Now as she sat there she had a revulsion of feeling. The room was not safe, the house was not safe. Not now. She had been very imprudent. She had run straight home to her hiding-place, her only refuge. Why had she not waited to make sure that she was followed? Then she could have slipped away in a different direction until she had evaded7 pursuit, and returned to her room afterwards. She had been very foolish.
She approached her window and gazed down, but could discern nothing in the darkness. She tried to shake off her fear, telling herself that it was imagination. But her mind remained full of misgivings9, and her inner consciousness peopled the obscurity of the street below with lurking figures.
Weariness overcame her. She retired10 from the window and laid down on her bed, not to sleep, but to think. Her fright had turned her mind temporarily from the contemplation of a greater disaster. That was the arrest of Charles Turold. She had learnt the news from an evening paper which she had bought at the corner of the street. The announcement was very brief, merely stating that he had been arrested in Cornwall. The guarded significance of the information was not lost upon her. Charles had been captured on his way back to her, and her agonized11 heart whispered that she was responsible for his fate.
Bitterly she now blamed herself for having let him go on the quest. She hardly asked herself whether it had succeeded or failed, perhaps because she had subconsciously12 accepted the view that Thalassa, after all, had nothing to tell. Nor did she think of the calamity13 which had again overtaken her love. The effect of her original renunciation was still strong within her, and Charles’s discovery of her and her promise to him had not really altered her attitude. His finding her, and their subsequent conversation in the room below, bore an air of the strangest unreality to her, as if she had been merely an actor in a stirring scene which did not actually affect her. Some subtle inward voice told her that these things did not matter to her.
It was part of a feeling which she had always within her—the sense of living under the shadow of some dark destiny which would not be mitigated14 or withheld15. It was a strange point of view for one so young, but it had been hers ever since she remembered anything. The tragedy and the shame which had come into her life recently had found her, as it were, waiting. She regarded them merely as the partial fulfilment of the unescapable thing which had been prepared for her before she was born, and had dogged her lonely footsteps since childhood. In the isolated16 circumstances of her life and upbringings it was not strange, perhaps, that she had such imaginings.
She had loved Charles Turold with all the strength of a passionate17 solitary18 nature, and it was this feeling or instinct of fatality19 which had given her the strength to renounce20 him. Indeed, it seemed to her that that inseparable companion of her inmost thoughts had prompted her to linger outside the door at Flint House on this afternoon so that she should overhear her father’s words—catch that sinister21 fragment of a sentence which compelled her to refuse the love of Charles until she had learnt the truth. She could not listen to him with that secret half-guessed. And, the full truth known, no other course was open to her save renunciation.
She had not wavered. Sometimes, in the vain way of the young heart seeking for happiness, she found herself wishing that she had not listened at the door to those few words which sent her back to Flint House that awful night to learn the truth from her father, or, at least, had not acted upon them. The words she overheard had not told her much, and she might have tried to forget them. But she thrust that thought from her like an evil thing. She would have hated herself if she had followed that course and found out the truth of her birth afterwards, deeming herself unworthy of the love of one who had been ready to sacrifice everything for her sake. No! It was better, far better, that she should know.
She had not thought of suspicion falling on herself. Her youth and inexperience, borne upward on the lofty wings of sacrifice, had not foreseen the damning significance which might gather round her secret visit to Flint House and her subsequent disappearance22. Not even when she heard of her father’s death had the folly23 of her contemplated24 action dawned on her. Her dreamy unpractical temperament25, keyed up to the great act of abnegation, had not paused to consider what the consequences might be to herself.
Lying there in the darkness of her room, she recalled how that revelation had been made to her. It was the first night after her arrival in London, in the drawing-room of a private hotel near Russell Square, where she had intended staying for a few days while she sought for some kind of employment. There was a group of women seated round the fireplace, talking. She was seated by herself some distance away, turning over the leaves of a magazine, when a loud remark by one of the speakers startled her into an attitude of listening fear. “Have you read about this Cornwall murder?” The words, cold and distinct, had broken into her sad reflections like a stone dropped from a great height. They had gone on talking without looking at her, and she had listened intently, masking her conscious features with the open magazine. It was well that she did. They discussed the murder in animated26 tones. The strangest case! … A great title … the Turrald title … to be heard before the House of Lords next week … and now the claimant was murdered … he was very wealthy, too. Thus they talked; then the first voice, which seemed to dominate all the others, broke in: “It was thought to be suicide at first, but I see by tonight’s paper that his daughter is suspected. She has disappeared, and is supposed to have fled to London. What are girls coming to—always shooting somebody or somebody shooting them! It’s the war, I suppose….”
The shock of that double disclosure had been almost too much to bear. Till then she had not known that her father had been murdered, much less that she was suspected of killing27 him. Dizziness had swept over her. Things seemed to spin round her, yet she saw them rotating with a kind of dreadful distinctness—the false smiling faces of the women, the furniture, a cat blinking on the hearthrug, an empty coffee cup on a small table. One stout28 lady, enthroned on a pile of red and blue cushions, sailed round and round on a sofa with the preposterous29 repetition and tragic30 reality of a fat woman on a roundabout. Then the circling faces and furniture vanished. She swayed with the sensation of growing darkness, and had the oddest fancy that the break of the waves on Cornish cliffs was sounding in her ears. She was dreamily inhaling31 the sea air….
She had pulled herself sharply together. She had something of her father’s tenacity32 and courage in her composition, and that had nerved her to face the ordeal33 and saved her from giving herself away. The darkness lightened, the electric lights danced dizzily back into view, and the room became stationary34 once more. With an effort at calmness she rose from her seat and sought her room, and next morning she left the house. Henceforth her lot was one of furtive36 movement and concealment37.
As she lay there, staring open-eyed into the darkness, her thoughts slipped back to the night of her visit to Flint House in a vain effort to recollect38 some overlooked incident which might throw light on her father’s mysterious death. There was one thing over which she had frequently puzzled without arriving at any interpretation39 of it. She thought of it now. She saw herself stealing from her father’s room with the sound of his last awful words ringing through her being. Beneath, near the foot of the staircase, she could see Thalassa waiting, the glow of the tiny hall light falling on his stern listening face. She was walking along the passage to go to him when some impulse impelled40 her to glance through a window which looked out on the moors42 and the rocks near the house.
Her eyes had fallen on a shape, shrouded43 in the obscurity of the rocks not far from the window, which seemed to have some semblance44 to the motionless figure of a man. She had stood there for a moment, glancing down intently, but it had not stirred. If it had human semblance, it seemed to be carved in stone. She came to the conclusion that she was mistaken. Experience had taught her what strange shapes the rocks took after nightfall. With another fleeting45 glance she had hurried downstairs, and from the house.
She thought about it now without arriving at any conclusion as to what it was that she had seen so indistinctly—whether man or rock. Charles had been up there that night, but it was not Charles. This figure or rock was on the other side of the house.
Stupor46 descended47 gradually on her tired brain like the coming of darkness, and she fell into sleep—the first rest that had visited her since she learnt of Charles’s arrest. But her slumber48 was disturbed by dreams. She dreamt that she was back in Cornwall, sitting on her old perch49 at the foot of the cliffs, looking at the Moon Rock. The face in the Rock was watching her, as it had always watched her, but this time with a dreadful sneer50 which she had never seen before. It frightened her so that she moaned and tossed uneasily, and awoke with a cry, shaking with terror.
As she reached out her hand for the matches by the bedside to light the gas, the sound of the front door-bell pealed51 through the house. Sisily sprang up, her eyes seeking to pierce the darkness, her ears listening intently. Who could it be? She was alone in the house. Mrs. Johns had gone to one of her spiritualistic meetings, and was not likely to be home until late. Besides, she had her own key, with which she always let herself in. She crept cautiously to the window and strained her eyes downward. She was just able to catch a glimpse of two vague figures underneath52 in the darkness. The light of the street lamp glinted on something one of them was wearing on his head. It was a policeman’s helmet.
The terror of the hunted took possession of her. She sought to remain calm; her trembling lips essayed a sentence of a prayer. But it was no use. She was too young for philosophy or Christian53 resignation. Terror shook her with massive jaws54. She did not want to be caught, to be put in prison, to be killed. She wandered aimlessly about the room like a trapped creature. She must escape—she would escape!
With a great effort she calmed herself to reflect—to calculate if there was any chance of getting away. She esteemed55 it fortunate that she had not lit the gas in her room. The whole house was in darkness. The policeman might think there was nobody in, and go away. But she dared not reckon on that.
There came another and louder ring of the bell downstairs.
Again she crept to the window and looked down. The policeman and the other man were conferring in a murmur56 which reached her ears. The policeman stepped back into the garden path and scanned the darkened windows of the house. She shrank back from the window.
The ring was followed by the sound of knocking at the front door—knocking heavy and prolonged, which reverberated57 solemnly through the silent house. Then once more there was silence.
In her ignorance of the methods of the law she wondered wildly whether the next step would be to break in the door and search the house. Terror shook her again at this thought, scorched58 her with burning breath. She would escape—she must. But how? Her fingernails pierced the palms of her hands as she vainly tried to think out a way. Should she hide somewhere? She rejected that plan as impracticable. The back way? But there was no outlet—only a small garden abutting59 on other back gardens. There was a dark side street only a few houses away. If she could only reach it….
She stood quite motionless, expecting the knocking to start again. But it did not. She thought she heard the shuffle60 of feet and husky whispers in the garden path underneath, but she could not be sure of that. What were they doing? Why were they so silent? “Suppose they got in through the window?” she whispered to herself. Her soul died within her at that thought. She tried to assure herself that the windows were locked, but her staring eyes peopled the invisible staircase with creeping figures. The darkness grew intense and terrifying, like a rushing black torrent61 flowing over her head. She was alone, in an empty world … The torrent ceased, and the darkness took the form of a great sable62 wing, moving, flapping, seeking to enfold her. She put up her hands to ward8 it off.
At that instant a sharp and decisive sound reached her. It was the click of a shut gate. As she recognized the sound a new thought came to her—a hope, when hope seemed gone. She stepped noiselessly to the window and looked down. She was just in time to catch a glimpse of two retreating figures revealed in dark contour beneath the rays of the street lamp. The next moment they passed out of sight.
They had gone! But they would return—she felt sure of that. She must get away at once before they did—run out of the door and make for the side street.
She listened for a moment longer. There was no sound anywhere now. The house was lapped in absolute quietness. She felt for her hat, and calming her nerves with a desperate effort, stole quickly from the room and downstairs. As she stood in the silent hall, facing the closed door, she again thought she heard whisperings. She recoiled63 in fear, wondering if they were outside, waiting. It was her worst ordeal yet. Then desperation conquered her terror. Her trembling fingers pulled back the bolt, and she issued forth35.
There was no one there to check her flight. The streets seemed empty. Without turning her head she ran past the houses which intervened between her and the side street. She gained it, and turned into its friendly darkness. She was as free as a bird again, for the moment.
A kind of exultation64 seized her at this unexpected deliverance from her adventure, but that mood passed as she reflected upon her present position. She had left the house without her few belongings65, and what was far worse, without her money, which she kept in a hand-bag locked up in her small case in the bedroom she had just left.
She had not a penny in the world, and she dared not go back.
That was not the moment to reflect upon the grimness of her situation. The sound of approaching footsteps shaped her fears of capture into renewed action. She walked rapidly away.
The time was near midnight, and the streets were almost empty. She kept her way along dark obscure streets, shunning67 the lighted thoroughfares. She had no settled plan in her mind, except to keep on. Hers was the instinct of the hunted creature for darkness and obscurity. Her fevered spirit hurried her along, spurring her with the menace of an imprisonment68 which was worse than the cramped69 horror of the grave. In the grave there was no consciousness of the weight of the earth above, but in prison, held like an animal, watched by horrible men, beating despairing hands against locked doors—ah, no, no! Her free young body and soul revolted with nausea70 at the thought. Death would be better than that. She walked still more rapidly.
With that possibility impending71 she shrank from any chance contact with passers-by, turning into side streets to avoid any one she saw coming. Once, a policeman, appearing unexpectedly out of the shadows, set her heart beating wildly, but he passed by without looking at her.
It grew later, and the streets became quite deserted72. She had been walking for more than an hour when she noticed that the houses were scattered73, with open spaces now and then, and a bracing74 freshness in the air which suggested that she was getting away from where the herds76 of London slept, into open spaces. For some obscure reason this made her nervous, and she turned back. After a while London closed in on her again, but this time in a more squalid quarter, a wilderness77 of dirty narrow streets, where even in the darkness the debasing marks and odours of squalid poverty were perceptible in the endless rows of houses which seemed to crowd in upon her. She came to a bridge and crossed it into an area of gaunt and darkened factories. Here, strange nocturnal noises and sights frightened her. She saw shadowy forms, and heard rough voices on a wharf78 in the blackness of the river beneath her, followed by a woman’s scream. She ran when she heard that—ran along the riverside till she came to another bridge, which she recrossed. She found herself in a quieter and better part of London, where the streets were wide and well-kept, and she slackened her pace into a walk again.
The night wore on like eternity79, with immeasurable slowness yet incredible swiftness. She had been walking for hours, and yet she had no feeling of fatigue80. She seemed to move through the streets without any effort of her own. Towards the morning she was carried along with a complete absence of bodily sensation, as if she had been in very truth one of those disembodied spirits of Mrs. Johns’ spirit world, driven through the solitude81 of the ages by the implacable decree of some incalculable malignant82 force called immortality83. She felt as though centuries of time had rolled over her head when the murk of the lowering sky lightened, and the London dawn was born, naked and grey.
The dawn brought London to life with a speed which was in the nature of a miracle. From the appearance of the first workers to the flocking of the streets, was, as it were, but a moment. The ‘buses and trams commenced running, and shops opened. Sisily found herself walking along Holborn, where the thickening crowds jostled her as she walked. But she did not care for that now, nor did she seek the comparative seclusion84 of the side streets. Her fear of capture had passed away, and her only feeling was impenetrable isolation85 and loneliness. The people who were passing had no more existence to her than if they had been a troop of ghosts. She had the sensation of belonging to another world and could not have communicated with them if she had wished. But the spirit which had sustained her during the night disappeared with the clamorous86 advance of the day. She became in an instant conscious of the grievous pangs87 of a body which seemed to have been flung back to her in a damaged state. It ached all over. Her head throbbed88 with a dull buzzing sound, and she was so tired that she could hardly stand. She felt as if she must lie down—in the street, anywhere. And she was tormented89 by thirst. But she still kept on.
She found herself, after a while, by one of those little backwaters which are the salvation90 of strangers to London: a green railed square, with trees and fountains, and a quiet pavement where a street artist was drawing bright pictures with crayons. An old four-wheeler was moored91 in the gutter92 by the entrance, the horse munching93 in the depths of a nose-bag, the elderly driver reclining against the side of the cab, smoking and watching the pavement artist.
Sisily entered the empty square to rest herself. As she sat there on one of the wooden seats the full misery94 of her situation came home to her, and she asked herself anxiously what she was to do. She had nowhere to go, and no money to buy food or shelter—nothing in the world that she could call her own except the clothes she was wearing. They were the coat and skirt she had put on to come to London, and she noticed with feminine concern that the dark cloth showed disreputable stains and splashes of her night’s exposure. Hastily she took her handkerchief from her pocket to remove the tell-tale marks. As she did so a bit of buff cardboard fluttered on to the gravel95 at her feet. She stooped and picked it up. It was the return half of her ticket to Cornwall.
The remembrance of her arrival at Paddington revived in her as she looked at it—the fright she had had when the ticket collector caught her by the arm to return half of the whole ticket she had given up. She had put the ticket in the pocket of her jacket and never thought of it again. Had Fate decreed her original mistake of taking a return ticket when she needed only a single one? She was at that moment inclined to think so.
The question of its use was decided96 as soon as she saw it. The ticket would take her back to Cornwall and Thalassa. Thalassa would help and shield her.
The gilt97 hands of a church clock opposite the square pointed98 to half-past eight. She knew that the morning express for Cornwall started shortly after ten, but she did not know what part of London she was in or the direction of Paddington. Animated by a new hope, she left her seat and asked the cabman for directions.
The cabman looked at her with a ruminating99 eye. That eye, with unfathomable perspicacity100, seemed to pry101 into her empty pockets and pierce her penniless state. He did not ask her if she wanted to be driven there, but intimated with a shake of his grey head that Paddington was a goodish walk. Then he gave her directions for finding it—implicit and repeated directions, as though his all-seeing eye had also divined that she was a stranger to the ways of London.
Sisily thanked him and turned away, repeating his directions so that she should not have to ask anybody else. First to the right, second to the left, along Tottenham Court Road to Oxford102 Street, up Oxford Street to Edgeware Road, down Edgeware Road to Praed Street—so it ran. She followed them carefully, and found herself on Paddington station a quarter of an hour before the departure of the express.
She entered a third-class carriage, but sat in a corner seat, longing66 for the train to move out. The minutes dragged slowly, and passengers kept thronging103 in. All sorts of people seemed to have business in Cornwall at that late season of the year. They came hurrying along in groups looking for vacant compartments105. Sisily kept an eager eye upon the late arrivals, hoping that they would pass by her compartment106. By some miraculous107 chance she was left undisturbed until almost starting time, then a group of fat women dashed along the platform with the celerity of fear, and crowded ponderously108 in. The next moment the train began to slip away from the station, and was soon rushing into the open country at high speed.
Of the details of that journey she knew nothing at all. She sat staring out of the window, her thoughts racing75 faster than the train. The events of the last few days receded109 from her mental vision like the flying houses and fields outside the carriage window, fading into some remote distance of her mind. Relief swelled110 in her heart as the train rushed west and London was left farther and farther behind. Something within her seemed to sing piercingly for joy, as though she had been a strange wild bird escaping from captivity111 to wing her way westward112 to the open spaces by the sea. London had frightened her. Its crowded vastness had suffocated113 her, its indifference114 had appalled115 her. She had felt so hopelessly alone there; far lonelier than she had ever been in Cornwall or Norfolk. Nature could be brutal116, but never indifferent. She could be friendly—sometimes. The sea and the sky had whispered loving greetings to her, but not London. There was nothing but a hideous117 and blank indifference there. She was glad to get away—away from the endless rows of shops and houses, from the unceasing throngs118 of indifferent people, back to the lonely moors of Cornwall, to look down from the rocks at the sea, and breathe the keen gusty119 air.
As the journey advanced and the train swept farther west she became dull, languid, almost inert120. Lack of food and the previous night’s exposure induced in her a feeling of giddiness which at times had in it something of the nature of delirium121. In this state her mind turned persistently122 to Thalassa, and the object of her return to him. She was struggling towards him, up great heights, under a nightmare burden. She seemed to see him standing123 there with his hands outstretched, ready to lift the burden off her shoulders if she could only reach him. Then she was back in the kitchen at Flint House, watching him bending over his lamps, listening to the wicked old song he used to sing—
"The devil and me we went away to sea,
In the old brig 'Lizbeth-Jane...."
The train caught up the refrain and thundered it into her tired head … “Went away to sea, went away to sea, In the old brig ‘Lizbeth-Jane.” And, listening to it, she fell into a dazed slumber.
She awoke with a start to find that it was getting dusk and the train was running smoothly124 through South Cornwall. As she looked out of the window a grey corpse125 of a hill seemed to rise out of the sea. It was Mount St. Michael. Then she caught a glimpse of Carn Brea and the purple moors. The people in the carriage began to collect light luggage and put on coats and wraps. The next moment the train came to a standstill at Penzance station.
She clung to the safety of the throng104 in passing through the barrier, fearing most the St. Fair wagonette which might be drawn126 up outside. She was not known in Penzance, but the driver of the wagonette might recognize her. But Mr. Crows, indifferent to shillings, had not yet arrived. Sisily hurried past a group scanning the distant heights for the gaunt outline of the descending127 cab, like shipwrecked mariners128 on the look-out for a sail.
She reached the moor41 road by a short cut through the back part of the town, and set out for Flint House in the velvety129 shadows of the early gloaming.
It had been raining, but the rain had ceased. The sun, hidden through a long grey day, shone with dying brilliance130 in a patch of horizon blue, gilding131 the wet road, and making the wayside puddles132 glitter like mirrors. A soddened133 little bird twittered joyfully134 in the hedge, casting a round black eye at her as she passed. The moors, carpeted with purple, stretched all around her, glistening135, wet, beautiful.
In the train she had felt hungry and tired, with burning head and cold limbs. As she walked these feelings wore off, and were replaced by a feeling of upliftment which was magical in its change. Her misery and her burden dropped from her. The softness of the moors was beneath her feet, and a sweet wind touched her lips and cheeks with a breath which was a caress136. The plaintive137 distant cry of a gull138 reached her like a greeting. The solitude of Cornwall surrounded her.
When she reached the cross-roads she struck out across the moors. Before her, at no great distance, she could see the swelling139 mountainous reaches of green water breaking on the rocks in a long white line of foam140, and the dark outline of Flint House clinging to the dizzy summit of the black broken cliffs.
Her false strength failed her suddenly as she neared her journey’s end. The house loomed141 dimly before her tired vision in the fast gathering143 darkness. She stumbled with faltering144 steps round the side of the house to the kitchen door, and turned the handle. It was locked. She knocked loudly.
As in a vision she saw the white furtive face of Mrs. Thalassa peering out at her from the window, and her fluttering hands pressed against the glass, as though to thrust her back. Sisily rushed to the window.
“Let me in!” she cried. “It is I—Sisily.”
The window opened suddenly, and Mrs. Thalassa stood there looking out at her like a small grey ghost—a ghost with watchful145 glittering eyes.
“Go away—go away,” she whispered with a cunning glance. “Quick! They’re looking for you—they’ll catch you.”
Sisily’s heart went cold within her. “Where is Thalassa?” she faltered146. “Send him to me—tell him I have come back.” Her eyes travelled vainly around the gloom of the empty kitchen in search of him.
“He’s gone—gone away!”
“Gone? Oh, no, no! Don’t say that. Where has he gone?”
“I don’t know. He went away. He’s not coming back.” She shook her head angrily, with a wild gleam in her eye. “You go away, too, or they’ll catch you—the police. They come every night to look for you.”
She cast another cunning look at the girl, and shut down the window. Sisily could see her reaching up and fumbling147 with the lock. Thalassa gone! Despair clutched her with iron hands, and held her fast. She glanced up at the window of her father’s study, and thought she saw the dead man there, his stern face looking coldly down upon her. She turned away shuddering148. Where could she go? She had nowhere to go, and she knew her strength would not carry her much farther.
She plunged149 blindly into the shelter of the great rocks near the house. She found herself wandering among them like a being in a dream. Then complete unconsciousness overtook her, and she sank down.
When she came to herself again night had descended and a storm was brewing150. She sat up wonderingly and looked around her, indifferent to the rain which had commenced to fall on her uncovered head. Gradually remembrance came back to her. She saw that she was lying on the great slab151 of basalt which overhung the Moon Rock. She could hear the beat of the sea far beneath her, but she felt no fear. She was not conscious of her body or limbs—of nothing but a burning brain, and wide-open eyes which gazed out into the darkness and stillness around her.
As she looked it seemed to her startled imagination that the masses of rocks which littered the edge of the cliff moved closer to each other, starting out of the shadows into monstrous152 grotesque153 life, then circling round her in a strange and dizzy whirl. It was as though the old Cornish giants had come back to life for a corybantic dance with the demirips of their race—dancing to the music of the sea sucking and gurgling into the caves at the base of the cliffs. With swimming eyes Sisily watched them careering and pirouetting around her. Faster and faster they went, advancing, retreating, bending clumsily, then wavering, toppling, reeling, like giants well drunk. A great stone fell into the sea with a splash, as if dislodged by a giant foot. As though that signalled the cockcrow of their glee, the dancers stopped in listening attitudes, and sank back into rocks once more.
Sisily turned her eyes weakly from the slumbering154 rocks to the hills. The light of a coming moon behind them showed the outline of the granite155 pillars and stone altars of the Druids, where they had once sought to appease156 their savage157 gods, like the Israelites of old. Sisily had often meditated158 by these places of sacrifice, trying to picture the scene. Now, as she looked, it was enacted159 before her eyes. A red light brooded on one of the hills, growing brighter and brighter. Brutish shaggy figures came out of the darkness, dragging a youth to the altar. Sisily saw him distinctly. He was naked, with a beautiful face, haggard and white, and was bound with cords. Suddenly he freed himself, and dashed down the slope into the darkness. He was pursued and brought back, and the cries of his pursuers mingled160 with an appalling161 scream for help which seemed to float down the mountain side to where she lay, filling the silent air with echoes.
This scene, too, faded away, and the beams of the rising moon, now beginning to show over the hill-tops, formed in her mind the mirage162 of a beautiful day—one of those exquisite163 days which Nature produces at long intervals164. Sisily saw a blue sky, sunlight like burnished165 silver, green fields and clear pools in which everything was reflected … a slumbrous perfect day, with drowsy166 cattle knee-deep in grass, bees, and floating butterflies, and the shrill167 notes of happy birds.
Once more the tangled168 loom142 of her fevered brain wove a new picture. She was back in her bedroom at Flint House, looking down at the graven face of the Moon Rock. As she looked, a great hand seemed to come out of the sea and beckon169 to her. The summons was one she dare not disobey. She left her bed, crept downstairs in the darkness, out to the edge of the cliff, and looked down. The face of the Moon Rock was watching her intently. She thought it called her name.
Ah, what was that cry? She came to her senses, startled, and looked fearfully round her. She was alone on the cliffs, above the Moon Rock, and she could hear the sea hissing170 at its base. But what else had she heard? Had somebody called her name? It was still very dark. To the south the light of the Lizard171 stabbed the black sky with a white flaming finger as if seeking to pierce the darkness of eternity. Nearer, the red light of the Wolf rock gleamed—a warning to passing souls flying southward from England to eternal bliss172 to fly high above the rock where the spirit dog lay howling in wait. Had the cry come from there?
“Sisily! Sisily!”
No. It was not the howl of the Wolf dog that she had heard. That was her own name. She crept closer to the edge of the cliff and looked down into the sea—down at the Moon Rock. The old Cornish legend of the drowned love came back to her. Was Charles dead? and calling her to him? She would go to him gladly. She had loved him in life, and if he wanted her in death she would go to him.
She clutched a broken spur of rock on the brink173 and looked down to where the sea bored round the black sides of the Moon Rock. She could see her own pool too, lying peaceful and calm in the encircling arm of the rock. In her delirium she struggled to her feet and started to climb down the face of the cliff.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
instinctive
|
|
| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
lurking
|
|
| 潜在 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
alteration
|
|
| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
haven
|
|
| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
fortress
|
|
| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
evaded
|
|
| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
ward
|
|
| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
misgivings
|
|
| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
agonized
|
|
| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
subconsciously
|
|
| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
calamity
|
|
| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
mitigated
|
|
| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
withheld
|
|
| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
isolated
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
fatality
|
|
| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
renounce
|
|
| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
sinister
|
|
| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
disappearance
|
|
| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
contemplated
|
|
| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
preposterous
|
|
| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
tragic
|
|
| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
inhaling
|
|
| v.吸入( inhale的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
tenacity
|
|
| n.坚韧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
ordeal
|
|
| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
stationary
|
|
| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
furtive
|
|
| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
concealment
|
|
| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
recollect
|
|
| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
interpretation
|
|
| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
impelled
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
moor
|
|
| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
moors
|
|
| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
shrouded
|
|
| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
semblance
|
|
| n.外貌，外表 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
fleeting
|
|
| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
stupor
|
|
| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
slumber
|
|
| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
perch
|
|
| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
pealed
|
|
| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
underneath
|
|
| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
jaws
|
|
| n.口部；嘴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
esteemed
|
|
| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
reverberated
|
|
| 回响，回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
scorched
|
|
| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
abutting
|
|
| adj.邻接的v.（与…）邻接( abut的现在分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
shuffle
|
|
| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
torrent
|
|
| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
sable
|
|
| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
recoiled
|
|
| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
exultation
|
|
| n.狂喜，得意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
belongings
|
|
| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
shunning
|
|
| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
imprisonment
|
|
| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
cramped
|
|
| a.狭窄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
nausea
|
|
| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
impending
|
|
| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
bracing
|
|
| adj.令人振奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
racing
|
|
| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
herds
|
|
| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
wharf
|
|
| n.码头，停泊处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
eternity
|
|
| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
malignant
|
|
| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
immortality
|
|
| n.不死，不朽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
seclusion
|
|
| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
isolation
|
|
| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
clamorous
|
|
| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
pangs
|
|
| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
throbbed
|
|
| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
tormented
|
|
| 饱受折磨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
salvation
|
|
| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
moored
|
|
| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
gutter
|
|
| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
munching
|
|
| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
gravel
|
|
| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
gilt
|
|
| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
ruminating
|
|
| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
perspicacity
|
|
| n. 敏锐, 聪明, 洞察力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
pry
|
|
| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
thronging
|
|
| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
throng
|
|
| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
compartments
|
|
| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
compartment
|
|
| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
miraculous
|
|
| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
ponderously
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
receded
|
|
| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
swelled
|
|
| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
captivity
|
|
| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
westward
|
|
| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
suffocated
|
|
| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
appalled
|
|
| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
brutal
|
|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
throngs
|
|
| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
gusty
|
|
| adj.起大风的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
inert
|
|
| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
delirium
|
|
| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
persistently
|
|
| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
smoothly
|
|
| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
descending
|
|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
mariners
|
|
| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
velvety
|
|
| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
brilliance
|
|
| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
gilding
|
|
| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
puddles
|
|
| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
soddened
|
|
| v.（液体）沸腾( seethe的过去分词 )( sodden的过去分词 )；激动，大怒；强压怒火；生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
joyfully
|
|
| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
glistening
|
|
| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
caress
|
|
| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
plaintive
|
|
| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
gull
|
|
| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
swelling
|
|
| n.肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
foam
|
|
| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
loomed
|
|
| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
loom
|
|
| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
faltering
|
|
| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
faltered
|
|
| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
fumbling
|
|
| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
shuddering
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
brewing
|
|
| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
slab
|
|
| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
monstrous
|
|
| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
slumbering
|
|
| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
granite
|
|
| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
appease
|
|
| v.安抚，缓和，平息，满足 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
meditated
|
|
| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
enacted
|
|
| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
appalling
|
|
| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
mirage
|
|
| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
intervals
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
burnished
|
|
| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
drowsy
|
|
| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
shrill
|
|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
tangled
|
|
| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
beckon
|
|
| v.(以点头或打手势)向...示意，召唤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
hissing
|
|
| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
lizard
|
|
| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
bliss
|
|
| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
brink
|
|
| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |