To Northland folk the unclosing buds of April brought no awakening8; lethargy fettered9 all, arresting vigour10, sapping desire. An immense inertia11 chained progress in its tracks, while overhead the gray storm-wrack fled away,—misty, monstrous12, gale13-driven before the coming hurricane.
Still, for the Northland, there remained now little of the keener suspense14 since those first fiery15 outbursts in the South; but all through the winter the dull pain throbbed16 in silence as star after star dropped from the old galaxy17 and fell flashing into the new.
And it was a time of apathy18, acquiescence19, stupefied incredulity; a time of dull faith in destiny, duller resignation.
The printed news was read day after day by a people who understood nothing, neither the cautious arming nor the bold disarming20, nor the silent fall of fortified21 places, nor the swift dismantling22 of tall ships—nor did they comprehend the ceaseless tremors23 of a land slowly crumbling24 under the subtle pressure—nor that at last the vast disintegration25 of the matrix would disclose the forming crystal of another nation cradled there, glittering, naming under the splendour of the Southern skies.
A palsied Old Year had gone out. The mindless old man—he who had been President—went with it. A New Year had come in, and on its infant heels shambled a tall, gaunt shape that seated itself by the White House windows and looked out into the murk of things with eyes that no man understood.
And now the soft sun of April spun26 a spell upon the Northland folk; for they had eyes but they saw not; ears had they, but they heard not; neither spoke27 they through the mouth.
To them only one figure seemed real, looming28 above the vast and motionless mirage29 where a continent stood watching the parapets of a sea-girt fort off Charleston.
But the nation looked too long; the mirage closed in; fort, sea, the flag itself, became unreal; the lone30 figure on the parapet turned to a phantom32. God's will was doing. Who dared doubt?
"There seems to be no doubt in the South," observed Ailsa Paige to her brother-in-law one fragrant33 evening after dinner where, in the dusk, the family had gathered on the stoop after the custom of a simpler era.
Along the dim street long lines of front stoops blossomed with the light spring gowns of women and young girls, pale, dainty clusters in the dusk set with darker figures, where sparks from cigars glowed and waned34 in the darkness.
Windows were open, here and there a gas jet in a globe flickered35 inside a room, but the street was dusky and tranquil37 as a country lane, and unilluminated save where at far intervals38 lamp-posts stood in a circle of pale light, around which a few moths39 hovered40.
"The rebels," repeated Ailsa, "appear to have no doubts, honest or otherwise. They've sent seven thousand troops to the Charleston fortifications—the paper says."
Stephen Craig heard his cousin speak but made no response. He was smoking openly and in sight of his entire family the cigar which had, heretofore, been consumed surreptitiously. His mother sat close to his shoulder, rallying him like a tormenting42 schoolgirl, and, at intervals, turning to look back at her husband who stood on the steps beside her, a little amused, a little proud, a little inclined to be critical of this tall son of his who yesterday had been a boy.
The younger daughters of the house, Paige and Marye, strolled past, bareheaded, arms linked, in company with Camilla and Jimmy Lent.
"O dad!" called out Paige softly, "Jim says that Major Anderson is to be reinforced at once. There was a bulletin this evening."
"I am very glad to hear it, sweetheart," said her father, smiling through his eye-glasses.
Stephen bent44 forward across his mother's shoulder. "Is that true, father?"
"Camilla's brother has probably been reading the Tribune's evening bulletin. The Herald45 bulletin says that the Cabinet has ordered the evacuation of Fort Sumter; the Times says Major Anderson is to be reinforced; the World says that he abandoned the fort last night; and they all say he has been summoned to surrender. Take your choice, Steve," he added wearily. "There is only one wire working from the South, and the rebels control that."
"Are you tired, Curt46?" asked his wife, looking around and up at him.
He seated himself and readjusted his eye-glasses.
"No, dear—only of this nightmare we are living in"—he stopped abruptly47. Politics had been avoided between them. There was a short silence; he felt his wife's hand touch his in the darkness—sign of a tender respect for his perplexity, but not for his political views.
"Forgive me, dear, for using the word 'rebel,'" he said, smiling and straightening his shoulders. "Where have you and Ailsa been to-day? Did you go to New York?"
"Yes. We saw the Academy, and, oh, Curt! there are some very striking landscapes—two by Gifford; and the cutest portrait of a girl by Wiyam Hunt. And your friend Bierstadt has a Western scene—all fireworks! and, dear, Eastman Johnson was there—and Kensett sent such a cunning little landscape. We lunched at Taylor's." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Ailsa did look too cute fo' words. I declare she is the most engaging little minx. Eve'y man sta'ed at her. I wish she would marry again and be happy. She doesn't know what a happy love affair can be—poor baby."
"Do you?" asked her husband.
"Are you beginning to co't me again, Curt?"
"Have I ever ceased?—you little Rebel!"
"No," she said under her breath.
"By the way, Celia," he said smiling, "that young man—cousin of yours—Berkley, turned up promptly48 to-day. I gave him a room in the office."
"That was certainly ve'y frien'ly of you, Curt!" she responded warmly. "You will be patient with him, won't you?"
"I've had to be already. I gave him a commission to collect some rents and he came back fifty dollars short, calmly explaining that one of our lodgers49 looked poor and he hated to ask for the rent."
"O Curt—the boy is ve'y sweet and wa'm-hearted. Were you cross with him?"
"Not very. I imparted a few plain truths—very pleasantly, Celia. He knew better; there's a sort of an impish streak50 in him—also an inclination51 for the pleasant by-ways of life. . . . He had better let drink alone, too, if he expects to remain in my office. I told him that."
"Does he—the foolish baby!"
"Oh, probably not very much. I don't know; he's likable, but—he hasn't inspired me with any overwhelming respect and confidence. His record is not exactly savoury. But he's your protege, and I'll stand him as long as you can."
"Thank you, Curt. We must be gentle to him. I shall ask him to dinner and we can give a May dance perhaps—something informal and pretty—What is the matter, Curt?"
"Nothing, dear. . . . Only I wouldn't plan anything just yet—I mean for the present—not for a few days, anyway——"
He shrugged53, removed his glasses, polished them on his handkerchief, and sat holding them, his short-sighted eyes lost in reverie.
His wife endured it to the limit of patience:
"Curt," she began in a lower voice, "you and I gen'ally avoid certain matters, dear—but—ev'ything is sure to come right in the end—isn't it? The No'th is going to be sensible."
"In the—end," he admitted quietly. And between them the ocean sprang into view again.
"I wonder—" She stopped, and an inexplicable54 uneasiness stirred in her breast. She looked around at her son, her left hand fell protectingly upon his shoulder, her right, groping, touched her husband's sleeve.
"I am—well cared for—in the world," she sighed happily to herself. "It shall not come nigh me."
Stephen was saying to Ailsa:
"There's a piece of up-town property that came into the office to-day which seems to me significant of the future. It would be a good investment for you, Cousin Ailsa. Some day Fifth Avenue will be built up solidly with brown-stone mansions55 as far as the Central Park. It is all going to be wonderfully attractive when they finish it."
Ailsa mused43 for a moment. Then:
"I walked down this street to Fort Greene this afternoon," she began, "and the little rocky park was so sweet and fragrant with dogwood and Forsythia and new buds everywhere. And I looked out over the rivers and the bay and over the two cities and, Steve, somehow—I don't know why—I found my eyes filling with tears. I don't know why, Steve——"
"Feminine sentiment," observed her cousin, smoking.
Mrs. Craig's fingers became restless on her husband's sleeve; she spoke at moments in soft, wistful tones, watching her younger daughters and their friends grouped under the trees in the dusk. And all the time, whatever it was that had brought a new unease into her breast was still there, latent. She had no name to give it, no reason, no excuse; it was too shadowy to bear analysis, too impalpable to be defined, yet it remained there; she was perfectly57 conscious of it, as she held her husband's sleeve the tighter.
"Curt, is business so plaguey poor because of all these politics?"
"My business is not very flourishing. Many men feel the uncertainty58; not everybody, dear."
"When this—matter—is settled, everything will be easier for you, won't it? You look so white and tired, dear."
Stephen overheard her.
"The matter, as you call it, won't be settled without a row, mother—if you mean the rebellion."
"Such a wise boy with his new cigar," she smiled through a sudden resurgence59 of uneasiness.
The boy said calmly: "Mother, you don't understand; and all the rest of the South is like you."
"Does anybody understand, Steve?" asked his father, slightly ironical60.
"Some people understand there's going to be a big fight," said the boy.
"Oh. Do you?"
"Yes," he said, with the conviction of youth. "And I'm wondering who's going to be in it."
"The militia61, of course," observed Ailsa scornfully. "Camilla is forever sewing buttons on Jimmy's dress uniform. He wears them off dancing."
Mr. Craig said, unsmiling: "We are not a military nation, Steve; we are not only non-military but we are unmilitary—if you know what that means."
"We once managed to catch Cornwallis," suggested his son, still proudly smoking.
"I wonder how we did it?" mused his father.
"They were another race—those catchers of Cornwallis—those fellows in, blue-and-buff and powdered hair."
"You and Celia are their grandchildren," observed Ailsa, "and you are a West Point graduate."
Her brother-in-law looked at her with a strange sort of humour in his handsome, near-sighted eyes:
"Yes, too blind to serve the country that educated me. And now
it's too late; the desire is gone; I have no inclination to fight,
Ailsa. Drums always annoyed me. I don't particularly like a gun.
I don't care for a fuss. I don't wish to be a soldier."
Ailsa said: "I rather like the noise of drums. I think I'd like—war."
"Molly Pitcher62! Molly Pitcher! Of what are you babbling," whispered Celia, laughing down the flashes of pain that ran through her heart. "Wars are ended in our Western World. Didn't you know it, grandchild of Vikings? There are to be no more Lake Champlains, only debates—n'est ce pas, Curt?—very grand debates between gentlemen of the South and gentlemen of the North in Congress assembled——"
"Two congresses assembled," said Ailsa calmly, "and the debates will be at long range——"
"By magnetic telegraph if you wish, Honey-bell," conceded Celia hastily. "Oh, we must not begin disputin' about matters that nobody can possibly he'p. It will all come right; you know it will, don't you, Curt?"
"Yes, I know it, somehow."
Silence, fragrance64, and darkness, through which rang the distant laugh of a young girl. And, very, very far away sounds arose in the city, dull, indistinct, lost for moments at a time, then audible again, and always the same sounds, the same monotony, and distant persistence65.
"I do believe they're calling an extra," said Ailsa, lifting her head to listen.
Celia listened, too.
"Children shouting at play," she said.
"They are calling an extra, Celia!"
"No, little Cassandra, it's only boys skylarking."
For a while they remained listening and silent. The voices still persisted, but they sounded so distant that the light laughter from their neighbour's stoop drowned the echoes.
Later, Jimmy Lent drifted into the family circle.
"They say that there's an extra out about Fort Sumter," he said.
"Do you think he's given up, Mr. Craig?"
"If there's an extra out the fort is probably safe enough, Jim," said the elder man carelessly. He rose and went toward the group of girls and youths under the trees.
"Come, children," he said to his two daughters; and was patient amid indignant protests which preceded the youthful interchange of reluctant good-nights.
When he returned to the stoop Ailsa had gone indoors with her cousin. His wife rose to greet him as though he had been away on a long journey, and then, passing her arms around her schoolgirl daughters, and nodding a mischievous66 dismissal to Jimmy Lent, walked slowly into the house. Bolts were shot, keys turned; from the lighted front parlour came the notes of the sweet-toned square piano, and Ailsa's voice:
—"Dear are her charms to me,
Dearest her constancy,
Aileen aroon—"
"Never mind any more of that silly song!" exclaimed Celia, imprisoning67 Ailsa's arms from behind.
"Youth must with time decay,
Aileen aroon,
Beauty must fade away,
Aileen aroon—"
"Don't, dear! please——"
But Ailsa sang on obstinately68:
"Castles are sacked in war,
Chieftains are scattered69 far,
Truth is a fixed70 star,
Aileen aroon."
And, glancing back over her shoulder, caught her breath quickly.
"Celia! What is the matter, dear?"
"Nothing. I don't like such songs—just now——"
"What songs?"
"I don't know, Ailsa; songs about war and castles. Little things plague me. . . . There's been altogether too much talk about war—it gets into ev'ything, somehow. I can't seem to he'p it, somehow——"
"Why, Celia! You are not worrying?"
"Not fo' myse'f, Honey-bud. Somehow, to-night—I don't know—and
Curt seemed a little anxious."
She laughed with an effort; her natural gaiety returned to buoy71 her above this indefinable undercurrent of unrest.
Paige and Marye came in from the glass extension where their father was pacing to and fro, smoking his bedtime cigar, and their mother began her invariable running comment concerning the day's events, rallying her children, tenderly tormenting them with their shortcomings—undarned stockings, lessons imperfectly learned, little household tasks neglected—she was always aware of and ready at bedtime to point out every sin of omission72.
"As fo' you, Paige, you are certainly a ve'y rare kind of Honey-bird, and I reckon Mr. Ba'num will sho'ly catch you some day fo' his museum. Who ever heard of a shif'less Yankee girl except you and Marye?"
"O mother, how can we mend everything we tear? It's heartless to ask us!"
"You don't have to try to mend _ev'y_thing. Fo' example, there's
Jimmy Lent's heart——"
A quick outbreak of laughter swept them—all except Paige, who flushed furiously over her first school-girl affair.
"That poor Jimmy child came to me about it," continued their mother, "and asked me if I would let you be engaiged to him; and I said, 'Certainly, if Paige wants to be, Jimmy. I was engaiged myse'f fo' times befo' I was fo'teen——'"
Another gale of laughter drowned her words, and she sat there dimpled, mischievous, naively73 looking around, yet in her careful soul shrewdly pursuing her wise policy of airing all sentimental74 matters in the family circle—letting in fresh air and sunshine on what so often takes root and flourishes rather morbidly75 at sixteen.
"It's perfectly absurd," observed Ailsa, "at your age, Paige——"
"Mother was married at sixteen! Weren't you, dearest?"
"I certainly was; but I am a bad rebel and you are good little Yankees; and good little Yankees wait till they're twenty odd befo' they do anything ve'y ridiculous."
"We expect to wait," said Paige, with a dignified76 glance at her sister.
"You've four years to wait, then," laughed Marye.
"What's the use of being courted if you have to wait four years?"
"And you've three years to wait, silly," retorted Paige. "But I don't care; I'd rather wait. It isn't very long, now. Ailsa, why don't you marry again?"
Ailsa's lip curled her comment upon the suggestion. She sat under the crystal chandelier reading a Southern newspaper which had been sent recently to Celia. Presently her agreeable voice sounded in appreciative77 recitation of what she was reading.
"Hath not the morning dawned with added light?
And shall not evening call another star
Out of the infinite regions of the night
To mark this day in Heaven? At last we are
A nation among nations; and the world
Shall soon behold78 in many a distant port
Another flag unfurled!"
"Listen, Celia," she said, "this is really beautiful:
A tint79 of pink fire touched Mrs. Craig's cheeks, but she said nothing. And Ailsa went on, breathing out the opening beauty of Timrod's "Ethnogenesis":
"Now come what may, whose favour need we court?
And, under God, whose thunder need we fear?"
She stopped short, considering the printed page. Then, doubtfully:
"And what if, mad with wrongs themselves have wrought80,
In their own treachery caught,
By their own fears made bold,
And leagued with him of old
Who long since, in the limits of the North,
Set up his evil throne, and warred with God—
What if, both mad and blinded in their rage
Our foes81 should fling us down the mortal gauge83,
And with a hostile horde84 profane85 our sod!"
The girl reddened, sat breathing a little faster, eyes on the page; then:
"Nor would we shun86 the battleground!
. . . The winds in our defence
Shall seem to blow; to us the hills shall lend
Their firmness and their calm,
And in our stiffened87 sinews we shall blend
The strength of pine and palm!
Call up the clashing elements around
And test the right and wrong!
On one side creeds88 that dare to preach
What Christ and Paul refused to teach——"
"Oh!" she broke off with a sharp intake89 of breath; "Do they believe such things of us in the South, Celia?"
The pink fire deepened in Celia Craig's cheeks; her lips unclosed, tightened90, as though a quick retort had been quickly reconsidered. She meditated91. Then: "Honey-bell," she said tranquilly92, "if we are bitter, try to remember that we are a nation in pain."
"A nation!"
"Dear, we have always been that—only the No'th has just found it out. Charleston is telling her now. God give that our cannon93 need not repeat it."
"But, Celia, the cannon can't! The same flag belongs to us both."
"Not when it flies over Sumter, Honey-bird." There came a subtle ringing sound in Celia Craig's voice; she leaned forward, taking the newspaper from Ailsa's idle fingers:
"Try to be fair," she said in unsteady tones. "God knows I am not trying to teach you secession, but suppose the guns on Governor's Island were suddenly swung round and pointed94 at this street? Would you care ve'y much what flag happened to be flying over Castle William? Listen to another warning from this stainless95 poet of the South." She opened the newspaper feverishly96, glanced quickly down the columns, and holding it high under the chandelier, read in a hushed but distinct voice, picking out a verse here and there at random98:
"Calm as that second summer which precedes
The first fall of the snow,
In the broad sunlight of heroic deeds
A city bides99 her foe82.
"As yet, behind high ramparts stem and proud
Where bolted thunders sleep,
Dark Sumter like a battlemented cloud
Towers o'er the solemn deep.
"But still along the dim Atlantic's line
The only hostile smoke
Creeps like a harmless mist above the brine
From some frail100 floating oak.
"And still through streets re-echoing with trade
Walk grave and thoughtful men
Whose hands may one day wield101 the patriot's blade
As lightly as the pen.
"And maidens102, with such eyes as would grow dim
Over a wounded hound
Seem each one to have caught the strength of him
Whose sword-knot she hath hound.
"Thus, girt without and garrisoned103 at home,
Day patient following day,
Old Charleston looks from roof and spire52 and dome104
Across her tranquil bay.
"Shall the spring dawn, and she, still clad in steel,
And with an unscathed brow,
Watch o'er a sea unvexed by hostile keel
As fair and free as now?
"We know not. In the Temples of the Fates
God has inscribed105 her doom106;
And, all untroubled in her faith she waits
Her triumph or her tomb!"
The hushed charm of their mother's voice fascinated the children. Troubled, uncertain, Ailsa rose, took a few irresolute107 steps toward the extension where her brother-in-law still paced to and fro in the darkness, the tip of his cigar aglow108. Then she turned suddenly.
"Can't you understand, Ailsa?" asked her sister-in-law wistfully.
"Celia—dearest," she stammered109, "I simply can't understand. . . .
I thought the nation was greater than all——"
"The State is greater, dear. Good men will realise that when they see a sovereign people standing110 all alone for human truth and justice—standing with book and sword under God's favour, as sturdily as ever Israel stood in battle fo' the right!—I don't mean to be disloyal to my husband in saying this befo' my children. But you ask me, and I must tell the truth if I answer at all."
Slender, upright, transfigured with a flushed and girlish beauty wholly strange to them, she moved restlessly back and forth111 across the room, a slim, lovely, militant112 figure all aglow with inspiration, all aquiver with emotion too long and loyally suppressed.
Paige and Marye, astonished, watched her without a word. Ailsa stood with one hand resting on the mantel, a trifle pale but also silent, her startled eyes following this new incarnation wearing the familiar shape of Celia Craig.
"Ailsa!"
"Yes, dear."
"Can you think evil of a people who po' out their hearts in prayer and praise? Do traitors113 importune114 fo' blessings115?"
She turned nervously116 to the piano and struck a ringing chord, another—and dropped to the chair, head bowed on her slim childish neck. Presently there stole through the silence a tremulous voice intoning the "Libera Nos," with its strange refrain:
"A furore Normanorum Libera nos, O Domme!" Then, head raised, the gas-light flashing on her dull-gold hair, her voice poured forth all that was swelling117 and swelling up in her bruised118 and stifled119 heart:
"God of our fathers! King of Kings!
Lord of the earth and sea!
With hearts repentant120 and sincere
We turn in need to thee."
She saw neither her children nor her husband nor Ailsa now, where they gathered silently beside her. And she sang on:
"In the name of God! Amen!
Stand for our Southern rights;
On our side. Southern men,
The God of Battles fights!
Fling the invader121 far—
Hurl122 back his work of woe—
His voice is the voice of a brother,
But his hands are the hands of a foe.
By the blood which cries to Heaven.
Crimson123 upon our sod
Stand, Southrons, fight and conquer
In the Name of the Living God!"
Like receding124 battle echoes the chords, clashing distantly, died away.
If she heard her husband turn, enter the hallway, and unbolt the door, she made no sign. Ailsa, beside her, stooped and passed one arm around her.
"You—are not crying, are you, Celia, darling?" she whispered.
Her sister-in-law, lashes63 wet, rose with decision.
"I think that I have made a goose of myse'f to-night. Marye, will you say to your father that it is after eleven o'clock, and that I am waiting to be well scolded and sent to bed?"
"Father went out a few moments ago," said Paige in an awed125 voice.
"I heard him unbolt the front door."
Ailsa turned and walked swiftly out into the hallway; the front door swung wide; Mr. Craig stood on the steps wearing his hat. He looked around as she touched his arm.
"Oh, is it you, Ailsa?" There was a moment's indecision. Through it, once more, far away in the city The Voices became audible again, distant, vague, incessant126.
"I thought—if it is actually an extra—" he began carelessly and hesitated; and she said:
"Let me go with you. Wait. I'll speak to Celia."
"Say to her that I'll be gone only a moment."
When Ailsa returned she slipped her arm through his and they descended127 the steps and walked toward Fulton Avenue. The Voices were still distant; a few people, passing swiftly through the dusk, preceded them. Far down the vista128 of the lighted avenue dark figures crossed and recrossed the street, silhouetted129 against the gas-lights; some were running. A man called out something as they passed him. Suddenly, right ahead in the darkness, they encountered people gathered before the boarded fence of a vacant lot, a silent crowd shouldering, pushing, surging back and forth, swarming130 far out along the dimly lighted avenue.
"There's a bulletin posted there," whispered Ailsa. "Could you lift me in your arms?"
Her brother-in-law stooped, clasped her knees, and lifted her high up above the sea of heads. Kerosene131 torches flickered beyond, flanking a poster on which was printed in big black letters:
"WASHINGTON, April 13, 1861, 6 A.M. "At half-past four o'clock this morning fire was opened on Fort Sumter by the rebel batteries in the harbour. Major Anderson is replying with his barbette guns."
"8 A.M.
"A private despatch132 to the N. Y. Herald says that
the batteries on Mount Pleasant have opened on
Sumter. Major Anderson has brought into action two tiers
of guns trained on Fort Moultrie and the Iron Battery."
"3 P.M.
"The fire at this hour is very heavy. Nineteen
batteries are bombarding Sumter. The fort replies
briskly. The excitement in Charleston is intense."
"LATER.
"Heavy rain storm. Firing resumed this evening.
The mortar133 batteries throw a shell into the fort every
twenty minutes. The fort replies at intervals."
"LATEST.
"The fort is still replying. Major Anderson has
signalled the fleet outside."
All this she read aloud, one hand resting on Craig's shoulder as he held her aloft above the throng134. Men crowding around and striving to see, paused, with up-turned faces, listening to the emotionless young voice. There was no shouting, no sound save the trample135 and shuffle136 of feet; scarcely a voice raised, scarcely an exclamation137.
As Craig lowered her to the pavement, a man making his way out said to them:
"Well, I guess that ends it."
Somebody replied quietly: "I guess that begins it."
Farther down the avenue toward the City Hall where the new marble court house was being built, a red glare quivered incessantly138 against the darkness; distant hoarse139 rumours140 penetrated141 the night air, accented every moment by the sharper clamour of voices calling the Herald's extras.
"Curt?"
"Yes, dear."
"If he surrenders——"
"It makes no difference what he does now, child."
"I know it. . . . They've dishonoured142 the flag. This is war, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Will it be a long war?"
"I think not."
"Who will go?"
"I don't know. . . . Soldiers."
"I didn't suppose we had enough. Where are we going to get more?"
"The people—" he said absently—"everybody, I suppose. How do I know, child?"
"Just ordinary people?"
"Just ordinary people," he responded quietly. A few minutes later as they entered their own street he said:
"I suppose I had better tell my wife about this to-night. I don't know—it will be in the morning papers; but I think I had better break it to her to-night."
"She will have to know—sometime—of course——"
Halting at the foot of the stoop he turned and peered through his glasses at his sister-in-law.
"I don't want Stephen to start any nonsense about going."
"Going where?" she asked innocently.
He hesitated: "I don't want to hear any talk from him about enlisting143. That is what I mean. Your influence counts with him more deeply than you know. Remember that."
"Steve—enlist144!" she repeated blankly.
She could not yet comprehend what all this had to do with people she personally knew—with her own kin41.
"He must not enlist, of course," she said curtly145. "There are plenty of soldiers—there will be plenty, of course. I——"
Something silenced her, something within her sealed her lips. She stood in silence while Craig fitted his night-key, then entered the house with him. Gas burned low in the hall globes; when he turned it off a fainter light from above guided them.
"Celia, is that you?" she called gently,
"Hush97; go to bed, Honey-bell. Everybody is asleep. How pale you are, Curt—dearest—dearest——"
The rear room was Ailsa's; she walked into it and dropped down on the bed in the darkness. The door between the rooms closed: she sat perfectly still, her eyes were wide open, staring in front of her.
Queer little luminous146 shapes danced through obscurity like the names from the kerosene torches around the bulletin; her ears still vibrated with the hoarse alarm of the voices; through her brain sounded her brother-in-law's words about Steve, repeated incessantly, stupidly.
Presently she began to undress by sense of touch. The gas in the bathroom was lighted; she completed her ablutions, turned it off, and felt her way back to the bed.
Lying there she became aware of sounds from the front room. Celia was still awake; she distinguished147 her voice in quick, frightened exclamation; then the low murmur148 continued for a while, then silence fell.
She raised herself on one elbow; the crack of light under the door was gone; there was no sound, no movement in the house except the measured tick of the hall clock outside, tic-toc!—tic-toc!—tic-toc!
And she had been lying there a long, long while, eyes open, before she realised that the rhythm of the hall clock was but a repetition of a name which did not concern her in any manner:
"Berk-ley!—Berk-ley!—Berk-ley!"
How it had crept into her consciousness she could not understand; she lay still, listening, but the tic-toc seemed to fit the syllables149 of his name; and when, annoyed, she made a half disdainful mental attempt to substitute other syllables, it proved too much of an effort, and back into its sober, swinging rhythm slipped the old clock's tic-toe, in wearisome, meaningless repetition:
"Berk-ley!—Berk-ley!—Berk-ley!"
She was awakened150 by a rapping at her door and her cousin's imperative151 voice:
"I want to talk to you; are you in bed?"
She drew the coverlet to her chin and called out:
"Come in, Steve!"
He came, tremendously excited, clutching the Herald in one hand.
"I've had enough of this rebel newspaper!" he said fiercely. "I don't want it in the house again, ever. Father says that the marine152 news makes it worth taking, but——"
"What on earth are you trying to say, Steve?"
"I'm trying to tell you that we're at war! War, Ailsa! Do you understand? Father and I've had a fight already——"
"What?"
"They're still firing on Sumter, I tell you, and if the fort doesn't hold out do you think I'm going to sit around the house like a pussy153 cat? Do you think I'm going to business every day as though nothing was happening to the country I'm living in? I tell you now—you and mother and father—that I'm not built that way——"
Ailsa rose in bed, snatched the paper from his grasp, and leaning on one arm gazed down at the flaring154 head-lines:
THE WAR BEGUN
Very Exciting News from Charleston
Bombardment of Fort Sumter Commenced
Terrible Fire from the Secessionists' Batteries
Brilliant Defence of Maj. Anderson
Reckless Bravery of the Confederate States Troops.
And, scanning it to the end, cried out:
"He hasn't hauled down his flag! What are you so excited about?"
"I—I'm excited, of course! He can't possibly hold out with only eighty men and nothing to feed them on. Something's got to be done!" he added, walking up and down the room. "I've made fun of the militia—like everybody else—but Jimmy Lent is getting ready, and I'm doing nothing! Do you hear what I'm saying, Ailsa?"
She looked up from the newspaper, sitting there cross-legged under the coverlet.
"I hear you, Steve. I don't know what you mean by 'something's got to be done.' Major Anderson is doing what he can—bless him!"
"That's all right, but the thing isn't going to stop there."
"Stop where?"
"At Sumter. They'll begin firing on Fortress155 Monroe and Pensacola—I—how do you know they're not already thinking about bombarding Washington? Virginia is going out of the union; the entire South is out, or going. Yesterday, I didn't suppose there was any use in trying to get them back again. Father did, but I didn't. I think it's got to be done, now. And the question is, Ailsa, whose going to do it?"
But she was fiercely absorbed again in the news, leaning close over the paper, tumbled dull-gold hair falling around her bare shoulders, breath coming faster and more irregularly as she read the incredible story and strove to comprehend its cataclysmic significance.
"If others are going, I am," repeated her cousin sullenly156.
"Going where, Steve?—Oh———"
She dropped the paper and looked up, startled; and he looked back at her, defiant157, without a flicker36 in those characteristic family eyes of his, clear as azure158, steady to punishment given or taken—good eyes for a boy to inherit. And he inherited them from his rebel mother.
"Father can't keep me home if other people go," he said.
"Wait until other people go." She reached out and laid a hand on his arm.
"Things are happening too fast, Steve, too fast for everybody to quite understand just yet. Everybody will do what is the thing to do; the family will do what it ought to. . . . Has your mother seen this?"
"Yes. Neither she nor father have dared speak about it before us—" He made a gesture of quick despair, walked to the window and back.
"It's a terrible thing, Ailsa, to have mother feel as she does."
"How could she feel otherwise?"
"I've done my best to explain to her——"
"O Steve! You!—when it's a matter between her soul and God!"
He said, reddening: "It's a matter of common-sense—I don't mean to insult mother—but—good Lord, a nation is a nation, but a state is only a state! I—hang it all—what's the use of trying to explain what is born in one——"
"The contrary was born in your mother, Steve. Don't ever talk to her this way. And—go out, please, I wish to dress."
He went away, saying over his shoulders: "I only wanted to tell you that I'm not inclined to sit sucking my thumb if other men go, and you can say so to father, who has forbidden me to mention the subject to him again until I have his permission."
But he went away to business that morning with his father, as usual; and when evening came the two men returned, anxious, dead tired, having passed most of the day standing in the dense159 throngs160 that choked every street around the bulletin boards of the newspaper offices.
Ailsa had not been out during the day, nor had Mrs. Craig, except for an hour's drive in the family coupe around the district where preliminary surveys for the new Prospect161 Park were being pushed.
They had driven for almost an hour in utter silence. Her sister-in-law's hand lay clasped in hers, but both looked from the carriage windows without speaking, and the return from the drive found them strangely weary and inclined for the quiet of their own rooms. But Celia Craig could not close her eyes even to feign162 sleep to herself.
When husband and son returned at evening, she asked nothing of the news from them, but her upturned face lingered a second or two longer as her husband kissed her, and she clung a little to Stephen, who was inclined to be brief with her.
Dinner was a miserable163 failure in that family, which usually had much to compare, much to impart, much badinage164 and laughter to distribute. But the men were weary and uncommunicative; Estcourt Craig went to his club after dinner; Stephen, now possessing a latch-key, disappeared shortly afterward165.
Paige and Marye did embroidery166 and gossipped together under the big crystal chandelier while their mother read aloud to them from "Great Expectations," which was running serially167 in Harper's Weekly. Later she read in her prayer-book; later still, fully56 dressed, she lay across the bed in the alcove168 staring at the darkness and listening for the sound of her husband's latch-key in the front door,
When it sounded, she sprang up and hastily dried her eyes.
"The children and Ailsa are all abed, Curt. How late you are! It was not very wise of you to go out—being so tired—" She was hovering169 near him as though to help his weariness with her small offices; she took his hat, stood looking at him, then stepped nearer, laying both hands on his shoulders, and her face against his.
"I am—already tired of the—war," she sighed. "Is it ended yet,
Curt?"
"There is no more news from Sumter."
"You will—love me—best—anyway. Curt—won't you?"
"Do you doubt it?"
She only drew a deep, frightened breath. For within her heart she felt the weight of the new apprehension—the clairvoyant170 premonition of a rival that she must prepare to encounter—a rival that menaced her peace of mind—a shape, shadowy as yet, but terrible, slowly becoming frightfully denned—a Thing that might one day wean this man from her—husband, and son, too—both perhaps——.
"Curt," she faltered171, "it will all come right in the end. Say it.
I am afraid."
"It will come out all right," he said gently. They kissed, and she turned to the mirror and silently began preparing for the night.
With the calm notes of church bells floating out across the city, and an April breeze blowing her lace curtains, Ailsa awoke. Overhead she heard the trample of Stephen's feet as he moved leisurely172 about his bedroom. Outside her windows in the backyard, early sunshine slanted173 across shrub174 and grass and white-washed fence; the Sunday quiet was absolute, save for the church bells.
She lay there listening and thinking; the church bells ceased; and after a while, lying there, she began to realise that the silence was unnatural—became conscious of something ominous175 in the intense quiet outside—a far-spread stillness which was more than the hush of Sabbath.
Whether or not the household was still abed she did not know; no sound came from Celia's room; nor were Marye and Paige stirring on the floor above when she rose and stole out barefooted to the landing, holding a thin silk chamber176 robe around her. She paused, listening; the tic-toc of the hall clock accented the silence; the door that led from Celia's chamber into the hall stood wide open, and there was nobody in sight. Something drew her to the alcove window, which was raised; through the lace curtains she saw the staff of the family flag set in its iron socket177 at right angles to the facade—saw the silken folds stirring lazily in the sunshine, tiptoed to the window and peered out.
As far as her eyes could see, east and west, the street was one rustling178 mass of flags.
For a second her heart almost hurt her with its thrilling leap; she caught her breath; the hard tension in her throat was choking her; she dropped to her knees by the sill, drew a corner of the flag to her, and laid her cheek against it.
Her eyes unclosed and she gazed out upon the world of flags; then, upright, she opened her fingers, and the crinkled edges of the flag, released, floated leisurely out once more into the April sunshine.
When she had dressed she found the family in the dining-room—her sister-in-law, serene179 but pale, seated behind the coffee urn31, Mr. Craig and Stephen reading the Sunday newspapers, Paige and Marye whispering together over their oatmeal and cream.
She kissed Celia, dropped the old-fashioned, half-forgotten curtsey to the others, and stood hesitating a moment, one hand resting on Celia's shoulder.
"Is the fort holding out?" she asked.
Stephen looked up angrily, made as though to speak, but a deep flush settled to the roots of his hair and he remained silent.
"Fort Sumter has surrendered," said her brother-in-law quietly.
Celia whispered: "Take your seat now, Honey-bell; your breakfast is getting cold."
At church that Sunday the Northern clergy180 prayed in a dazed sort of way for the union and for the President; some addressed the Most High as "The God of Battles." The sun shone brightly; new leaves were startling on every tree in every Northern city; acres of starry181 banners drooped182 above thousands of departing congregations, and formed whispering canopies183 overhead.
Vespers were solemn; April dusk fell over a million roofs and spires184; twinkling gas jets were lighted in street lamps; city, town, and hamlet drew their curtains and bowed their heads in darkness. A dreadful silence fell over the North—a stillness that breeds epochs and the makers185 of them.
But the first gray pallor of the dawn awoke a nation for the first time certain of its entity186, roaring its comprehension of it from the Lakes to the Potomac, from sea to sea; and the red sun rose over twenty States in solid battle line thundering their loyalty187 to a union undivided,
And on that day rang out the first loud call to arms; and the first battalion188 of the Northland, seventy-five thousand strong, formed ranks, cheering their insulted flag.
Then, southward, another flag shot up above the horizon. The world already knew it as The Stars and Bars. And, beside it, from its pointed lance, whipped and snapped and fretted189 another flag—square, red, crossed by a blue saltier edged with white on which glittered thirteen stars.
It was the battle flag of the Confederacy flashing the answer to the Northern cheer.
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1
tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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2
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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3
maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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4
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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5
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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6
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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9
fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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11
inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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12
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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13
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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14
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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16
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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17
galaxy
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| n.星系；银河系；一群(杰出或著名的人物) | |
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18
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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19
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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20
disarming
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| adj.消除敌意的，使人消气的v.裁军( disarm的现在分词 )；使息怒 | |
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21
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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22
dismantling
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| （枪支）分解 | |
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23
tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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24
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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disintegration
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| n.分散，解体 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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27
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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28
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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29
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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30
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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31
urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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33
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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34
waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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35
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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37
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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38
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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39
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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40
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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41
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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42
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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43
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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44
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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45
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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46
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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47
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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48
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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49
lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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50
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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51
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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52
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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53
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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54
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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55
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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56
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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57
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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58
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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59
resurgence
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| n.再起，复活，再现 | |
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60
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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61
militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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62
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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63
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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64
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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65
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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66
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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67
imprisoning
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| v.下狱，监禁( imprison的现在分词 ) | |
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68
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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69
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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70
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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71
buoy
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| n.浮标；救生圈；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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72
omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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73
naively
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| adv. 天真地 | |
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74
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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75
morbidly
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| adv.病态地 | |
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76
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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77
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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78
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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79
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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80
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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81
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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82
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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83
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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84
horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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85
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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86
shun
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| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
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87
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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88
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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89
intake
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| n.吸入，纳入；进气口，入口 | |
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90
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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91
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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92
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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93
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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94
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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95
stainless
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| adj.无瑕疵的，不锈的 | |
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96
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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97
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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98
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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99
bides
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| v.等待，停留( bide的第三人称单数 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待；面临 | |
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100
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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101
wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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102
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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103
garrisoned
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| 卫戍部队守备( garrison的过去式和过去分词 )； 派部队驻防 | |
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104
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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105
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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106
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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107
irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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108
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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109
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
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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111
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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112
militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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113
traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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114
importune
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| v.强求；不断请求 | |
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115
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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116
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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117
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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118
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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119
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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120
repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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121
invader
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| n.侵略者，侵犯者，入侵者 | |
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122
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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123
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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124
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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125
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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127
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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128
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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129
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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130
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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131
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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132
despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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133
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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134
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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135
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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136
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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137
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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138
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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139
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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140
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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141
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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142
dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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143
enlisting
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| v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的现在分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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144
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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145
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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146
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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147
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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148
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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149
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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150
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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151
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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152
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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153
pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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154
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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155
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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156
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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157
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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158
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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159
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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160
throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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161
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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162
feign
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| vt.假装，佯作 | |
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163
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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164
badinage
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| n.开玩笑，打趣 | |
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165
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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166
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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167
serially
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| adv.连续地，连续刊载地 | |
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168
alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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169
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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170
clairvoyant
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| adj.有预见的；n.有预见的人 | |
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171
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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172
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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173
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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174
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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175
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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176
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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177
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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178
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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179
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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180
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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181
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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182
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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183
canopies
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| （宝座或床等上面的）华盖( canopy的名词复数 )； （飞行器上的）座舱罩； 任何悬于上空的覆盖物； 森林中天棚似的树荫 | |
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184
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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185
makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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186
entity
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| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
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187
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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188
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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189
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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