he had been bidden not to rout25 among them, he felt it his duty to ascertain--for he would probably have to inform the brokers--what was the total of the Squire's holding. They all three represented India Stock, and Arthur's eyes glistened40 as he noted41 the amount and figured up the value in his mind. One, as the Squire had said, was for two thousand two hundred, the other two were for two thousand five hundred each. Arthur calculated that at the price of the day they were worth little short of twenty thousand pounds. He withdrew the smallest certificate and locked the box. He had done his errand, but as he went about to close the cupboard-door he paused. He had seen old letters, and modern agreements and the like. But no old deeds. Where did the Squire keep the title deeds of Garth? They were not here.
At Welshes? Perhaps.
Arthur glanced at the other side of the fireplace. There, precisely42 corresponding with the almanac which he had removed, hung an old-fashioned silver sconce with a flat back serving for a reflector. A pair of snuffers flanked the candle-holder on one side, an extinguisher on the other. It was a piece which Arthur had admired for its age but had never seen in use. He stared at it, and as he closed the cupboard and panel by which he stood, and replaced the bit of moulding, he hesitated. With the keys in his hand he cast a glance at the windows, then he crossed the hearth, took down the sconce, and ran his fingers down the moulding.
Yes, here were the cracks, barely to be discovered by the fingers and not at all by the eye. The bit of moulding, when he twisted it, moved stiffly, but it moved. With another glance over his shoulder he inserted the key, then he listened. All was quiet in the house. Outside, a wood-pigeon coo'd in a neighboring tree while a solitary43 rook uttered a shrill44 "Bah-doo! Bah-doo!" not the common caw, but a cry that he had often heard.
Something in the stealthiness of his movements and the stillness of the house, whispered a warning to him, and he paused, his arm raised. Yet--why not? What could come of it? Knowledge was always useful, and if his business had lain with this second cupboard his uncle would have sent him to it as freely as to the other. With an effort he shook off his scruples45, and to satisfy himself that he was doing no wrong he laughed. He turned the key and swung back the panel. He unlocked and opened the inner door.
Here there were but two divisions. The lower one was piled high with plate; with a part, of a dinner-service, cups, bowls, candlesticks, wine-jugs, salt-cellers--a collection that, tarnished46 and dull as the pieces were, made Arthur's mouth water. Among them lay half a dozen leather cases which he fancied held jewellery, and more than a dozen bulky parcels--spoons and forks and the like. They had not been disturbed, it was plain, for years, and he dared not touch them.
On the shelf were two iron boxes, and arrayed before them four parcels of deeds, old and discolored, with ends of green riband hanging from them, and here and there a great seal--one seal was of lead. They gave out a damp, sour smell, the odor of slowly decaying sheepskin. Three of the parcels related to farms which the Squire had bought within Arthur's memory. The fourth and largest bundle, in a coarse wrapper, neatly47 bound about with straps, had a label attached to it, "The Title Deeds of the Garth Estate," and thrust under one of the straps was a folded slip of parchment. Arthur opened this and saw that it was a memorandum48, dated fifty years before, of the deposit of the deeds to secure the repayment49 of thirty-eight thousand pounds and interest. Below were receipts for instalments repaid at intervals50 of years, and opposite the last receipt appeared, in the Squire's hand "Cancelled and deeds returned--Thank God for His mercies!"
Arthur felt a thrill of sympathy as he read the words. He returned the slip to its place and softly closed the door. He swung back the panel and secured it. He replaced the silver sconce.
But though two inches of wood now intervened, he retained a vision of the bundle of deeds. It was not large, he could have carried it under his arm. But it meant, that little parcel, power, wealth, position, the Garth Estate! It spoke51 to Arthur the banker--for whom wealth lay in broad acres themselves, the farms and water-mills, the pieces of paper, not in gold and silver--as eloquently52 as the coverts53 and dingles, the wide-flung hill-side that he loved, spoke to the Squire. For the first time Arthur coveted54 Garth, valuing it not as the Squire did for what it was, hill and dale spread under heaven, but for what it was worth, for what might be made of it, for the uses to which it might be put.
"He has added to it. One could raise fifty thousand on it," he thought. And with fifty thousand what could one not do? With fifty thousand pounds, free money, added to the bank's resources, what might not be done? It was a golden vision that he saw, as he stood in the evening stillness with the scent of roses stealing into the room, and the wood-pigeon cooing softly in the tree outside. Ay, what might he not do!
But the Squire might be growing suspicious. He roused himself, saw that all was as he had found it, and unlocking the door, he went upstairs.
"You've been a long time about it, young man," the Squire grumbled55. "What's amiss?"
But Arthur was ready with his answer. "You told me to go about it quietly, sir. So I waited until the coast was clear. It's a capital hiding-place. It's not to be found in a minute even when you know where it is."
"Ay, ay. It would take a clever rogue56 to find it," complacently57.
"I suppose it's old, sir?"
"My grandfather put it in when the Scots were at Derby. And, mark ye, no one knows of it but Frederick Welsh--and now you. D'you be careful and keep your mouth shut, lad. You ha' got the certificate?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, go about the business and get it done. And now do you send Jos to me."
Arthur made a mental note that the old man was changing at last--was losing that hard grip on all about him which he had maintained for half a century; and he was confirmed in this idea by the ease with which the India Stock transaction presently went through. The brokers showed themselves unusually complaisant58. They wrote that, as the matter was personal to him, they were anxious that nothing should go wrong; and, as his customer was blind, they were forwarding with the transfer on which the particulars had been inserted a duplicate in blank, in order that if the former were spoiled in the execution delay might be avoided. This was irregular, but if the duplicate were not needed, it could be returned and no harm done.
Arthur thought this polite of them, and was flattered; he felt that he was a client of value. But as it turned out the duplicate was not needed; the Squire made nothing of the formality. His hand once directed to the proper place, he signed his name boldly and plainly--as he did most things; and Arthur and Jos added their signatures as witnesses. Ten days later the money was received, and five-sixths of it was paid over to the bank. The duplicate transfer, overlooked at the moment, lay on the Squire's bureau until it did not seem worth while to return it. Then Arthur, tired of coming upon it every day, thrust it out of sight in a pigeonhole60.
He had other things to think of, indeed, for he was in high feather in these days, while the summer sun climbed slowly to the zenith and began again to sink. He had two-fold interests. After a long day spent in the bank he would ride out of town in the cool of the evening, and passing down the winding61 streets under the gables of the old black and white houses, he would cross the West Bridge. Bucketing his horse up the rise that led from the river, he would leave the town behind and see before him the road running straight and dusty towards the sunset-glow, which still shone above the Welsh hills. From the fields on either side came the sharp sound of the scythe-stone, the laughter of hay-makers, the call of the wagoner to his team, the creaking of the laden wheels over the turf. Partridges dusting themselves in the road scuttled62 out of his way and presently took wing; rabbits watched him from the covert-edge. The corncrake's persistent63 note spoke rather of the hot hours that were past than of the evening air that cooled his cheek. An aged12 simpleton in a smocked frock, the clown of the country-side, danced a jig64 before an ale-house; a stray bullock gazed patiently at him from a pound. The country-side lay quiet about him, and despite himself he owned the charm of peace, the fall of night, the end of labor65.
But his thoughts still dwelt on the day's work. There had been a discussion over Wolley's account. Wolley had been behaving ill. Ignoring the claim of the bank he had assigned a number of his railway shares to meet a bill discounted elsewhere. The natural course would have been to insist on the lien59 and to retain the shares. But the consequences, as Ovington saw, might be serious. The step might not only involve the bank in a loss, which he still hoped to avoid, but it might imply taking over the mill--and it is not the business of bankers to run mills. Arthur, on the other hand, who did not like the man, would have cut the knot and sent him to the devil.
In the end Ovington had decided66 against Arthur. "We must be careful," the banker had said. "Credit is like a house of cards. You take one card away, you do not know how many may fall."
"But if we don't teach him a lesson now?"
"Quite true, lad. But--well, I will see him. If, as Rodd thinks, he is drawing bills on men of straw, whose acceptances are worthless----"
"That would be the devil!"
"There will be an end of him--but not of him only. We must go warily67, lad. To throw him down now----" the banker shook his head. "No, we will give him one more chance. I will talk to him."
"I should not have the patience."
"That is one of the things you have to learn."
Arthur reviewed the conversation as he rode, and retained his own opinion. He thought Ovington too apprehensive68. He would himself have played a bolder game and cut Wolley and his losses, if losses there must be. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he dismissed the matter and allowed his thoughts to go before him to Garth, to the old man, to his favor, and the path it opened to Josina. Yes, Josina. He was not doing much there, but there was no hurry, and despite the charms of Garth he had not quite made up his mind. When he did, he anticipated no difficulty.
Still something was due to her, were it only as a matter of form; and she was pale and sweet and appealing. A little love-making would not be unpleasant these summer evenings, though he had so far held off, haunted by a foolish hankering after Betty: Betty with her sparkle and color, her wit and high spirit, ay, and her very temper, mutinous69 little rebel as she was--her temper which, manlike, he longed to tame.
Ten minutes later saw him in the Squire's room, entertaining him with scraps71 of county gossip and the latest news from town. Into the dull room, with its drab hanging and shadowy portraits, where the old man sat by his fireless grate, he came like a gleam of sunshine, his laugh lighting72 up the dim places, his voice expelling the tedium73 of the long day. He brought with him the new Quarterly, or the last Morning Post. He had news of what Sir Harry74 had lost at Goodwood, of Mytton's last scrape, of the poaching affray at my lord's. He had a joke for Josina and a teasing word for Miss Peacock--who idolized him.
And he had tact75. He could listen as well as talk. He heard with interest who had called to ask after the Squire, whose landau and outriders had turned on the narrow sweep, and whose curricle; what humbler visitors had left their respects at the stables or the backdoor, and what was Calamy's last scrap70 of dolefulness.
He was the universal favorite. He had taken the length of the Squire's foot; it had been an easier matter than he had anticipated. But even in his cup there was a sour drop. He had his occasional misgivings76 and now and then he suffered a shock. One day it was, "What about your coat, lad?"
"My coat?" Arthur stared at the old man. He did not understand.
"Ay. You thought that I'd forgotten it. But I'm not that shaken. What about it?"
Now, between the darkness of the night and the confusion, Arthur had not noticed the damage done to Clement's overcoat. Consequently he could make nothing of the Squire's words and he tried to pass the matter off. "Oh, it's all right, sir," he said. He waited for something to enlighten him.
"Can you wear it?"
"Oh yes."
"The deuce you can!" The Squire was surprised. "Then all I can say is, you've found a d--d good cleaner, lad. If you got that blood off--but as you did, all's well. I was afeared I'd owe you a new coat, my boy. I'd not forgotten it, but I knew that you'd not be wearing it this weather, and I thought in another week or two I'd be getting this bandage off. Then I'd see how it was, and what we could do with it."
Arthur understood then, and a thrill of alarm ran through him. What if the Squire began--but no, the danger was over, and as quickly as possible he rid himself of fear. He was not a fool to start at shadows. Things were going so well with him that he had no mind to spare for trifles, and no time to look aside.
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1
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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brokers
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| n.（股票、外币等）经纪人( broker的名词复数 )；中间人；代理商；（订合同的）中人v.做掮客（或中人等）( broker的第三人称单数 )；作为权力经纪人进行谈判；以中间人等身份安排… | |
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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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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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unreasonableness
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| 无理性； 横逆 | |
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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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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stinting
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| v.限制，节省（stint的现在分词形式） | |
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penurious
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| adj.贫困的 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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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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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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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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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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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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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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ledgers
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| n.分类账( ledger的名词复数 ) | |
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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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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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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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memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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repayment
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| n.偿还，偿还款；报酬 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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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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eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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coverts
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| n.隐蔽的，不公开的，秘密的( covert的名词复数 )；复羽 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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complaisant
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| adj.顺从的，讨好的 | |
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lien
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| n.扣押权，留置权 | |
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pigeonhole
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| n.鸽舍出入口；v.把...归类 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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jig
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| n.快步舞（曲）；v.上下晃动；用夹具辅助加工；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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