??That have run very far,
O’er hedges and o’er ditches,
??O’er turnpike gate and bar,
Poor old horse! Poor old horse!
Somerset Song.
I
Normally the nonagenarian preserved scant2 memory of the happenings of the present, vivid though his youthful recollections were: But the great wedding-cake, served up at every meal for days, co-operated with the intensity3 of the scene to stamp his quarrel with Will upon his feebly registering brain. Especially did Nip’s standing5 supplication6 for his quota7 revive and deepen the impression. “On your hands and knees!” he would cry savagely8, as he threw the lucky dog a luscious9 morsel10. And even when Nip was absent at meal-times—as his mistress contrived11 more than once, in her anxiety to pamper12 neither him nor her grandfather’s resentment13—the old man would growl14 grimly: “Carry him in!” Aching enough at heart from her own quarrel with Will, she had the wretched feeling that if by some impossibility she and her rival could ever again come together, the grotesque18 oaths of these two obstinate19 males would keep the family breach20 unhealed.
But sentiment cannot retain its acuteness under business worries and carking household cares. The rich cake eaten through so monotonously21 became to Jinny a sort of ironic22 symbol of the declining fortunes of Blackwater Hall. It contributed indeed no little to the decay of the old business, not merely by the great sum that had to be paid to the confectioner, but through the loss of the considerable customer whose hymeneal festivities its absence overgloomed. Marie Antoinette’s advice to the starving to eat cake did not come into the Spelling-Book, otherwise Jinny might have reflected how near they were come to adopting it. Not that her grandfather had as yet occasion to suspect the bareness of the larder25. Unlike Mother Hubbard he never went to the cupboard, the cupboard always comfortably coming to him. Moreover, some rabbits shot by the farmers as the falling crops uncovered them, and presented to the ancient by annual custom, served to postpone26 the evil day. Jinny was hardly conscious how much she stinted27 herself for his sake, so poor was her appetite become. It was only once—-when passing the big Harvest Dinner barn where Farmer Gale28’s men roared drunken choruses—that she felt a craving30 for food. This valuable freedom from hunger she attributed to the heat: in the winter, she told herself, she could always stoke for the week at the Tuesday and Friday meals so amiably31 provided at Mother Gander’s. That worthy32 lady would also doubtless refill grandfather’s beer-barrel at cost price. It was fortunate he did not smoke or snuff. Methodism had its points.
A more serious problem was presented by Methusalem—growing distended33 by overmuch grass—and even her goats coveted34 an occasional supplement to the hedgerows and the oak scrub if their milk was to run freely. But of hay or cabbages her store was small, and these finicking feeders, though they condescended37 to eat horse-chestnuts, would not even accept a gnawed40 apple. The poultry42, too, must soon be eaten, if they could not be properly fed, and the thought of instructing her grandfather to twist a familiar neck made her blood run cold. With such a varied44 household to cater45 for, our little housekeeper46 began to envy Maria, who, according to Mrs. Flynt, raised her large and frequent families on everything and anything on earth, rhubarb-leaves being the one and only pabulum pigs turned up their snouts at. It was not the least painful part of this novel pinch of poverty that Jinny felt herself compelled to forgo47 those calls with little presents for the Pennymoles, the Bidlakes, and the poor and the bed-ridden in general, with which she had diversified48 her deliveries: she did not realize that her mere23 presence would have been a creature comfort.
But of these pangs49 and problems the world knew naught50, hearing her little horn making its gay music and seeing her still jauntily52 perched on her driving-board in her elegant rose-pink frock and with the latest fancy whipcord edge to the straw of her bonnet53. Her music, indeed, was far livelier than the wheezy notes of the Flynt Flyer’s guard, though otherwise the red-coated clodhopper who had been stuck up on the coach a few days after its visit to Blackwater Hall, lent the last touch to its fascinations54. But if passengers, other than Elijah Skindle and one or two equally unbusinesslike young men, were no longer content to crawl along in her cart, that historic vehicle showed scant sign of defeat. Already when the removal of the hoops55 in the hot weather had threatened to expose too clearly the nakedness of the land, parcels of stones on the model of the swain-chaser had begun to cumber56 it up, and when one Monday morning the Flynt Flyer came swaggering in new pea-green paint, the Quarles Crawler turned up on Tuesday mountainous with the old boxes and cypress57 clothes-chests routed out of the ante-room, and emptied of their litter.
It was at this point that the Gaffer had had to be put into the plot. He had long since begun to smell a rat—having a super-sense for his business, however his other senses might fail—and it would have been impossible to heave up the boxes without him, or to explain their removal without imparting some notion of the tragic58 truth. And the truth did not diminish his resentment against young Caleb’s boy or his vigilance against further robbers. “Carry him in!” he would cackle and croak59 as he bore out the emptied “spruce-hutches” to the cart or carefully permutated their positions in it. Then with hoarse60 thunder: “On your hands and knees, ye pirate thief!”
But these ostentated boxes—while they saved the pride of the Quarleses—did but damage the remainder of their custom. The faithful few had been held back by solicitude61 for Jinny’s livelihood62: seeing her now so flourishing, the very tail-board lowered on its chains and groaning64 under protruding65 “portmantles,” her last clients save Peculiars lapsed68 in silent relief, one after another. Daily, poor Jinny expected to see four horses on the rival vehicle and its circuit extended to Colchester. But that would have meant for Will a grandeur69 inconsistent with the petty commissions which he still deigned70 to execute: it would have allowed some of her old custom to return to her. And he was sullenly71 bent73 on driving her—literally74—out of the business. But he enhanced the dignity of his profession by copying from an old inn of the pack-horse days its signboard of “The Carriers’ Arms,” depicting75 a rope, a wanty-hook, and five packing skewers76. These, painted in black on the pea-green, seemed to proclaim his formal annexation77 and monopoly of the local carrying trade.
Jinny began to think seriously of buying up from the barns some straw from the reaped sheaves and competing with the cottagers in the all-pervasive plaiting industry. Splitting straws was no despicable occupation in the valley of the Brad, where it was done by enginery, and provided even children of six and old men of eighty with the opportunity of adding to the family income. Tambour-lace and other things also entered into her thoughts. The only thing that never entered into them was the idea of ceasing to ply78. So long as the boxes and the cart held together, the Flynt Flyer should always see the rival vehicle imperturbably79 jogging. In every sense she would “carry on.”
II
August was ending aridly81. Methusalem’s sensitive nose was protected from flies by green bracken. Calves82 snuggled in the hot meadows, meditatively84 chewing, an image of somnolence85, their tails flicking87 whitely. Stooks or manure-heaps had reduced the fields to geometrical patterns. Tall hollyhocks leaned dustily like ruined towers. Bucolic88 conversation was of the absent rain. Rooks were more destructive than ever. Swedes were doing badly and every one had waited to sow turnips89, rape90, or mustard. They had no fodder91 even for winter stock. Master Peartree began to worry over his sheep as they munched92 the sapless grass. In the waterless little villages the ground was hard as iron, and Bundock strode over the swamps around Frog Farm as fearlessly as now frequently. “A regular doucher” was the general demand upon Providence94, though it was couched—for church and chapel95—in less vivid terms. These prayers enabled Bundock to work off one of his old aphorisms96, saved for a rainless day. “It’s no use praying for rain,” he chuckled98 to the countryside, “till you see the storm-clouds.” “But you don’t scarce need to pray then,” the countryside pointed99 out, to his disgust.
In Jinny’s soul, too, there was drought, and she seemed to share Bundock’s view that prayer was waste of breath. Not that her evening prayers were left unsaid, but in her apathy100 and weariness no private plea was added to the prescribed form, though the Spelling-Book commended the asking for extra mercies, provided also one begged for a perpetual continuance of the Protestant Succession. What deliverance could there be for her? God Himself, she felt obscurely, could not help her, any more than she had ever been able to help little mavises fallen from their nests and deserted102 by their mothers. Their thrilling-eyed vitality103 and exquisite104 flutterings had only made her miserable105. But perhaps God was now as sorry for her.
One grown-up mavis, too, she remembered, a victim to the winter battle of life, the neck half severed106 from the half-plucked body, the liquid eye gazing appealingly at her, the legs stirring feebly in a welter of feathers. She had nerved herself to grant its dumb plea: she had stamped sharply on its skull107 and seen its eye fly out on the path like a bright bead108. Could God do aught less drastic for her? Not that she ever dreamed of dying: she must live on, however mutilated, for it was impossible to conceive her grandfather getting along without her. Consider only his trousers! How loosely they were now flapping round his shrunken calves, almost like a sailor’s. Soon the winter winds would be piping through them. Without her to take in a tuck, where would he be? And who would cut his hair and trim his beard?
It was her grandfather who was mainly responsible for the discontinuance of her chapel habit on Lord’s Day. His increased fretfulness and fractiousness since he was become aware of the rival power, made it imprudent to leave him for long except unavoidably—not to mention the danger to herself of awkward meetings at chapel with that rival power—and there was the further difficulty of getting to Chipstone, now Farmer Gale’s trap was out of the question. But she was not without a nearer place of worship—for to the scandal of the Peculiars, particularly Bundock, she now began to attend the parish church of Little Bradmarsh, whose emptiness with its parade of free seats after eleven o’clock was a standing pleasantry in the spheres of Dissent111. The convenience of proximity112 was not, however, its main attraction for Jinny, and Miss Gentry113 would have rejoiced less had she understood that a change of heart or doctrine114 or the magnetism115 of the Reverend Mr. Fallow had as little to do with Jinny’s apparent conversion117; though the fact that Jinny had never forgotten her one childish glimpse of the prayer-absorbed pastor118 doubtless served to reassure119 the girl as to the not altogether ungodly character of his edifice120.
She had entered to cart over to the Chipstone hospital some fruit laid before the altar at the Harvest Thanksgiving by the one prosperous worshipper. For Mr. Fallow was still an unwavering client of hers, almost the last outside her own communion, possibly because having neither family nor flock to distract him from his classics, he had scarcely observed the coach.
In the “Speculi Britanni? Pars,” in which he had once hunted out her genealogy—to his own satisfaction and nobody’s hurt—Essex was compared to Palestine for its flow of “milke and hunny.” And “hunny” was still her staple122 link with the tall fusty-coated, snuff-smeared figure, stooping over his hives or his Virgil, both sacredly fused for him in the Fourth Georgic. She marketed his surplus, exchanging it for firkins of butter and—O aberrations124 of the godliest—canisters of Lundy Foot. And it was after disposing of some of his smaller tithes125—for the parish had remained outside the recent Commutation Act of 1836—that Jinny had been thus led to set foot in his church. There were in those days no floral decorations to mar24 the completeness with which the arches and pillars ministered to her troubled mood. The outside she had always found soothing126, with its grey old stonework and its lichened127 tower rising amid haystacks and thatched cottages with dormer windows. But how much cooler the peace that fell upon her, when she passed through the old, spiky129, oak door and under the long, wooden, vaulted130 roof into a dimness shot with rich stained glass. Mr. Fallow had been one of the earliest clergymen of the century to remove the whitewash131 from the old painted walls of his church, and though the royal arms—the lion and the unicorn132—still lingered over the chancel, there was no other jar in the spiritual harmony except the stove, whose pipe went hideously133 up and along the ceiling. Ignoring that, however, in the effect of the whole and forgetting everything else, Jinny sank upon a pew-bench and abandoned herself to the unholy influences of architecture, so restful after her chapel with its benches and table-desk, ugliness unadorned. Not even a gradual consciousness of neglected duty could impair134 the divine tranquillity135.
But the sober beauty of the place might not have sufficed to draw her again, but for a strange circumstance. One of the stained-glass figures, dully familiar to her from without as a leaden glaze136, proved when seen from within in all the glory of art to be an angel of the very type under which her childish vision had imagined her hovering137 mother. And that it actually was mystically interfused with her mother, as her emotion had immediately intertwined it, was demonstrated by the fact that even when she at last went forward to gather up the plums and apples, the eyes followed her about in protection and benediction138. Miss Gentry’s legend of her moving angel lost its last shade of improbability, and it was with a new humility139 that Jinny repeated to her at the first opportunity her remorse140 for the permuted pot.
Nor did the angel’s emanation of guardianship141 prove illusory, for outraged142 though Miss Gentry had been by the suggestion that her moustache needed a hair-restorer, she graciously intimated—after the second Sunday of Jinny’s attendance—that the debt for the dress could be worked off in commission charges. It was a vast relief, for the Bundock-borne rumour144 of her apostacy had alienated145 the bulk of her co-religionists and exchanged the lingering remorse of earlier deserters for a sense of rectitude and foresight146. Bundock’s sympathy with the Brotherhood147 almost reinstated him in its good graces. “But it brings its own punishment,” he pointed out consolingly. “Fancy putting a parson over herself to poke148 his snuffy nose into everything. That’s a pretty dress, Jinny, he’ll say, is it paid for? Or, that’s a cranky old grandpa you’ve got—why don’t ye put him in the poorhouse?”
It was as well poor Jinny did not overhear him, or she might have doubted whether her load of boxes was so uniformly imposing149 as she imagined. The Deacon, who did hear him, and who spent his life poking150 into holes and reprimanding sinners, was even more righteously indignant at the interference of parsons. “Inquisitive as warmin in a larder,” he described them. “Fussing around the poor, but without a drop of rum in their milk of human koindness.” Mr. Fallow—it would appear—had interfered151 on behalf of his parishioner in the threatened lawsuit152 with Miss Gentry: he had persuaded the guileless rat-catcher to promise to clear her cottage for nothing, and this although Mrs. Mott was paying her in full for his wife’s silk dress, the responsibility for which he had righteously repudiated153.
“Oi’ll clear her cottage,” he added darkly, and it seemed to Bundock that the parson had succeeded only in patching up the feud154. But what was to be expected of the canting crew, the postman inquired. The new Chipstone curate had called on his father, and Bundock related with a chuckle97 how the bed-ridden old boy had patronizingly regretted that, being on his back, he could do nothing to help his visitor. “He sent him away with a bed-flea155 in his ear,” gloated Bundock. Mr. Joshua Mawhood recalled a bigger flea in the same clerical ear. The hapless curate had offered him a ticket for a lecture on “Economy.” “Come with me Bradmarsh way,” the rat-catcher had retorted, “and Oi’ll show you Mrs. Pennymole’s cottage, and if you’ll show me how she can bring up her nine childer on eleven shillings a week, Oi’ll eat your shovel-hat.” Bundock, unable to find a still larger flea, fell back on hypothesis. “If I’d been a Churchman and a chap in a white choker came to mine,” he said, “I’d tell him to mind his own business, and I dare say he’d be insulted, though I’d be giving him splendid advice. You know where the door is, I’d say, for you didn’t come in by the chimney. Now walk out, or else——!” And carried away by his own drama, Bundock administered a hearty156 kick to the apparently157 still-lingering phantom158.
Needless to say, Mr. Fallow exercised none of this imagined prying159 into Jinny’s affairs. Like his pew-opener, whose long caped160 coat with the official red border found now a fresh justification161, he was only too glad of her uninvited attendance, and the considerable accretion162 she brought to his congregation. Her presence freshened up for himself his old sermons: for her sake he even put in new Latin quotations163. But Jinny enjoyed more the three musicians in the gallery—’cellist, flautist, and bassoonist—whose black frock-coats and trousers made them as important in quality as they were in quantity, and when after they had played a few bars the congregation sang:
“Awake my soul, and with the sun
?Thy daily stage of duty run,”
Jinny felt herself rapt far indeed from her daily stage of duty. Even the pew-opener shuffling164 about in his list slippers165 to poke up the stove or a small boy, or to snuff the guttering166 tallow candles on dark mornings, could not bring her to earth.
And another factor than the church and its mother-angel helped Jinny over this dreary167 time. This was her dog. For only now did Nip emerge into his full caninity, or at least only now did Jinny learn to appreciate him to the full. In howsoever leaden a mood she started her carrying work, Nip’s ecstasy168 soon tinged169 it with gold. His blissful staccato barks, his tall inflated170 tail, his upleapings at her as she harnessed Methusalem, his gallopings and gambollings round that stolider fellow-quadruped, his crazy friskings and curvetings—who could resist such joy of life? Often it seemed to Jinny that he was returning thanks to his Maker172 for the sunshine or the good smells, rebuking173 unconsciously her heart-heaviness, bidding her cry no more over spilt milk, but just lap up what she could. “Cheer up, Jinny!” she heard him bark. “Men are brutes174 and women fools and gran’fers grumpy and customers cruel, but life is jolly and odours numerous and where there’s a way there’s a Will.” And infected by these sentiments of his, she would crack her whip, and Methusalem would prick176 up his ears and pretend for her sake to go faster, and there would be a lull177 in the ache at her heart.
Nip, however, was less consoling when the rival carriers met on the road. Then his invincible178 persuasion179 that the two were one brought Jinny considerable discomfort180. For Will persisted in his later tactics of slowing down, whether to take stock of her appearance or to rub in the odious181 comparison of their respective equipages, so that while these were in proximity, Nip was able to feel himself shepherding them, and he ran from one to the other, rounding them up. Even when Jinny man?uvred off down the first by-way, Nip, not to be baulked, would travel between one and the other, growing more and more desperate as they grew more and more distant, till at last, fearful of losing both, he exchanged his frenzied182 shuttling between them for a still more frenzied standstill midway between the mutually receding183 vehicles—you saw him almost literally torn in two. Finally, after plaintive184 ululations of protest, he would trot185 back, with hang-dog look and drooping186 tail, to the shabby cart, where his mistress throned, grim and pale, amid her manifold mock parcels.
III
But it was neither Mr. Fallows sermons nor Nip’s that gave Jinny her first real sense of religion; not even the bass-viol and flute187, though she heard them with ecstasy, nor the collects and litanies, though she perused188 them with interest. It came to her one pitch-black night when she had too confidently ventured out to bring first aid—a jug189 of real tea with some bread and butter—to poor rheumatic Uncle Lilliwhyte, whom earlier that day, while gathering190 mushrooms for supper, she had discovered in a deserted charcoal-burner’s hut.
She had not known before that Farmer Gale had carried out his threat of evicting191 the nondescript from his cottage on the plea of needing it for a labourer, and although she had been compelled to suspend the ministrations which had set Mr. Fallow looking for the Lady Bountiful in her blood, she felt vaguely192 responsible for Uncle Lilliwhyte’s declined fortunes, so parallel to her own. Would, in fact, the Cornishman have turned him out if Jinny had allowed that all-powerful arm to remain round her waist at the cattle-market; nay193, could she not have cheered and nourished a subject countryside?
The unsavoury ancient was lying on some coarse sacking in a clearing still half charred194. Literally “sackcloth and ashes,” Jinny thought, as she groped her way along the glade195 by the twinkle of his candle through the chinks of his ramshackle hut. An old flintlock, some snares196, nets and rods, and a cooking-pot seemed all its furniture. She was horrified197 to think—as she gazed at the gaps in the roof—that the prayer for rain might be granted. But to her surprise the old man was sharing the communal198 aspiration—“a good rine as’ll make the seeds spear”—though not hopeful of the boon199 immediately. He did not want to be a “wet-’ead,” he declared paradoxically, but the ground would be harder before the sun met the wind. Such solicitude on behalf of soil belonging so largely to the farmer who had evicted200 him seemed to Jinny touchingly201 Christian202.
It was only when she had turned her back on his glimmering203 light and got into the thick of the woods that they became curiously204 unfamiliar205. Great trees that she did not know existed came colliding against her, tangles206 of roots tripped her up on her favourite paths; she stumbled into unfriendly pricklinesses of every species. She seemed, indeed, ridiculously lost within a furlong of her own door: how this black labyrinth207 had got there she could not understand, but it looked as if she might be all night escaping from it. She was even uneasily expecting one of the snakes Uncle Lilliwhyte hunted to glide208 perversely209 under her feet, she bruising210 its head and it biting her heel as the curse in Genesis predicted. Of course, if she could spit into its mouth after chewing some Spanish bugloss, it would instantly die. So at least Miss Gentry had assured her. But how find the rare bugloss in this blackness, or how spit accurately211 into the serpent’s mouth?
Why had she not brought a lantern, she asked herself. Was it really because she was jug and package laden212, or had it been only conceit213? She asked the question still more self-reproachfully when, after smashing the empty jug in a stumble which left her knuckles214 bleeding, she heard the gurgle of a water-hen and realized that she was far off her track and nearly into the Brad. She could not swim, but even a swimmer in such a moonless, starless void would not see the shore. Cautiously feeling her way among the willows215, she groped towards the pasture-land, paradoxically pleased when she fell over a sleeping cow. She lay there some minutes in the warm darkness, not anxious to move on, for the river wound perilously216 in and out, one could still hear it rippling217 deliciously in the reeds, and the odours of the night were as exquisite. And then through the measureless blackness a faint suggestion of grey began to make itself perceptible or rather divinable, so shadowy was it, a lesser218 shade of black rather than an adumbration219 of light; it was as if behind the blank firmament220 some star was striving to shine.
And suddenly, mystically, she felt that this hinted radiance was God, the Light behind life’s darkness, and the words of the twenty-third Psalm221 came to her mind with all the force of a revelation. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters.” How divinely apt was every word! So long as she had not wanted for aught, so long as she had not needed to be led, she had not really felt the meaning of the words: now that she was strayed and a-hungered, she knew overpoweringly that she had a shepherd. He was behind her watching, as surely as she watched over her grandfather. Now she understood what the Peculiars meant when they got up to testify. She must go back to them, bear witness this very next Sunday. Mr. Fallow’s church had no place for such testimonies222. Women could not speak even at Morning Service.
And as if to complete her conversion, there was a swift pattering, a joyous223 bark, and a cold nose in her fevered palm. She had only to attach her handkerchief to Nip’s collar to be guided safely home. But it was Nip that was really her shepherd, she told herself, or at least her sheep-dog: it was Nip that was leading her beside the still waters. Dog was after all only God spelt backwards224, she thought, with a sense of mystic discovery. And remembering all that Nip had done to bring her back to faith in life, she felt he was indeed a divine messenger. But then it was borne in upon her that if she testified her true thoughts, the Brethren would deem her irreverent. After all, it was Mr. Fallow who might understand better, he who spoke225 of his bees with love, and had once cited to her a passage from a Roman poet about bees being part of the divine mind. The Roman writer was not a Catholic, he had explained carefully, seeing her dubious227 face.
IV
In her gratitude228 to the dressmaker, Jinny had become more than ever her intellectual parasite229, and a wealth of information from “The Christian Mother’s Miscellany” and “Culpeper’s Herbal”—to say nothing of the spinster’s own sibylline230 rhymes—enriched the walk to and from church, which Miss Gentry graciously permitted her carrier and debtor231 to take in her society next Sunday morning. They parted indeed inside, Miss Gentry plumping herself unrebuked into the curtained three-benched pew of the dead and gone squire232 whom old Farmer Gale had dispossessed. Jinny was thus unable to exchange glances with her at the thrilling announcement read out by the cleric, who after the Second Lesson declared curtly—as if it were the most natural thing in the world—that Mr. Anthony Flippance, widower235, of Frog Farm, and Miss Bianca Cleopatra Jones, spinster, of Foxearth Farm, both of this parish, proposed to enter into holy matrimony. At once a whirligig of images circled round Jinny and she saw dizzily the explanation of a disappearance236 that had puzzled her, for Tony had vanished from “The Black Sheep” without leaving a tip, the old waiter grumbled237. What had led up to this adventure, she wondered, and how was Polly taking her intended stepmother?
“Isn’t that the Showman you’ve spoken of?” Miss Gentry inquired, as the congregation of seven streamed out, swollen240 by musicians, sexton, clerk, and pew-opener. “The fomenter241 of ungodliness?”
“It certainly seems my old customer,” replied Jinny, somewhat evasively. “But I didn’t know he was living at Frog Farm.”
“Didn’t you tell me he was going to turn your chapel into a playhouse?”
“So he said once, but nothing seems to have come of it.”
“More’s the pity,” Miss Gentry surprised Jinny by commenting. She added, “Even a playhouse would do less harm.”
“I—I don’t see that,” Jinny stammered242, protesting.
“It’s as clear as daylight. The Devil stamps his sign plainly on a playhouse: he forges God’s name on a chapel. And who is this Miss Jones?”
“I don’t know. I never heard of any girl at Foxearth Farm called Cleopatrick—what a funny name!”
“Cleopatra,” corrected Miss Gentry grandly, her bosom243 expanding till it strained her Sunday silk. “A great Queen of Egypt in the days of old. Born under Venus and died of the bite of an asp!”
“What’s an asp?” said Jinny.
“It’s what they call the serpent of old Nile!”
“Good gracious!” Jinny exclaimed. “Couldn’t they have given Her Majesty244 agrimony wine?”
“Neither horse-mint nor wild parsnip could avail: there is no ointment245 against suicide,” Miss Gentry explained. “She killed herself.”
“A queen kill herself! What for?”
“What does one kill oneself for?” Miss Gentry demanded crushingly. “For love, of course. But I hope her namesake is more respectable. Cleopatra never published the banns. But how comes this Miss Jones to be at Foxearth Farm? I thought the people were called Purley—hurdle-makers, aren’t they?”
“Yes—it must be a lodger246. They do take lodgers247. I must ask Barnaby—I meet him on the road sometimes.” She stood still suddenly, going red and white by turns like the revolving248 lens of a lighthouse.
Miss Gentry stared, then smiled in sentimental249 sympathy “Is he a nice boy?” she cooed.
“Who? Ye-es, very nice,” Jinny stammered. “But I’ve just remembered Miss Jones isn’t his sister!”
“Who said she was? Oh, Jinny, Jinny!” Miss Gentry sometimes became roguish.
“She’s only his stepsister,” Jinny explained desperately250. “Mrs. Purley’s first husband was called Jones.”
If the bride should really be the Purley creature—the fair charmer who rode so often in Will’s coach as to be almost “keeping company” with him! What a lifting of a nightmare! What a sudden horizon of rose! But no, it was too good to be true!
“But I never heard she was called Cleopatra,” she wound up sadly.
“People often have a second name hidden away like a tuck,” said Miss Gentry.
“But her first name isn’t the same either, it’s Blanche.”
“But Bianca is Blanche!” bayed Miss Gentry, like an excited bloodhound. “Only more grand and foreign-like.”
Jinny’s colours revolved251 again.
“Is it?” she breathed. But she remembered Mr. Flippance’s address had been announced as Frog Farm. If he had thus ousted252 young Mr. Flynt, she urged, how could he be living so amicably253 under his rival’s roof? Besides, how should Mr. Purley’s second wife, a matron as famous for her cheeses as her spouse254 for his hurdles255, have christened her girl so outlandishly? No, Joneses were as abundant as hips109 and haws, and this Miss Jones could only have come to their out-of-the-way parish—like Mr. Flippance—for reasons of statutory residence, though why the Showman should bury himself to be married, Miss Gentry declared to be an exciting enigma256. Perhaps he liked a quiet wedding, Jinny suggested, having too many acquaintances in towns, and with that she dismissed the hope from her mind.
But it was not so easy to dismiss the topic from Miss Gentry’s. That lady was rolling the hymeneal discussion under her tongue. She pointed out that Foxearth Farm was not in Little Bradmarsh and was prepared to discuss the romantic ramifications257, if it should turn out on the wedding-day that the bride was disqualified. But Jinny cruelly took the sweet out of her mouth. Foxearth Farm was in the parish, she declared. “It’s one of those funny bits, lost, stolen, or strayed into other parishes. I know because of the women from there who come upon our parish for blankets when they’re laid aside——”
“Oh, Jinny!” deprecated Miss Gentry, to whom, maternity258 was as sordid259 and surreptitious as matrimony was righteously romantic.
But Jinny, innocently misunderstanding, persisted. “Why, I remember the fuss when the steam-roller tried to charge our parish for doing up a scrap260 of the road beyond Foxearth Farm.”
They walked through the sunlit churchyard in constrained261 silence, Miss Gentry feeling as if the steam-roller had gone over roses. But stimulated262 by the iron pole and the four steps, by which ladies who rode pillion anciently mounted and dismounted, she began wondering who would be making the bride’s dress. That gave Jinny a happy idea. How if she got Miss Gentry the work—that would be a slight return for all she owed her!
“Why shouldn’t you make it?” she inquired excitedly. “I could speak to Mr. Flippance, now that I know where he is.”
“Hush, child, don’t profane263 the Sabbath! Men don’t count in wedding matters,” said Miss Gentry in complex correction. “Nor would I care about the patronage264 of stage people.”
“But she mayn’t be stage.”
“Like runs to like,” Miss Gentry sighed, and Jinny felt the Colchester romance hovering again. But it did not descend39. Instead, Miss Gentry remarked that she ought to have known that it could not be a local beauty. No play-actor with any brains at all could be attracted by anything hereabouts, especially when they could not achieve the acquaintance of women of real attraction and intellect, these preferring the company of cats to that of strolling sinners. Nevertheless, far be it from her wilfully266 to rob Jinny of a commission.
“I wasn’t thinking of my commission,” Jinny protested with a little flush.
“I couldn’t dream of it otherwise. Squibs and I need so little and have more work than we can manage.”
“Squibs?” Jinny murmured.
“The place is overrun with rats,” Miss Gentry explained. “What will it be when the cold drives them in from the ditches? However, fortunately that horrible old Mawhood stands compelled to clear the cottage before winter. That was the compromise our too kindly267 pastor let him off with.”
“So you told me. Shall I order the Deacon at once?”
“The Deacon?” Miss Gentry sniffed269. “Bishops they’ll call themselves next.”
“There is a bishop270,” Jinny reminded her. “Bishop Harrod.”
“Wretched little rat-catchers!” Miss Gentry hissed271. “Setting themselves up against the Church Established. I’m so glad you’re done with them.”
“But I’m not,” Jinny confessed shyly. “I’m still Peculiar67.”
“You are, indeed!” Miss Gentry cried, startled. “Do you mean to tell me that after the glorious privilege of sitting under Mr. Fallow——!” Words failed her, and they also failed Jinny, to whom this unfamiliar metaphor272 conjured273 up a puzzling picture of the vicar perched on her Sunday bonnet. The girl was the first to recover her breath.
“Gran’fer told me my mother wanted me to be Peculiar,” she explained. “I can’t go against my Angel-Mother.” Then she blushed prettily274, never having mentioned the angel mother since childhood, and feeling somehow as if she had profaned275 a sacred secret.
“If your angel mother was alive,” cried Miss Gentry with conviction, “it’s to our church that she would come—to our grand old church with its storied windows!”
A divine thrill ran through all Jinny’s frame. Her belief that her mother and the painted angel were mysteriously one was sealed. The oracle276 had spoken.
Miss Gentry, swelling277 at her silence—Jinny heard the silk crackling—felt herself indeed an oracle. Squibs had his pick of the plates at that Sunday dinner, enjoying a Sabbath rest from rats, and basking278 in his mistress’s lap, a black curled-up breathing mass of felicity.
V
As Jinny jogged along next Tuesday morning, diverging279 from her usual beat to take in the hurdle-maker’s home, that lay—like a geological “fault”—in the wrong parish, the plan that formed itself in her mind was to approach the question of the bride and the wedding-dress by way of Barnaby Purley, the youth who had so chivalrously280 come to her rescue by delivering at Uckford Manor281 the keg of oil overlooked by her on that memorable282 journey with Elijah Skindle. It was because Foxearth Farm possessed233 this hobbledehoy scion283 and a trap of its own that Jinny had never done its marketing284, nor come face to face with the creature of whom with sidelong eye she caught tantalizing285 glimpses in the Flynt Flyer. “Not bad-lookin’?” was the countryside’s appraisal286 of her, which was rather ominous287, indicating as it did considerable beauty, and conjoined as it was with a rumour of easy conquests, culminating in the coach-owner. But a good square look at her had not been attainable288, even on Sunday, for though the family was Church of England—Mr. Giles Purley being even a churchwarden—it preferred to worship in the parish church to which it did not parochially belong. Jinny told herself she was hastening at this first opportunity purely289 in Miss Gentry’s interest, for fear the bridal gown had been ordered elsewhere. But she could not quite disguise from herself her consuming anxiety to discover whether this everyday Miss Jones was really a Cleopatra, though she called her poignant290 emotion mere curiosity, and deemed herself as apathetic291 at heart as the bumble-bees now crawling miserably292 about her cart, which could be flicked293 into a feeble flight and drone, but which soon relapsed into their torpor294.
In truth the suppressed hope of finding Blanche safely paired with the Showman was now quickening her pulses and restoring the wild rose to her cheeks. The September day, too, for all the long-continued drought, and despite the drowsy295 bumble-bees, was not devoid296 of animating297 influences, especially the delicious smell of burnings from the fields, where men tossed from their prongs brown masses of weed into red and smoking heaps, or carried like merry devils fiery298 forks from one pile to another. Monstrous299 fungi300 clove301 in pied picturesqueness302 to the elm-trunks, and a hawthorn303 grove304 with its scarlet305 berries was like a vast radiant smile. Overhead the sun, a shimmery306 thin-clouded sphere, showed like an eye in a great white peacock’s wing. The hips and blackberries were interfused in the hedges, the ivy307 flowered on the squat308 church towers, the Virginia creepers were reddening the cottages, and the dahlias grew tall in the little front gardens. In the orchards310 the pear-trees and apple-trees were heavy with fruit. Around them the turnip-fields looked more like spreads of mustard, so thick were the slender yellow-flowering stems pushing between the crop proper. And everywhere was life; pecking poultry scattering311 before Methusalem’s feet, and little frogs playing leapfrog; swarms313 of the Daddy-long-legs and gigantic spiders, great quarrelling families of rooks, quiet chewing cattle, pigs nosing for acorns314 or windfall apples, hares or great rats or weasels scuttling315 across the road, partridges straying fearlessly in the stubble, swallows darting316 unpromisingly high, and when Jinny passed over the little brick bridge, at which a black drainage-mill waved what seemed its four crossed white combs, a pair of superb swans hissed their proud protectiveness over a very drab cygnet.
Driving through an avenue of firs and hornbeam, and past a dirty pond with two flagged mounds317 in the middle, she reached the clearing where the hurdle-maker operated, with his farmhouse318 for base of his combined industrial, agricultural, and pastoral occupations.
Mr. Giles Purley, a rosy319-wrinkled apple-faced ancient, stood in his shirt-sleeves, looking as pleasantly untidy as his farmyard, which was full of felled logs and split wood, and bean and corn stacks, and ramshackle sheds. He was planing off knots with a bill-hook, and as Jinny drove up to the gate of the old timbered red house, he greeted her with a cheery grumble238 at the drought which forced such winter work prematurely320 upon him. Jinny was abashed321 to find no pretext322 for her visit coming to her tongue, so she stammered out that she wanted to see Barnaby, and the droll323 look that twinkled across his father’s face sent her colour up still higher. “Always wants a change, they youngsters,” he chuckled benevolently324, “whether ’tis of work or sweet-hearts.”
At this point Jinny became aware of Barnaby himself, who, equally in his shirt-sleeves, was smiling sheepishly up at her from the ditch which he was discumbering with a hook. “Lilies of the walley they stick in their buttonholes,” went on his father waggishly325, “as if weeds was ever aught but weeds. There ain’t one that showlders his sack o’ corn or sticks to his dearie. Sheep’s eyes they can make, but as for sheep-hurdles——!” The note was now earnest. It seemed an unpropitious moment to tackle Barnaby.
And to make it more impossible, Blanche herself suddenly bounded from the orchard309, flourishing a great corroded326 pear.
“Nipped thirteen!” she cried gaily327.
“Not bad-lookin’,” forsooth! To Jinny she appeared in her bloom and colour like a rich peach dipped in cream: overripeness was the only flaw her beauty suggested to this girl in her teens. But the chill at Jinny’s heart did not prevent her crying out with equal gaiety, “What an unlucky number—for the wasps328!”
Barnaby laughed adoringly from his ditch, Mr. Giles Purley in simple joy of the slaughter329. The pigs, he explained gleefully, had gnawed at the pear-bags and Blanche was “wunnerful masterous” at nipping the wasps as they crawled out of the forbidden fruit. Asps, Jinny found herself thinking, would have a bad time at such bold hands, though they made the Cleopatra likelier—she slued her eyes round to see the rings on them, but the engagement finger was hidden by the big pear, and Miss Jones, her gaiety checked, was eyeing her like the intruder she was.
“She can kill two at once,” Barnaby called up.
“Like you with the lasses,” flashed his father, to his confusion.
“It’s nothing,” said Blanche coldly. “They haven330’t time to curl their tails round.”
“Who? The lasses?” asked Jinny, and to her relief the beautiful Blanche vouchsafed331 a smile.
“You won’t be stung if you don’t think you’ll be,” the girl explained more cordially. Then, unable to retain the proud secret longer, even from the Carrier, she burst forth332, “I’m going on the stage with it.”
“What!” Jinny gasped333.
“Only as a beginning, of course. ‘Bianca, The Bare-Handed Wasp-Killer,’ it’ll be on the bills.”
“Rubbidge!” came explosively from Mr. Purley. “And where will Mr. Flippance get the wapses in the winter? A circus-slut indeed—I wonder what your mother can be thinkin’ of! And what’s Mr. Honeytongue going to bill you as, Barnaby? Not champion hurdle-maker, I’ll go gaff!”
“Wait till you see me,” said Barnaby with sullen72 mysteriousness. “You don’t know a circus from a theaytre.”
“You’ll stick to your shackles334 and bolts,” said his parent grimly, “and peel the bark off, too!”
At the mention of Mr. Flippance, Jinny’s heart beat fast: she felt hovering on the verge335 of the revelation, and the Bianca and the stage-project rekindled336 her hope. But Mr. Purley’s grievance337 had to be worked off first. “They’re too lazy to peel the wood,” he explained to Jinny. “But that’s the main thing for hurdles—to strip ’em well against rain. Same as you was full-dressed in a pouring rain—the time it ’ud take you to dry! If you was naked now——”
“Oh, dad!” Barnaby remonstrated338, to his parent’s confusion, and enjoyed this tit-for-tat.
“When do you expect Mr. Flippance, Mr. Purley?” Jinny asked him hastily.
“Oh, he never comes in the mornings,” Blanche replied, and this appropriation339 of the question seemed to Jinny to continue the promise of Bianca and the stage-project.
“Then can I speak to—to his intended?” she flashed brilliantly, with a clever smile.
“She’s gone to her dressmaker,” said Blanche simply.
It was a double blow, and Jinny winced340 before it. In that twinkling of her eye Blanche seemed years younger, diabolically341 handsome, a nipper of buds as well as of wasps. But a worse blow awaited her, for she had scarcely regained342 her composure when the distant sound of a wheezy horn and a sense of an impending343 avalanche344 brought Blanche into bounding activity again.
“Why, there’s Will!” she exclaimed with a comic, happy start. “And me not dressed yet!” And without a word to the little Carrier, she ran gaily into the house.
Frantically345 clutching Nip who was about to spring to meet the coach, Jinny cried vague thanks to the hurdle-maker and hurried Methusalem down a by-way so narrow that she could hardly squeeze through the untrimmed “werges” neglected of Barnaby.
VI
When she heard the coach well on its way again on the Chipstone road, with Blanche divined within, she found herself possessed by an unexpected urging towards Mr. Flippance. She had no real round any longer—only the hours to fill and her grandfather to half deceive—and perhaps, despite Miss Gentry’s own opinion, the bridegroom might yet be able to prevent her being cut out by the rival pair of scissors. The truth was, Jinny felt a physical need of the toning up the Showman somehow imparted to life. To drive around the rest of the day with practically no business but her own thoughts would be too dreadful. He must surely babble346 happily about his bride, and apart from the interest of her identity, some of his glow could not but radiate to her. And there was Caleb and Martha to see, too—how were they faring, these dear, simple creatures, too long unvisited? But then—thought that froze the heart!—had she not declared she would never set foot in Frog Farm again? No, she answered herself defiantly—and no memory of hereditary347 quibbling, nothing of her sense of humour, rose to trouble the reply—all she had said was that Will should never see her there. And Will was safely chained to the Chipstone road.
All the same she looked round apprehensively349 and with wildly beating heart before she allowed Methusalem to lift the latch350 of the familiar gate, and she had somehow expected so great a transformation351 in the farmhouse under its new and sinister352 activities, and was conscious of so vast a change in herself since she had last seen it, that its primitive353 black front almost startled her, so unchanged did it appear. True, the ferrets’ cages were gone, but their absence only made it more its old self, and the moan of the doves was as reassuring354 as the singing of the kettle on her own hearth355. Caleb’s red shirt-sleeves looked for once in keeping with the scene, arising as they did out of yellow flame-tinged clouds from the rubbish-heap which he was burning, and the pleasant pungent356 smell of which filled her eyes with tears, half smoke, half emotion. Even in that glow the homely357 hair-circled face was capable of a new illumination.
“Gracious goodness, there’s Jinny!” He ran to the house-door. “Mother! Mother!” he cried in jubilant agitation358.
Martha emerged at a hobbling run, apron359-girded. Despite the glow, her face darkened.
“You give a body a turn,” she grumbled. “I almost thought ’twas the Golden City coming down.”
“?’Tis nigh as good,” he retorted boldly, “bein’ as Jinny was same as gone there. And bless me, ef she don’t look ghosty!”
“Good morning, Jinny!” said Martha coldly. “We don’t need a carrier now—with our coach to get everything.”
Jinny’s cheeks turned far from “ghosty.” “I haven’t come to you—only to Mr. Flippance.”
“But he gets everything, too, through Willie.”
“I know that—I merely want to speak to him.”
“You can’t now.”
“The missus means he’s abed,” Caleb explained, rushing to Jinny’s relief, and indeed the information brought a smile back to her twitching360 lips. “Minds me of a great old tortoise, diggin’ hisself into his blankets. Do him good to be up with the sun, same as when Oi was a scarecrow, soon as the wheat was sown.”
“You don’t want to tell everybody you began as a scarecrow,” said Martha frigidly361.
“Ef we’re rich now, dear heart, and can ride in our own coach, ’tis the Lord’s hand, not ours. Oi watched over wheat and winter beans, and ’arly peas, and winter oats, and then spring barley363, but all the time the Lord was watchin’ over me.”
“Not as a scarecrow,” said Martha severely364.
“Oi warn’t a scarecrow ploughin’-time, bein’ set on the middle hoss to flick86 the whip, and chance times when ’twas too frosty to plough Oi went to Dame365 Pippler’s to school.”
“I never heard that before,” said Martha.
“Dedn’t like to tell ye,” he confessed, “being as ’twas too cowld to howd the slate366-pencil, and the book-larnin’ leaked out ’twixt the frosts. ’Twas a penny a week wasted.”
Martha saw their visitor was amused at this revelation after fifty years of wedlock367. “Jinny wants to be going on,” she observed testily368. “Look at all her boxes.”
“Oi’m proper pleased to see ’em, for as Oi says to Willie, Oi hope as you ain’t hart Jinny’s business and grieved the Lord. Ye can’t sleep, Oi says, ef ye’ve grieved the Lord.”
“Then Mr. Flippance must be a saint,” laughed Jinny. But she was touched to tears.
Caleb had, however, not finished his apologia for his lack of learning, and was to be diverted neither by Jinny’s jests nor his wife’s grimaces369. “And in the summer,” he explained carefully, “Oi got to goo out with my liddle old gun agin they bird-thieves, though peas and pebbles370 was all the shot my feyther——”
“Can’t you try some at Mr. Flippance’s window?” interrupted Jinny, fearful the fretful Martha would soon close her door upon her.
“Oi’d have to stand sideways for that!” He pointed to a hooked-back casement371. “Fust he kivers hisself up, then he opens hisself out”—he chuckled contemptuously—“?’tis ‘in dock, out nettle,’ as the sayin’ goos.”
Jinny lifted her little horn to her lips and blew a blast so literally rousing that hardly had its echoes died than from the black casement framework a red unshaven face, like the rayed rising sun on an inn signboard, dawned above clouds of flamboyant372 dressing-gown.
“Jinny! Hurrah373!” cried the apparition374 in delighted surprise. “The very person I’ve been wanting for weeks!”
In the effulgence375 of that great rubicund376 sphere of a face Jinny’s mists began to dissolve—after all, with all his faults he belonged to her rosy past, to the good old times ere black horses or red men had arisen to rend116 her. “Then why didn’t you let me know?” she smiled.
“Just what I was thinking of doing. So glad you’ve saved me a letter. Never was so hard-worked in my life. Good morning, ma,” he threw to Mrs. Flynt, whose set face now relaxed into a maternal377 mildness, “do I smell breakfast?”
“Ye could ha’ smelt378 it afore seven, friend,” said Caleb, growing dour175 as Martha grew soft. “And the missus a bit paltry379 to-day, too!”
“Am I late? I’m so sorry. Why, I thought it was Will’s horn!”
“Mr. Flippance overslept himself, dearie,” Martha said reproachfully.
“But you hate food spilin’,” Caleb protested.
“Not so much as I hate spoilt food!” said Tony. “Not that a good housekeeper like Mrs. Flynt would really let food spoil—any more than you your wheat-patch.”
“Ef ye had helped gittin’ that bit o’ corn in,” retorted Caleb, “ye’d fare to have more to sleep on.”
“There’s more than one kind of work, Caleb,” said Martha severely. “There’s brain-work for them that have never been scarecrows.”
“Yes, indeed, Mrs. Flynt!” said Tony earnestly. “I’m worked to a shadow.”
“And there was no such hurry to get the corn in,” Martha added.
“With all they prayers for rine gooin’ on, ye can’t be too careful,” Caleb urged.
“But what work had you got, Mr. Flippance?” Jinny laughed.
“Getting married. Didn’t you know?”
She was startled. “But you’re not married already?”
“No such luck. When the lady says ‘Yes,’ you think all your troubles are over. But they’re only beginning.”
Caleb’s face relaxed in a grin, whereupon Martha’s hardened to a frown. “Marriage is no laughing matter,” she said, with a glower380 at her husband.
“No, indeed, Mrs. Flynt!” endorsed381 Tony. “What with the forms and questions and ceremonies and witnesses and what not, and rings to buy and bouquets382 to order—it’s worse than a dress rehearsal384!”
“But you’ve had the rehearsal,” Jinny reminded him.
“I was young and strong. Now you’ve got to help me.”
“Me?” Jinny was enchanted385 at this smoothing of the path for Miss Gentry. “But I’m so busy,” she protested professionally. “I can’t wait till you’re up.”
“Jinny’s too busy,” Martha corroborated386. And in her eagerness to be rid of the girl, she unconsciously clucked to Methusalem, and so exactly like Jinny that the noble animal actually started.
“Wait! Wait!” Mr. Flippance shouted down wildly. “Do wait! Such a lot to consult you about. Haven’t even got a best man yet. Find me one and I’ll call down blessings387 on your head!”
“I don’t want you to call them down,” she jested up. “That’s the trouble.”
“I’ll be down before you can say ‘Jack Robinson.’?”
“I wasn’t going to suggest him!” And she reined389 in her fiery steed.
Martha had hurried to her kitchen to bring in the belated breakfast, and the convulsion into which Jinny’s last remark appeared to throw Caleb was left unchecked by wifely grimaces. The veteran alternated between gurgles and roars so continuously that Jinny, flattered as she was by the reception of her jest, began to feel uneasy.
“That fair flabbergasted him,” he gasped, getting his breath at last. “How can Oi, says Oi, ef Oi’m a buoy-oy, Oi says.” He wiped the tears from his whiskered cheeks and blew his nose into his great “muckinger.”
“But he didn’t ask you to be best man,” she said, puzzled. “And you aren’t a boy.”
“?’Twas master as called me a buoy-oy,” he explained, his eyes still dancing, “so as to keep down my wages. Oi’ve got three hosses same as the min, Oi says, and can plough my stetch similar-same as them and cut and trave up my corn better’n Bill Ravens390 as felt the teeth of the sickle391 two days arter he started and couldn’t work no more, though double-money time, as Oi can sartify bein’ as ’twar me what tied my neckercher round his arm with the blood pourin’ down like sweat, and lucky ’twarn’t his wife, Oi says, but another woman gooin’ behind him to be larnt how, she bein’ in confinement392. But master he wouldn’t listen to nawthen. Oi’ll give you easy ploughin’ was all he promised, ye’re onny a buoy-oy, he says, obstinacious like, and Oi stayed on a bit, not mislikin’ the cans of tea the wives brought, all hot and sweet, and the big granary with pillars and fower on us thrashin’ and rattlin’ on the big oak floor, jolly as a harvest supper, and Bill Ravens—that be the feyther of the rollin’ stone as shears393 chance times for Master Peartree—singin’ like the saints in Jerusalem, all except for the words. But at last, bein’ as feyther wanted the money and Oi needed time to look for a farmer not so nippy, gimme a week off, says Oi to old Skindflint. A week off! says master. What for? Gooin’ to git married?”
At this point the convulsion recommenced, and Jinny, though she understood how the Flippance wedding had set his memories agog394, had still to wait for enlightenment as to why they were agrin.
“Married, Oi says! How can Oi git married, ef Oi’m a buoy-oy?”
It was out at last, the great repartee395 of his life, and Jinny felt he was right to cherish its memory. She occupied the period of his renewed cachinnation in descending396 from her seat and giving Methusalem his impoverished397 nosebag. Her action reminded Caleb to offer to show her the enlarged stables, with the old roof raised to admit the coach. Then, colouring as if at an indelicacy, he hastily inquired how her grandfather was, remarking with commiseration398 that he must be getting a bit elderly.
Never had Jinny known him so loquacious399—the absence of Martha was combining with her own advent239 to loosen his usually ruly member. And at last the pent-up flood of his grievances400 against the Showman burst forth. The return of Will, Jinny gathered, had been dislocating enough, even before his new-fangled coach had brought the stir of the great world and Bundock almost daily, but now the house and the hours were all “topsy-tivvy,” worse than in Cousin Caroline’s time. He would do Will the justice to say that it wasn’t his fault—Will had been against putting up a “furriner” in their spare bedroom—but the “great old sluggaby” had come and ingratiated himself so with the rheumatic but romantic Martha, and offered such startling prices—a pound a week for board and lodging—“enough to feed the whole Pennymole family for a fortnight”—that she had forced her will upon both the male Flynts. “The trouble with Martha is,” Caleb summed up, “she allus wants what she wants.” Mr. Flippance, he explained, “got a piper for her from her Lunnon Sin Agog—funny name that for the Lord’s House, even in Lunnon—and that piper fared to be all about the Christy Dolphins and their doin’s—the Loightstand, Martha called it. And she read me a piece out of it how Mr. Somebody, husband o’ Sister T’other, was baptized by Elder Somebody Else; and she wanted me to goo and do likewise.”
“But you are nearly one of them, aren’t you?” Jinny smiled.
He looked uneasy.
“Oi don’t want to be baptized a Jew,” he said plaintively401. “Martha she argufies as Paul says we are the Jews, bein’ Abraham’s seed in our innards. So long as she calls us the Lord’s people, Oi fair itches1 to be one, but that goos agin the stomach like to call yourself a Jew. Same as she was satisfied with the New Jerusalem part, Oi’d goo with her. For ef the Book says, ‘No man hath gone up to heaven,’ or ‘Whither Oi goo, ye cannot come,’ that proves as heaven’s got to come to us, and happen Oi’ll live to see it droppin’ down with its street of pure gold same as transparent402 brass403. But Oi won’t be swallowed up whole like a billy-owl15 swallows a mouse.”
“What’s that you’re saying, Caleb?” said Martha, now perceived back at her house-door.
“He was telling me about the Lightstand,” said Jinny glibly404.
Martha beamed again. “Ah, it won’t be long before that light spreads, though now the world is all shrouded405 in darkness and superstition406. But salvation407 is of the Jews.”
“That ain’t writ226 in the Book?” inquired Caleb anxiously.
“Salvation is of the Jews,” repeated Martha implacably. “John iv. 22. There’s nine of us now in Essex alone, the Lightstand says, not reckoning London. They don’t know about another that’s on the way Zionwards,” she added mysteriously.
“Meaning me?” said Caleb nervously408.
“Meaning a man with brains and book-learning,” said Martha sternly, “and he’s ready to see you now, Jinny.”
“Well, nine ain’t no great shakes,” Caleb murmured.
“We are the salt of the earth,” Martha reminded him. “A pinch of salt goes a long way.”
“Ay, when it rolls in a pill-box,” Caleb reflected ruefully. “And hows the old chapel, Jinny?” he said aloud. “Willy never goos now.”
Jinny coloured up: one of her pretexts409 for apostacy seemed null and void.
“I’ll see you when I come out, I suppose,” she said evasively, as she followed Martha within.
VII
The parlour of Frog Farm had not the peculiar mustiness which greeted Jinny’s nostrils410 when last she peeped into it that tragic morning of Maria’s illness, but there was by way of compensation a reek411 of stale tobacco and the odours of the breakfast bacon and mushrooms, while in lieu of the sacrosanct412 tidiness there was a pervasion413 of papers, with a whole mass of scripts sliding steadily414 from the slippery sofa. The brown-lozenged text on the wall: “When He giveth quietness, who then can make trouble?” seemed to shriek415 for Caleb’s answer: “Friend Flippance.” Other documents bulged416 and bristled417 from both pockets of the dressing-gown as from greasy418 paniers.
“Bless you, Jinny,” Tony gurgled from his breakfast-cup. He eyed her rapturously. “What a pretty pair you’ll make at the wedding!”
“It’s no use, Mr. Flippance,” said Martha, beaming, “I’ve told you before I won’t go into a church.”
Mr. Flippance, who had been mentally coupling his bride and Jinny, replied with but the briefest muscular quiver, that the only thing that reconciled him to Martha’s absence was that she was incapacitated by matrimony from the r?le of bridesmaid. This morning he would not trouble her to wait. “You can ‘withdraw’ from me,” he said jocosely420.
Martha was jarred by this profane use of the sacred vocabulary, and moreover felt it almost as improper421 to leave Jinny alone in her house, even with a budding bridegroom. “Jinny’s got no secrets from me,” she said tartly422; and Mr. Flippance, divining his error, remarked blandly423, “Nor have I.” And as Martha started to dust the mantelpiece ornaments425 and to discover cigar-ash in her china shoes, he drew Jinny’s attention to the “beautiful” silk sampler that hung over them. “And all worked with Mrs. Flynt’s own hand! What a wonderful lion—and as for the unicorn, she’s got it to the life!”
“Oh, it’s only what I did when a girl,” said Martha, blushing modestly. “Only I didn’t like to hang it up then, because I’d left no room for the foreign trees like my sisters put in!”
“Well, but you’ve got in the alphabet, big and little, and all the figures! Wonderful!”
“That’s where Willie learnt his A B C from,” said Martha, radiant.
“Ah, that gay deceiver!” sighed Mr. Flippance. “He told me he was a Yankee, but now I find he’s only a yumorist. Still he’s a chap any woman can be proud of—what do you say, Jinny?”
Jinny, who had seated herself on the sofa, carefully steadied the slipping manuscripts as she replied with a forced lightness:
“I say, if you want a best man, you can’t find a better.”
“Ah, that’s the trouble. He won’t take part in a Church ceremony neither, he says he’s got to consider the old folks—at the chapel,” he added promptly426. “But at any rate we shall have the best bridesmaid.”
“You don’t mean me?” said Jinny, colouring under his admiring gaze. “Because it’s impossible. I haven’t the time—or the money.”
“Is it the dress you’re thinking of? Surely the Theatre Royal, Chipstone, can run to that?” And pulling a protrusive427 scroll428 from a pocket of his dressing-gown, he unfurled it beatifically429, exposing a poster with the coupled names of Anthony Flippance and Cleopatra Jones in giant letters.
“Anthony and Cleopatra!” he breathed in a ravishment. “The moment she told me her second name was Cleopatra I knew it was useless fighting against the fates.”
“But have you bought our chapel then?” Jinny inquired.
“Bought your chapel?” Mr. Flippance was mystified. “Why on earth should I buy your chapel?”
“You—you might have turned it into a theatre!” she stammered apologetically.
He waved the suggestion away with a jewelled hand. “Only a new Temple of Thespis could live up to Anthony and Cleopatra. We are building!”
“Where?” Now it was Jinny that was mystified—she had seen no such enterprise afoot.
“Here!” He tapped the other pocket of his dressing-gown. “Plans!” He rolled up his poster reluctantly. “Cleopatra wanted to see it in print. Didn’t I say what a work getting married was? But now that the bridesmaid’s settled——!”
“But she’s not!” said Jinny, more alarmed than when he was trying to cast her for the bride, perhaps because the danger of being sucked in was greater.
“Oh, Jinny!” He looked at her with large reproachful eyes and mechanically threw bacon to Nip, who had at last sniffed his way in, and who, fortunately for Martha’s composure, caught it ere it reached her carpet. “You see she wants to have the thing all regular and respectable, and all her family are in Wales. She hasn’t got a parent handy to give her away. And having led a wandering life, she hadn’t even a parish to marry in. I never thought you’d desert an old pal121.”
“But I’m no pal of hers—I don’t even know her.”
“Oh, Jinny!” And just arresting a paper-slide, he extricated431 a photograph from the imperilled mass. “The new Scott Archer432 process,” he declared proudly. “Knocks your daguerreotypes into the middle of last week. Good gag that, eh?”
But it was Jinny who seemed knocked into that period; and not only by this new triumph of the camera. For in this wonderful breathing image she recognized—in all save size, for this seemed a Cleopatra swelling to regal stature—the beauteous human doll she had last seen walking down the steps of a toy house, conning433 a part.
“But she’s married!” she gasped.
“Not yet. Would to heaven it were all over!” said Mr. Flippance airily, but his great brow grew black for an instant ere he turned it sunnily on Martha. “Oh, ma, could I have more of these marvellous mushrooms?”
“I’ll see, you greedy boy,” she smiled, retreating.
“Well, who could help saying encore to such items?” He turned reproachfully on Jinny. “You nearly shocked the old lady.”
“But didn’t you—didn’t you call her the Duchess?” Jinny stammered. “Oh, but perhaps it is Mrs. Duke’s sister—she looks taller.”
“That’s because she’s got no legs,” he explained paradoxically. “But it’s all right—The Loveliest Leading Lady in London.” (Jinny heard the capital letters distinctly.)
He went on to explain that London didn’t know this yet, and that some time must elapse before Cleopatra would be in a position to demonstrate it on the spot, owing to local jealousies434. But Jinny came back remorselessly to her point.
“But surely she was married to Mr. Duke!”
“Hush! Appearances are deceptive435. They were just close friends.”
“You couldn’t well be closer—in that doll’s house,” said Jinny scornfully. And her own words reminded her how he had denounced the Duchess as a “squeaking doll” whose “golden” hair was spurious.
“Now you shock me, Jinny,” said Mr. Flippance severely. “Pure as the driven snow is my Cleo, stainless436 as the Lady Agnes, shut up in that great oak chest on her wedding morn, sweet as her namesake, Bianca, in The Taming of the Shrew.”
“Why does she tame shrews?” asked Jinny, puzzled.
“That’s a play by Shakespeare”—the name not occurring in the Spelling-Book, left Jinny unimpressed. “A shrew is a vixen.”
This natural history left Jinny still less impressed. “That’s nonsense,” she said. “A shrew is tiny and lovely to look at, with darling rounded ears. I buried one the other day, and its eye was as bright as life.”
“It’s only a way of speaking,” he explained, “as you call a woman a cat. Katharina’s the polecat of the play that her husband has to tame with a whip, but Bianca is a dove, gentle and spotless.”
“Doves are not so gentle,” said Jinny. “They peck each other dreadfully. I like vixens better, at least they seem fonder of their family when you peep down their earths.”
Mr. Flippance, who had never in his life seen either a shrew or a vixen or a polecat or observed the habits of doves, was taken aback. He had even a vague sense of blasphemy437, some ancient religious images whirring confusedly in his brain. “Understand this, Jinny,” he said sharply, abandoning the shifting sands of metaphor, “Cleo gave Mr. Duke her companionship and her artistic438 co-operation, but as for marrying him—bring me that Book!”
He indicated the precious volume which Mrs. Flynt had left in the parlour for his study of the text-evidence of the Christadelphian teaching. But Jinny took his Bible oath for granted. Sincerity439 and righteous indignation radiated from every round inch of his face, and Jinny, despite her farmyard experience, was too nebulous in her ideas of human matings not to be shaken. In truth he had been vastly relieved by the discovery that the couple had pretermitted the ceremony and that he was saved the tedium440 and expense of a divorce suit, though he wondered why Mr. Duke with his meticulous441 book-keeping and contracts should be so loose where women were concerned, while he, so averse443 from parchments and figures, had a proper respect for the marriage-tie. Human nature was devilishly deep, he thought: no wonder a man got drowned if he tried to fathom444 himself.
But Jinny, though she now believed she had misunderstood the ducal ménage, was not without an instinctive445 distrust. “She didn’t want to live in the caravan446,” she protested.
“No,” he agreed, misapprehending the local idiom. “It was that pig-headed wire-puller who wanted it. Duke’s the villain447 of the piece, abusing my darling’s innocence448 and exploiting her artistic aspirations449. He got round the poor girl, knowing her aunt had left her all her money. Cleo, my dear Jinny, is the niece of the famous Cleopatra, the Cairo Contortionist, after whom she was christened, and whose death a year or so ago eclipsed the gaiety of Astley’s and Mr. Batty’s new Hippodrome.”
“Was she so beautiful?” asked Jinny, somewhat awed41.
“I was in love with her myself in my youth,” Mr. Flippance replied simply. “But though you could gossip with her round the coke-brazier at the back of the ring, she always made you feel that no man was worthy to chalk the soles of her tight-rope shoes. And her niece, as you have doubtless perceived, has the same grand manner.”
“Then why did she keep company with Mr. Duke?”
Jinny returned to the sore spot, Mr. Flippance felt, like a buzzing bluebottle.
“If you don’t believe me,” he cried, “show me the little Dukes and Duchesses. Where are they? Produce ’em.”
He looked at her fiercely—as demanding a rain of coroneted cherubs451 from the air.
The bold stroke put the climax452 to Jinny’s obfuscation453. Marriage without children was practically unknown on her round, though the children often died. “Don’t you see he wanted to compromise her?” pursued Tony triumphantly454, after giving the cherubs a reasonable time to materialize. “He thought she’d never dare break away with her money, and that he could spend her last farthing on boosting himself into the legitimate456. He’s all right with the marionettes—a dapster as you say here,” Mr. Flippance admitted magnanimously. “But as an actor he could no more expect to please my public than to keep Cleo hidden in a bushel. He might throw up the sponge and go back to his fantoccini—but what career was that for Cleo? She broke with him on the nail—the partnership457, I mean. And I ask you, ma,” he wound up, with an appreciative458 sniff268 as Martha re-entered, not only with mushrooms but freshly fried bacon, “what woman of spirit could do otherwise?”
Mrs. Flynt beamed assent459, and her apparent acquaintance with the facts contributed to lull Jinny’s uneasiness. Surely the pious460 Martha would not connive461 at scandalous proceedings463. Relieved, she sat silent; wondering—while Mr. Flippance did jovial464 justice to the encore dish—what the Duchess would think if she knew that she, Jinny, could have anticipated her in the r?le of the second Mrs. Flippance. And what would Polly have thought of her as a stepmother, she wondered still more whimsically. Perhaps between them they could have made a man of him. She had never seen his daughter over her cigar and milk or her sense of Polly as a pillar of respectability might have been shattered.
“And how is Miss Flippance?” she said.
His face changed suddenly—rain-clouds overgloomed the sun. His fork fell from his fingers. “You don’t know what daughters are,” he blubbered. “She’s left me!”
“Left you?”
“Ask ma,” he half sobbed466. It was infinitely467 pathetic.
“Don’t let it get cold again,” Martha coaxed468.
“I can’t eat.” He lit a cheroot abstractedly, and the old woman and the young girl followed his silent puffings with a yearning471 sympathy, while Nip begged, unheeded.
“Mad on marionettes is Polly,” he said at last. “The moment I got rid of ’em, she packed up my things and was off.”
“Stole your things?” cried the startled Jinny.
“No—no. She knew I should be moving on for the banns—Cleo likes a quiet place—so she left me tidy. That was her sole conception of her duty to her legal pa. But she had always looked upon me as a thing to be tidied—not a soul to be loved and cherished.” He wiped an eye with the sleeve of his dressing-gown and asked brokenly for his brandy. Martha hurried to his bedroom.
“But perhaps your daughter’ll come back,” Jinny suggested soothingly472.
“God forbid!” he cried. “I mean they’d be at it hammer and tongs473. Perhaps Providence does all things for the best.”
“But where has she gone?” Jinny’s sympathy was now passing to Polly, as she began to grasp the true complexity474 of her exodus475.
“To her grandmother in Cork476, I expect.” He blew a placid477 puff470. “Did I never tell you my pa’s real wife—the one he didn’t live with, I mean—was originally the widow of a well-to-do cheesemonger? Polly always looked up her nominal478 granny when we played Ireland. She likes respectable people.”
“Is that why she won’t come to the wedding?” Jinny inquired cruelly, for Polly’s refusal to countenance479 it again stirred up her doubts.
Mr. Flippance was angered afresh. “I tell you, my Cleopatra can hold up her head with the whitest cheesemonger’s widow in the land. But it’s hard,” he said, reverting480 to pathos481 and flicking his cigar-ash mournfully into the just-dusted shoe, “to be left without a daughter at such a crisis. Think how she would have stage-managed everything—even bought the ring.” The tragedy of his situation mastered him. “Forgive my emotion—I was always one to wear my heart on my sleeve.” He wiped his eyes on it again. “Nobody will ever pack like Polly. Ah, thank you, ma,” he said, as Martha reappeared with the brandy bottle. “Have you half a crown?” he added, pouring himself out a careless quota. “You see,” he explained, setting down his glass dolefully, and tendering Martha’s half-crown to the astonished Jinny, “though old pals482 desert one at the altar, Tony Flip234 doesn’t forget his obligations.”
“But what’s it for?” Jinny took the coin tentatively.
“You lent me it when that wicked Duke demanded money on the contract.”
“Oh, thank you!” Jinny was touched—a half-crown seemed as large as her cart-wheel nowadays. Half remorsefully484 she suggested that a far better bridesmaid would be the girl at Foxearth Farm.
He shook his head. “I’ve been into that. But there are—objections. It doesn’t do, you see, for the super to be taller than the leading lady. Now you being shorter——”
“But if Miss Jones were to wear very low heels——”
“But that would only make Miss Purley look still taller,” he said, puzzled.
“I mean Miss Purley to wear the low heels—she is a Miss Jones, too.”
“What?”
“Blanche Jones is her name—she’s only old Purley’s stepdaughter.”
He started up. “Then Mrs. Purley was formerly485 Mrs. Jones?”
“Yes.”
“Hurrah!” He seized the surprised Martha by the waist and began waltzing with her, while Nip barked with excitement.
“Quiet, Nip! What’s the matter?” cried Jinny, smiling.
“A relation at last! Don’t you see that Mrs. Jones can give the bride away?”
“But she’s not really a relation.”
“All these Joneses are one large family,” he said airily.
“But you don’t need a relation,” Martha pointed out. “A friend will do.”
“Really? I must study the stage-directions—I mean,” he corrected himself hastily, “yours may be different from the Church of England.”
“But I know all the same, for we weren’t allowed to marry in our own chapels486, leastways not till after Willie was born.”
“Well, anyhow, I’m sure Cleopatra would prefer a relation. Mrs. Jones is a Churchwoman, I hope. It’s necessary, ma, you know,” he apologized.
“Yes—her husband’s a churchwarden,” said Jinny.
“A churchwarden! Hurrah! Better and better. Then he shall give Cleo away.” He bumped the beaming, breathless Martha round again.
“But he isn’t even called Jones,” Jinny reminded him.
“A husband takes over his wife’s Jonesiness. Bless you, Jinny!” He seized her hand and dragged her likewise into the circular movement. “Now we go round the mulberry-bush, the mulberry-bush, the mulberry-bush——”
Caleb, coming past the door at this instant, stood spellbound. Had Mr. Flippance been really converted, and was it the joy of the New Jerusalem? Or had Martha now “moved on,” and was this the new dancing sect487 of which one heard rumours488?
Martha’s caperings ceased at sight of him. “It’s the wedding,” she said somewhat shamefacedly. “I’m just going to pickle489 your walnuts490, dear heart,” she added sweetly. “And Jinny must be getting to her work, too.”
At which delicate hint, Jinny, faintly flushing, rose to take her leave, and Nip, who had been whining491 his impatience492, was already gambolling171 hysterically493 without, before she remembered she had forgotten the very purpose of her visit.
“Oh, by the way, Mr. Flippance,” she said, as she followed Nip, “I suppose the wedding-gown is ordered.”
“Wedding-gown!” he repeated. “You don’t think Cleo has any need of wedding-gowns! Why the Lady Agnes dress—Act One—is the very prop43. for the occasion, and brand new, for she had just got Duke to put on The Mistletoe Bough430. Otherwise I should have been asking you for the address of that wonderful French friend of yours—the bearded lady, you know. But if you won’t be a bridesmaid, you’ve got to come to the show—yes, and the wedding breakfast too—I won’t take any refusal. It’ll be at Foxearth Farm, and I’m ordering oceans of sweet champagne495. Well, thank you a million times for finding Cleo a father. Good-bye, dear. God bless you!” He had shuffled496 without and now kissed his hand to the moving cart.
“What about a new wedding-gown for you?” Jinny called back. “A dressing-gown, I mean.”
“Yumorist!” came his chuckled answer.
VIII
Though not unconscious of a subterranean497 hostility498 in Martha, which she put down to the new business rivalry499, and though still perturbed500 about the Duchess, Jinny felt distinctly better for this visit, not to mention the half-crown, that now rare coin. She was still more heartened two days later when Bundock brought a letter from Mr. Flippance stating that, strange to say, Cleopatra did not find the Lady Agnes dress suitable. It would make her feel she was only playing at marrying, she said, and she was too respectful of holy matrimony to desecrate501 it by any suggestion of unreality: indeed she was already being fitted by the leading Chipstone artist. The dress was, however, turning out so dubiously502 that she would be glad if Jinny’s French friend would call upon her at Foxearth Farm with a view to preparing a “double.” As for Jinny being bridesmaid, he must reluctantly ask her to abandon the idea, as Cleopatra considered her too short.
“That’s the Flippance fist,” said Bundock, lingering to watch her read the letter, “scrawls all over the shop. I don’t mind your answering by post,” he added maliciously503, “now I’ve got to go there so much. I often kill—he, he, he!—two frogs with one stone now. So you’re to be bridesmaid, Tony tells me.”
“Nothing of the sort,” said Jinny, “and mind your own business.”
“It is my business,” he said in an aggrieved504 tone. “Didn’t he ask me to be best man? As if in this age of reason I could take part in superstitious505 rites506!”
“I don’t see any superstition about marrying,” said Jinny.
“I’m not so sure—tying a man to a woman like a dog to a barrel. But anyhow, why drag in heaven?”
“Because marriages are made there, I suppose,” said Jinny.
“Stuff and nonsense! And then the rice and the old shoes they throw!”
“I saw you throw one when your sister got married.”
“Maybe. But I didn’t believe in it.”
“Then why did you throw it?”
He hesitated a moment. “They say if you don’t believe in it, it’s even luckier than if you do.”
Jinny laughed heartily507.
“I’m not joking!” Bundock declared angrily.
“If you were, I shouldn’t be laughing,” said Jinny.
“Oh well, go to church!” Bundock retorted in disgust. “And I hope the beadle will give you an extra prod450 next Sunday.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t pretend. Everybody knows that church is a double torture—first the parson sends you to sleep with his sermon, and then the verger wakes you up with his rod.”
Jinny laughed again.
“Don’t tell me!” said Bundock. “My own father was forced to go—all the labourers on the estate, poor chaps, dead-sleepy after the week’s work, and that rod used to puggle ’em about. No wonder dad chucked both squire and parson.”
“It doesn’t happen in Mr. Fallow’s church,” Jinny assured him.
“Because nobody goes!” And Bundock hurried off with this great last word, and Jinny saw his bag heaving with the mirthful movement of his shoulders.
Somewhat to Jinny’s surprise, Miss Gentry from being Cleopatra’s alternative dressmaker developed into her adorer, it appearing that the lady displayed not only proportions most pleasing to the technical eye—“just made for clothes,” Miss Gentry put it—but a positive appetite for tracts442. She loathed508 Dissent, it transpired509, and to be married by a minister would seem to her little better than living in sin. A very paragon510 of propriety511 and an elegant pillar of the faith, Miss Cleopatra Jones, spinster, worshipped regularly with the churchwarden and his family in the wrong parish church. Miss Gentry, ravished by this combination of respectability and romance, did not once compel the fair client to attend upon her, travelling to Foxearth Farm instead in Jinny’s cart. It was impossible for Jinny’s doubts of Cleopatra’s immaculacy to survive Miss Gentry’s encomiums. While Miss Gentry ascended512 to the bedroom of her beautiful and still golden-haired client, posed in an atmosphere of old oak bedsteads and panelled linen514 presses, Jinny would sit with the second Mrs. Purley in her dairy—a cheerful, speckless515 room which enjoyed a specially4 spacious516 window, dairies being immune from the window-tax—while that bulkier edition of Blanche made cheeses and conversation. Mrs. Purley made conversation irrespective of her auditor517, for she needed no collaborator518: indeed a second party coming athwart this Niagara of monologue519 would have been swept aside like a straw.
As a great musician can take a few simple notes, and out of this theme evoke520 endless intricacies, enlargements, repetitions, echoes, duplications, parallelisms, and permutations, and then transform the whole into another key and give it you all over again, so out of a simple happening, like her feeding of a sick chicken, or her discovery that a hen had laid her clutch in the hedge, Mrs. Purley, without for a moment interrupting the milling of curd521 or the draining of whey, could improvise522 a fugal discourse523 that went ramifying and returning upon itself ad infinitum. It reminded Jinny of Kelcott Wood, where every day from three to five, on these September afternoons, hundreds of starlings, perched like bits of black coal on the mountain-ashes, kept up a ceaseless chattering524, shrilling525, clucking, querying526, cackling.
But she soon ceased to hear Mrs. Purley, was even lulled527 by the cascade528. Very familiar grew every pan, dipper, vat101, tub, press, cheese-cloth, or straw-mat, while the one readable article she knew by heart. It was the inscription529 on a china mug, in which Mrs. Purley sometimes put milk, and it recorded the virtues531 of a black-haired, black-whiskered head painted thereon. “The Incorruptible Patriot532. . . . The Undaunted Supporter of the People’s Rights. . . . The Father of the Fatherless. . . . The Pride and Glory of his Country” . . . such were a few of the attributes ascribed, with a profuseness533 resembling Mrs. Purley’s conversation, to a certain Henry Brougham, Esq., who, as Jinny learnt from Miss Gentry, was really and truly “a love,” having defended Queen Caroline when Miss Gentry was a schoolgirl. Queens were as liable to ill-luck as herself, Jinny began to suspect, recalling that Egyptian asp, and she became a little anxious for Victoria, who now came to figure in her dreams, as defended against French fire-eaters by this black-avised man, with the protruding nose, retreating forehead, and weak chin. Somehow—it was unintelligible534 when she woke up, but quite clear in her dream—the defended Victoria was also herself, for was not Henry Brougham “The Father of the Fatherless”?
Adjoining the dairy was a room, lit from it—to avoid taxation—by a pane513 in the door. Jinny sometimes had an uneasy sense that Blanche was inspecting her through that pane. Otherwise she hardly ever encountered the vespacide, who betrayed indeed no sense of rivalry, for the relations between Will and the little Carrier were unknown, and Blanche would, in any case, have considered so humble535 a personage negligible or at least nippable.
For if this handsome creature was—as she had struck Jinny-a shade overripe, it was not for lack of volunteer pluckers, and the mutability which Mr. Giles Purley had gently derided536 in his son had been even more marked in his stepdaughter. Fortunately Will was unaware537 of the episodes that had preceded his return to England. And not only did he regard himself as the first male that had ever squeezed that fair hand, but, untaught by its prowess as a wasp-killer, he believed her a passive victim to his own compelling charm. And the apparent perfection of Blanche’s surrender was the more grateful to him after the granite539 he had kept striking in Jinny. But the mobility540 which had hitherto marked Miss Blanche’s affections was now manifesting itself in a novel shape, for like Miss Gentry, she had come under the spell of Cleopatra, though a very different Cleopatra from the ardent541 Churchwoman who revealed herself to the dressmaker. The Cleopatra who magnetized the cheese-maker’s daughter, and who, carelessly abetted542 by Mr. Flippance’s sketchy543 promises, filled the ignorant girl with dramatic and palpitating ambitions, was a queen of the footlights, an inspirer of romantic passions, and in her unguarded moments—as when you sat on her bed at midnight with your hair down—a teller544 of strange Bohemian stories, a citer of perturbing545 Sapphic songs, the melodies of which she could even whistle. What wonder if Mrs. Hemans—Blanche’s favourite poet hitherto—began to pall546! She had been proud enough of her culture, leaving, as she felt it did, the parental547 perspectives far behind her; but now boundless548 horizons seemed opening up before her, and the London Journal which Cleopatra swallowed with her meals seemed to Blanche to contain nothing so alluring549 as Cleopatra’s own career.
It was by quite accidentally overhearing a remark of Blanche’s, and not by dint550 of Mr. Flippance’s repeated invitation, that Jinny was finally strung up to attend the great wedding. The probability that Will and Blanche would be at the feast was a drawback that prevailed over the lure551 of a good square meal, and even over the glamour552 of that mysterious nectar—champagne. But when she heard Blanche instruct her mother that she would certainly not have to lay a place for “that common carrier,” in a flame that might almost have consumed her letter-paper, Jinny wrote her acceptance to Mr. Flippance, and expended553 his half-crown, which she had laid by for a rainy day, on a wedding present which would do him good—a Bible, to wit.
In prevision of the great day she left off wearing her best gown, cleaned it, and by the aid of Miss Gentry and a bit of lace gave it a new turn. After the wedding it must, alas554, be pawned555! Jinny, though she had hitherto entered the pawnshop only to pledge or redeem556 things for her customers, had schooled herself to the inevitable557. So had Mr. Flippance, whose idea of a best man had now sunk to Barnaby. But he was used to handling unpromising performers, he said, though he regretted the absence of a dress rehearsal, more especially for Mrs. Purley, who, having been induced to mother Cleopatra (nothing would induce Mr. Purley to father her), was unlikely, he feared, to confine herself to a simple “I do.” That was not, he groaned558 drolly559, her idea of a speaking part. He deplored560, too, that there were not enough bells or bell-ringers in the Little Bradmarsh church to ring an elaborate joy-peal, as Cleopatra was so anxious to have every property and accessory of holy matrimony complete. It was for this reason, doubtless, that Miss Gentry, after reducing the rival dress to a rag, ultimately emerged as the bridesmaid.
IX
For the convenience of Foxearth Farm, as well as of Will, who, though a bit sulky about his mother’s waiting on the Showman, was too entangled562 with Miss Purley to refuse to grace the festal board, the ceremony had been fixed563 for a Saturday at ten, and on that morning Jinny had meant to rise with the sun, so as to do the bulk of her day’s chares in advance. What was her dismay, therefore, to open blinking eyes on her grandfather standing over her pseudo-bed in his best Sunday smock, whip in hand, and to hear through her wide-flung casement Methusalem neighing outside and the cart creaking!
“Am I late?” she gasped, sitting up. Then she became aware of a beautiful blue moonlight filling the room with glory, and of a lambent loveliness spreading right up to the stars sprinkled over her slit564 of sky.
“?’Tis your wedding-day, dearie,” said the ghostly figure of the Gaffer, and she now perceived there were wedding favours on his whip, evidently taken from Methusalem’s May Day ribbons, which he must have hunted out of the “glory-hole” where odds565 and ends were kept.
Bitterly she regretted having excited his brain by informing him of her programme. He was evidently prepared to drive her to the ceremony.
“But it’s too early,” she temporized566.
“Ye’ve got to be there for breakfus, you said, dearie,” he reminded her.
“No, no,” she explained. “The wedding breakfast with fashionable folk is only a sort of bever or elevener at earliest.”
He chuckled. “Ye’re gooin’ to be rich and fashionable—won’t it wex that jackanips! Oi suspicioned ’twas you he war arter the fust time he come gawmin’ to the stable. Ye can’t deceive Daniel Quarles. On your hands and knees, ye pirate thief!” He cracked his whip fiercely. “Up ye git, Jinny, ye’ve got to titivate yerself. Oi’ve put the water in your basin.”
“But Gran’fer,” she said, acutely distressed568, “it’s not my wedding.”
“Not your wedding!”
“Of course not.”
“Then whose wedding be it?” he demanded angrily. “?’Tain’t mine, seein’ as Oi’m too poor to keep Annie though she’s riddy of her rascal569 at last.” He seized her wrists and shook her. “Why did you lie to me and make a fool o’ me?”
So this was why Gran’fer had embraced her so effusively570 last night when she avowed572 her programme for the morrow; this was why he had given her blessings in lieu of the expected reproaches for her projected absence; this was why he had gone up to bed humming his long-silent song: “Oi’m seventeen come Sunday.”
It was a mistake, she felt now, to have stayed at home for his sake on the Friday, changing the immemorial day of absence. He had been strange all day, without grasping what was the cause of his unrest, and Nip’s parallel uneasiness had reacted upon him. It was not, however, till she had incautiously remarked that Methusalem too was off his feed, that he cried out in horror that she had forgotten to go on her rounds. Smilingly she assured him she had not forgotten: indeed the void in her whole being occasioned by the loss of Mother Gander’s gratis573 meal had been a gnawing574 reminder575 since midday. But imagining—and not indeed untruly—that her work was gone, he had burst into imprecations on “the pirate thief.”
As she sat up now on her mattress576, helpless in her grief, her mind raced feverishly577 through the episode, recalling every word of the dialogue, unravelling578 his senile misapprehension; half wilful265 it seemed to her now, in his eagerness to clutch at happier times.
“It’s nothing to do with the coach competition, Gran’fer. It’s only because I’ve got to be out to-morrow for a wedding!”
“A wedding! She ain’t marrying agen?”
“Who?”
“Annie.”
“Annie? Which Annie?”
“There’s onny one Annie. ’Lijah’s mother.”
“Old Mrs. Skindle! What an idea! It’s a friend of mine, a gentleman you’ve never seen.”
At this point she had had, she remembered, the fatal idea of showing him her furbished-up frock to soothe580 him, for he was trembling all over.
“Would you like to see what I’m going to wear?”
She understood now the new light that had shot into his eye as he touched the lace trimming.
“Similar-same to what your Great-Aunt Susannah wore the day she married that doddy little Dap! Ye ain’t a-gooin’ to make a fool o’ yerself similar-same. Who’s the man?” he had demanded fiercely.
“You don’t know him, I told you—it’s a Mr. Flippance!”
A beautiful peace had come over the convulsed face. “Flippance! Ain’t that the gent what’s come to live in Frog Farm? That’s a fust-class toff, no mistake. Uncle Lilliwhyte should be tellin’ me, when he come with the watercress on Tuesday, as Mr. Flippance pays a pound a week for hisself alone!”
That was the point at which her grandfather had kissed her with effusion, crying: “Ye’ll be in clover, dearie!” while she, licking her chaps at the thought of the morrow’s banquet, had playfully answered that there would certainly be “a mort to eat.” The prospect581 set him clucking gleefully.
“Spite o’ that rapscallion!” he had chuckled, enlarging thereupon to her on the way the Lord protects His righteous subjects, and enlivening his discourse with adjurations to “the pirate thief” to take to his hands and knees. Had followed reproaches for hiding the news from him, reproaches to Mr. Flippance for not calling on him, not even inviting582 him to the wedding: soothing explanations from her that Mr. Flippance knew he was too poorly to go that far; assurances she would be back as early as possible.
She ought to have understood his delusion583 or self-delusion, she thought, when he had clung to her in a sudden panic.
“Then ye will come back—ye ain’t leavin’ me to starve! Ye won’t let that jackanips starve me out?”
And when she had reassured584 him, and caressed585 him, even promised to bring him something tasty from the wedding breakfast, he had gripped her harder than ever—she could still feel his bony fingers on her wrist—but of course they actually were on her wrists as she sat there now against her pillow—“ye’ll live here with me—same as afore!”
“Why ever shouldn’t I?” she had answered in her innocence. “We’ll always live with you—Methusalem, Nip, all of us.” What unlucky impulse of affection or reassurance586 had made her stoop down to kiss the dog in his basket—all her being burnt with shame at the remembrance of her grandfather’s reply, though at the time it had touched her to tears.
“God bless ye, Jinny. Oi know this ain’t a proper bedroom for you, but Oi’ll sleep here if you like, and do you and he move up to mine.”
She had put by the offer gently. “Nonsense, Gran’fer. You can’t shift at your age—or Nip either.”
“Oi bain’t so old as Sidrach,” he had retorted, not without resentment, “and Oi doubt he ain’t left off bein’ a rollin’ stone. And Oi reckon Oi can fit into that chest of drawers better than when Oi was bonkka.”
But the shrivelled form, with the hollow cheeks, flaming eyes, and snowy beard, was still shaking her angrily, and her sense of his pathos vanished in a sick fear, not so much for herself, though his fingers seemed formidably sinister, as for his aged143 brain under this disappointment. “Why did you say ’twas your wedding morn?”
The Dutch clock, providentially striking three, offered a fresh chance of temporizing587.
“There, Gran’fer! Can’t be my wedding morn yet, only three o’clock!”
He let go her hands. “Ain’t ye ashamed to have fun with your Gran’fer?” he asked, vastly relieved. “But it’s a middlin’ long drive to Chipstone before breakfus.”
“It’s not at Chipstone—the wedding’s at Little Bradmarsh.”
“Oh!” he said blankly.
“So there’s lots of time, Gran’fer, and you can go back to bed.”
“Not me! Do, Oi mightn’t wake in time agen.”
“I’ll wake you—but I’ll be fit for nothing in the morning, if I don’t go to sleep now.”
“The day Oi was married,” he chuckled, “Oi never offered to sleep the noight afore—ne yet the noight arter! He, he!”
“Go away, Gran’fer!” she begged frantically. “Let me go to sleep.”
“Ay, ay, goo to sleep, my little mavis. Nobody shan’t touch ye. What a pity we ate up that wedding-cake! But Oi had to cut a shiver to stop his boggin’ and crakin’, hadn’t Oi, dearie?”
“Quite right. Better eat wedding-cake than humble-pie!” she jested desperately.
“Ef he comes sniffin’ around arter you’re married, Oi’ll snap him in two like this whip!”
“Don’t break my whip!” She clutched at the beribboned butt123.
“That’s my whip, Jinny! Let that go!”
“Well, go to bed then!” With a happy thought, she lit the tallow candle on her bedside chair and tendered it to him. It operated as mechanically upon his instinctive habits as she had hoped.
“Good night, dearie,” he said, and very soon she heard him undressing as usual, and his snore came with welcome rapidity. Then she sprang out of bed, pulled on some clothes, and ran out to release the angry and mystified Methusalem from the shafts589 and to receive his nuzzled forgiveness in the stable. But when she got back to bed, sleep long refused to come; the sense of her tragic situation was overwhelming. Even the great peace of the moonlit night could not soak into her. It was impossible to go to the wedding now, she felt. When at last sleep came, she was again incomprehensibly Queen Victoria hemmed590 in by foes591, and protected only by “The Father of the Fatherless” with his black whiskers. She awoke about dawn, unrefreshed and hungry, but a cold sponging from the basin her grandfather had prepared enabled her to cope with the labours of the day. She looked forward with apprehension579 to the scene with the old man when he should realize that the grand match was indeed off, but she could think of nothing better than going about in her dirtiest apron to keep his mind off the subject. The precaution proved unnecessary. He slept so late and so heavily—as if a weight was off his mind—that when he at last awoke he seemed to have slept the delusion off, as though it were something too recent to remain in his memory. As for the scene in the small hours, that had apparently left no impress at all upon his brain. In fact, so jocose419 and natural was he at breakfast, which she purposely made prodigal592 for him, that the optimism of the morning sun, which came streaming in, almost banished593 her own memory of it too: it seemed as much a nightmare as her desperate struggle against the foes of Victoria-Jinny. The lure of the wedding jaunt51 revived, and the thought of the domestic economy she would be achieving thereby594, made her sparing of her own breakfast. She had a bad moment, however, when her grandfather suddenly caught sight of the horseless cart outside.
“Stop thief!” he cried, jumping up agitatedly596.
Jinny was vexed597 with herself. To have left that reminder of the grotesque episode!
“It’s that ’Lijah!” he shrieked598. “He’s stole Methusalem.”
“Hush, Gran’fer!” she warned him. “Suppose anybody heard you!”
But he ran out towards the Common and she after him. His tottering599 limbs seemed galvanized.
“My horse is all right,” she gasped, catching600 him up in a few rods. “I was too tired yesterday to put my cart away, that’s all.”
He turned and glared suspiciously at her. “That’s my hoss—and my cart, too! Can’t you read the name—‘Daniel Quarles, Carrier.’ But ye won’t never let me put no padlock on my stable!”
“Your horse is there safe—come and see!”
He allowed himself to be led to the soothing spectacle.
“But Oi’ll put a padlock at once, same as in my barn,” he said firmly. “Don’t, that rascal ’Lijah will grab him without tippin’ a farden!”
X
The overlooked cart proved a blessing388, not a calamity601, for the operation of padlocking the stable-door before the horse was stolen so absorbed the Gaffer that Jinny found it possible, after all, to don her finery and slip off to the wedding unseen even of Nip, who was supervising the new measures for Methusalem’s safety. Curiosity to see Miss Gentry’s creation in action had combined with the pangs of appetite and her acceptance of the invitation to make temptation irresistible602, and she calculated that she could be back by noon, and that, pottering over his vegetable patch or his Bible, the old man would scarcely notice her absence.
When she reached the church, she found the coach stationed outside, and though the liveried guard was lacking to-day, the black horses looked handsomer than ever with their red wedding-favours, while the pea-green polish of the vehicle reduced her to a worm-like humility at the thought of the impossibility of her cart taking part in to-day’s display. Evidently Will had brought the bridegroom from Frog Farm. Out of the corner of her eye she espied603 Will himself, sunning himself on his box, and her heart thumped604, though all she was conscious of was the insolent605 incongruity606 of his pipe with the occasion, the edifice, his new frock-coat, and the posy in its buttonhole. Fearing she was late, she hurried into the church. But nothing was going on, though the size of the congregation—far larger than usual—was an exciting surprise. There was no sign of any of the wedding-party, not even Mr. Flippance, and after imperceptibly saluting607 her Angel-Mother, she sank back into a rear pew, half pleased to have missed nothing, half uneasy lest there be a delay. Turning over a Prayer Book in search of the Wedding Service, she came for the first time, and not without surprise, on the Fifth of November Thanksgiving “for the happy deliverance of King James I and the Three Estates of England from the most traitorous608 and bloody-intended massacre609 by Gunpowder610: And also for the happy Arrival of King William on this Day, for the Deliverance of our Church and Nation.” King William’s arrival struck her as providential but confusing—for though he had apparently detected the Popish barrels in the nick of time, how came there to be two kings at once? Suddenly she was aware, by some tingling611 telegraphy, that the bride and bridesmaid had arrived outside in a grand open carriage. Mr. Fallow in his surplice came in at the clerk’s intimation and took up his position at the altar rails, the musicians struck up “The Voice that Breathed o’er Eden,” and then there was a sudden faltering612, and a whispering took place ’twixt parson and clerk, and Mr. Fallow was swallowed again by his vestry, while the clerk disappeared through the church door. It was realized that Mr. Flippance was not in the church, and it was understood that the bride’s face was being saved in the vestry, where, however, as time passed, the agitated595 congregation divined hysterics.
Jinny—thinking of her neglected grandfather—was what he called “on canterhooks.” Had Mr. Flippance not then come in the coach, had he been carelessly left in bed as usual? Catching her Angel-Mother’s eye, she received a distinct injunction to go out in search of him, but she was too shy to move in the presence of all those people, though she had a vision of herself frantically harnessing Methusalem and carting the bridegroom to church in his dressing-gown—would carpet slippers be an impediment to matrimony, she wondered. Mr. Fallow came in again, looking so worried that she recalled an ecclesiastical experience he had related to her: how one of his parishioners, nowadays a notorious Hot Gospeller, had “found religion” on the very verge of setting out to be married, and had passed so much time on his knees, absorbed in the newly felt truth, that it was only through his friend the bell-ringer stopping the church clock that he was married by noon; if indeed—a doubt which ever after weighed on Mr. Fallow—he was legally married at all. What if at this solemn moment of his life Mr. Flippance should similarly find religion! She devoutly613 hoped the discovery would be at least delayed till he was safely married. Good heavens! perhaps the Bible she had given him was in fault! Perhaps she was responsible for his rapt remissness614. Disregarding the congregation’s eyes, she went boldly into the vestry.
Here, sure enough, she found the heroine of the day supported by a trio of ladies. The outstanding absence of Mr. Flippance left Jinny but a phantasmagoric sense of a bride, still composed indeed, but so ghastly that despite her glamour of veil-folds and orange-blossom she scarcely looked golden-haired; of a bridesmaid hardly recognizable as Miss Gentry, for the opposite reason that it was she with her swarthy splendour, opulent bosom, and glory of silk and flowers who seemed the Cleopatra; of a Blanche so appallingly615 queenly in her creamier fashion under the art of the rival dressmaker, that her own cleaned gown seemed but to emphasize her shabbiness and dowdiness616. Acoustically617 the voice of Mrs. Purley expatiating618 on the situation was the dominant619 note, but through and beneath the cascade Jinny was aware of Miss Gentry explaining to the bride that the horses which had brought the bridegroom were not responsible for his disappearance. Not unpropitious, but of the finest augury620 were these sable621 animals, omens622 going by contraries. So they had brought Mr. Flippance!
They were tossing their bepranked heads, Jinny found, and champing their bits, as if sharing in the human unrest. Will was no longer smoking placidly623 on his box, but in agitated parley624 with Barnaby and his father. She heard the inn suggested, and saw the Purleys posting towards it. She herself ran round to the tower, fantastically figuring Mr. Flippance on his knees on the belfry floor amid the ropes and the cobwebs, but even the one bell-ringer seemed to have sallied in search of the bridegroom, or at least of the inn.
The churchyard was large and rambling625 and thickly populated—pathetic proof there had been life in the church once—and it was in a sequestered626 corner behind a tall monument that Jinny with a great upleap of the heart at last espied the object of her quest, though he seemed even more unreal than Miss Gentry in his narrow-brimmed top-hat, satin stock with horseshoe pin, and swallowtail coat, while his face was as white as his waistcoat.
“What are you doing?” came involuntarily to her lips.
“Reading the tombstones,” he said wistfully. “So peaceful!”
“But they’re waiting for you!”
“They’re waiting for everybody. That’s the joke of it all.”
“I don’t mean the gravestones.”
“Look! There’s a French inscription. And that name must be Flemish, see!”
“I haven’t time!”
“Why, what have you got to do?”
“I mean, you haven’t got time. It’s your wedding!”
“Don’t rub it in! What long grass! So we go to grass—all of us. Thanks for your Bible, by the way!”
So her apprehensions627 had been right. It was religion that was bemusing him.
“So glad you like it. Come along!” she said in rousing accents.
“All flesh is grass,” he maundered on. “And rank grass at that!”
“It’s only thick here because they can’t mow628 this bit,” she explained. “Too many tombs!” She plucked at his sleeve.
“So it’s hay we run to!” he said, disregarding her “O Lord! Mr. Fallow’s tithes, I suppose.”
“Well, why waste good hay? He’s waiting for you.”
“Well, he’s got plenty of time by all accounts.”
“I mean, she’s waiting,” she cried, in distress567.
“Is she there already? Look at that bird cracking its snail629 on the gravestone.”
“It’s an early bird—you’ll be late.”
“Don’t worry. Tony Flip never missed his cue yet. Funny, isn’t it, how it all comes right at night—especially with Polly there! Perhaps she’ll come, if we give her a little time.”
“But have you invited her? Does she know?”
“If she don’t, it’s not for want of telegrams to every possible address.”
“But she may be in Cork, you said. You can’t keep the bride waiting.”
“She shouldn’t have come so early—it’s the first time I’ve known her punctual. The early bird catches the snail, eh?”
“But it’s half-past ten! And there’s a crowd too—I don’t know where they all come from. Come along!”
“One can’t consider the supers!”
“Well, consider me then. I’ve got to get back to Gran’fer!”
“The true artist always has stage-fright, Jinny. Give me a moment. I’ll be on soon.”
“All right.” She was vastly relieved. “Have you got the ring?”
“Tony Flip never forgets a property. See!” And whisking it suddenly out of his waistcoat pocket, he seized her left hand and slipped it on her gloved wedding-finger. “That’s where it ought to be, Jinny!”
She pulled it off, outraged, and flung it from her.
“On your wedding day, too!” she cried.
“Now it’s lost,” he said cheerfully, “and the bearded bridesmaid will have to go home with the unblushing bride.”
“You ought to have given it to Barnaby,” she said.
Anxious and remorseful483, she went on her knees, groping feverishly in the long grass. “On your hands and knees” kept sounding irrelevantly630 in her brain. Mr. Flippance watched her like a neutral. “I’d forgotten that the woman runs away with the piece,” he explained to her distracted ear. “I thought marriage was a show with two principals. But if there’s got to be a leading lady, why not stick to Polly?”
“You should have thought of that before,” she murmured.
“Correct as Polonius, Jinny. Even when I get the theatre, it’ll only be hell over again. Why couldn’t I stick to the marionettes? I charge thee fling away ambition, Jinny—by that sin fell the angels. But you’ve only flung away my ring.”
“Here it is!” She pounced631 joyfully632.
“Just my luck!” He took it ruefully.
“I thought you said she was so pure and wonderful!” she reminded him.
He winced. “That wouldn’t prevent her bullying633 me,” he replied somewhat lamely634.
“What about the taming of the shrew?” she asked.
“By Jove! You’re right, Jinny! Petruchio’s the game! Whips and scorpions635, what?” His face took on a little of its old colour. “It’s getting up so early that has upset me. After all, Jinny, a lovely woman who loves you and puts all her money on you isn’t to be picked up every day.”
“Of course not. Anyhow it’s too late to change now.”
“Don’t say that! As if I didn’t want to change before there was anything to change—oh, you know what I mean.”
“It’s too late now!” she repeated firmly. She stood over him, a stern-faced little monitor of duty. “Come along!”
“Go ahead—the rose-wreathed victim will be at the altar.”
They moved on a little. He paused as with sudden hopefulness. “You don’t happen to know if there’s a great oak chest with a spring lock in Foxearth Farm?”
“How should I know?” she murmured, apprehensive348 now for his reason.
He sighed. “Well, never mind—it’ll all be all right at night. And what’s it all for, anyhow? ‘Wife of the above,’?” he read out weirdly636. “How they cling on!”
But Jinny had gone off into a reverie of her own. The tombstone formula he had recited struck a long-buried memory, and in a flash she saw again a quiet graveyard637 and a stone behind a tumbledown tower, and Commander Dap’s black-gloved forefinger638 tracing out her mother’s epitaph to a strange solemn little girl. All the wonder and glamour of childhood was in that flash, all the strangeness of life and time, and her eyes filled with tears. When the mist cleared away, Mr. Flippance was gone. She ran frantically around among the tombs like a sheep-dog till at length the sound of Mr. Fallow’s ecclesiastical voice floated out to her, and hurrying back into the church, she felt foolish and tranquillized to find the service well forward.
XI
Jinny had misread Mr. Fallow’s look: it was not fear of dragging on beyond the legal hour—noon was still too remote—but impatience at being kept away from his antiquarian lore561 by such trifles as matrimony, especially matrimony which was no longer, as in pre-Reformation days, preceded by the Holy Communion and symbolic639 of the union of Christ and His Church. Had there been a care-cloth to be thrown over the couples’ heads, such as existed in Essex churches in 1550, even matrimony might have interested him. But as it was, his thoughts ran on old cheeses. He had been comparing his Latin edition of Camden’s “Britannia” (1590) with the two-volume folio translation, a century later, by a worthy bishop, and was half scandalized, half excited, to find that the translator had introduced a wealth of new matter. Incidentally Mr. Fallow had learned the Hundred was celebrated640 for its huge cheeses—inusitat? magnitudinis—of ewes’ milk, and that to make them the men milked the ewes like women elsewhere. And these huge cheeses were consumed not only in England, but exported—ad saturandos agrestes et opifices—“to satisfie the coarse stomachs of husbandmen and labourers,” as the bishop put it. When had this manufacture of giant cheeses from ewes’ milk died out in Essex? Mr. Fallow had already seized the opportunity of interrogating641 Mrs. Purley, whose reputation as a cheesemaker had reached him. But appalled642 by the voluminousness of her ignorance, he had taken sanctuary643 in his church and was still brooding over the problem as his lips framed the more trivial interrogatories of the ceremony.
For Jinny, however, it was a thrilling moment when Mr. Fallow lackadaisically644 called upon the couple “as ye will answer at the dreadful Day of Judgment” to avow571 if they knew any impediment to their lawful645 union. That in face of so formidable a threat neither came out with “Mr. Duke,” though she still half expected him to pop up in person from the void, was for her sweet stupidity the final proof of the bride’s immaculacy. And the whole service she thought beautiful and moving, having missed the gross beginning thereof. She was startled to hear the bridegroom addressed by Mr. Fallow as Anthony, and the bride with equal familiarity as Bianca Cleopatra. Otherwise the ceremonial seemed far too highflown for this terrestrial twain, though somehow not at all transcending646 the relationship in which her own soul could stand towards its spiritual comrade. But the replies of the three principals came all in unexpected wise. Mr. Flippance’s “I will” was so ready and ringing, and his countenance so rosy, that Jinny wondered which was the actor—the Flippance of the churchyard or the Flippance of the church. The ex-Duchess, on the other hand, still pallid647, faltered648 her affirmation almost in a whisper, at any rate it was not so loud as his comment: “I’ve told you always to speak sharp on your cue.” Certainly no husband could ever have asserted himself at an earlier moment—was he perhaps already following Jinny’s hint, or was it only the stage-manager responding mechanically to stimulus649? As for Mrs. Purley, she showed even more stage-fright, her “I do” failing even as a gesture, and having to be prompted. “Too small a speaking part for her,” commented Tony later, with a twinkle.
When everything was over and the register signed and Barnaby, breaking down under the weight of his financial duties, had wished the bride many happy returns—a felicitation only dispelled650 by his father saluting her as “Mrs. Flippance”—that now reassured lady, sweeping651 regally to her carriage, her train over one arm and her husband over the other—smiled at the admiring avenue of villagers and small boys as though they had thrown her the bouquet383 she held. When Mr. Flippance, gay and debonair652, had handed Mrs. Flippance, looking golden-haired again, into their barouche, and been driven off with the hood63 up and his beautiful doll beside him, Jinny perceived Will handing the gorgeously gowned Blanche with parallel ceremoniousness into the coach, where the transmogrified Miss Gentry was already installed behind the bulwark653 of her great bouquet. And then Jinny became aware of Barnaby hovering shyly between her and the trap which held his parents, and indicating dumbly that the niche654 vacated by his sister was now for her. She had a sudden feeling that they did not want her in the coach beside those grand gowns hunched655 out with starched656 petticoats. As if she would have set foot in it! No, not for all the gowns in the world! But they were right, she thought bitterly—what had she to do with all this grandeur and happiness? The honeymoon657 was even to be in Boulogne, she had gathered. And she heard some force, welling up from the dark depths of herself, cry to Barnaby: “I can’t come—I’m so sorry. But Gran’fer was upset in the night. Please excuse me to Mr. Flippance.”
At this the bitterness passed from her soul to poor Barnaby’s. Everybody was pairing off: the Flippances, his parents, Will and his sister: there was nobody left for him but Miss Gentry.
“But there’ll be oysters658 as well as dumplings,” he pleaded. “Will brought them from Colchester.”
Jinny’s famished659 interior—in making such a skimpy breakfast it had counted on the wedding meal—seconded his plea desperately. But the mention of Will was fatal. As a hermit’s sick fantasy conjures660 up the temptation he knows he will resist, so Jinny saw yearningly661, vividly662, but hopelessly, the spread banquet, the dumplings soused in gravy663, the brown bread and butter for the oysters, the juicy meats, the mysterious champagne-bottles, the sunny napery, the laughing festival faces, and, above all, the curly aureole of Will’s hair.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated veraciously664.
In a panic the youth ran after the receding barouche. “Jinny won’t come,” he gasped.
“Don’t stop, coachman,” said Mrs. Flippance sharply.
“Tell her,” called back Mr. Flippance, “she must—or I’ll never ask her to my wedding again!”
Poor Barnaby tore back to the coach. “I say, Miss Gentry, you’re a friend of Jinny’s—do make her come.”
“A friend of Jinny’s!” It was an even unluckier remark than the reference to Will. A patron, an educator, an interpreter of herbs and planets, gracious and kindly, who might even—in private—admit the little Carrier to confidences and Pythian inspirations, yes. But a friend? How came Mr. Flippance to commit such a faux pas as to bring a carrier into equality with her and Blanche? Why had not the adorable Cleopatra been firmer with the man? “I can’t order her to come,” she reminded Barnaby majestically665. “It’s not like for a parcel.”
As the horses tossed their wedding-favours and the coach jingled666 off with its fashionable burden, even the trap moving on under the stimulus of Mrs. Purley’s rhetoric667, the whole scene became a blur668 to Jinny, and standing there by the old pillion-steps, she felt herself dwindled669 into a little aching heart alone in a measureless misery670. How tragic to be cut off from all this gay eating and drinking! There was almost a voluptuousness671 in the very poignancy672 of her self-mutilation. What a blessing we all do run to hay, she brooded, in a warm flood of self-pity.
But if Jinny thus saw the wedding-guests through a blur of self-torturing bitterness, their feast did not begin as merrily as she beheld673 it, despite that Mrs. Purley, as soon as she had exchanged her bonnet-cap with the net quilting for a home cap, served up unexpected glasses of gin. Anthony, no less than Barnaby, was upset by Jinny’s absence, and Cleopatra resented this fuss over a super. But still more disgruntled by the gap at the table was, odd to say, Will. For his soul had not been so placid as his pipe. The glimpses he had caught of Jinny were perturbing. Overpowering as were the presences of the bride and Blanche, or rather, precisely674 because they were overpowering, they struck him as artificial by the side of this little wild rose with her woodland flavour, and the memory of their afternoon in the ash-grove came up glowing, touched as with the enchantment675 of its bluebells676. Blanche, for her part, was peevish677 at Will’s taciturnity. Miss Gentry, still rankling678 under Barnaby’s suspicion that she was the Carrier’s bosom friend, was particularly down upon that youth’s na?ve attempt to confine the conversation to Jinny, though it confirmed her suspicion of the state of things between those two. Mr. Purley in his turn had been dismayed by Blanche’s fineries: the young generation forgot that their fathers were only farmers compelled to take lodgers in bad seasons. Thus it was left to Mrs. Purley to sustain almost the whole burden of conversation. But her preoccupation with her little serving-maid and the kitchen, plus her uneasiness at eating in this grand room away from her hanging hams and onions, interposed intervals679 of silence even in her prattle680, and the theme of her facetious681 variations—her fear in church that the bridegroom had bolted—did not add to the general cheeriness. The old wainscoted parlour, with its rough oak beams across the ceiling, had seldom heard oysters swallowed with gloomier gulps682.
Fortunately the pop of the sweet champagne brought a note of excited gaiety into the funereal684 air, and glass-clinking and looking to one another and catching one another’s eye were soon the order of the early-Victorian day. Mr. Flippance, acknowledging the toast of the bride and bridegroom, did not fail to thank Mr. and Mrs. Purley for the precious treasure they had solemnly entrusted685 to his unworthy hands, a being whose beauty equalled her brains, and whose virtue530 her genius. Mr. Purley deprecatingly murmured “Don’t mention it,” meaning of course his share in the production of this prodigy686, but Mrs. Purley, fresh from her church r?le, began to feel that she had dandled Cleopatra in her arms. In replying for himself and his “good wife”—for the age assumed that Mrs. Purley could not speak—Mr. Purley could not wish the newly married couple anything better than to be as happy as they had been. “Literally ‘a good wife,’ eh?” interlarded Tony genially687. “None better,” asseverated688 Mr. Purley. “I’m close, but she’s nippy.” “You’re thinking of Blanche,” Barnaby called out gaily, through the laughter. “I don’t say as your mother’s nippy in words,” Mr. Purley corrected, with a twinkle. He went on to wish as much happiness to all the unmarried people present, at which Miss Gentry giggled689 and markedly avoided Barnaby’s eye; while Will, reconciled to fate several glasses ago, squeezed Blanche’s hand under the table. Even when Mr. Purley, becoming a little broad, referred to the time when his “good wife” had first ventured into “The Hurdle-Maker’s Arms,” Miss Gentry joined in the hilarity690. Her passion for the church-going Cleopatra had convinced her that the stage was not necessarily of the devil—The Mistletoe Bough, she had found, was only the same story that had been written as a poem (“Ginevra”) by a Mr. Rogers, who, she had gathered, was a most respectable banker, and she was looking forward to her Mistress-ship of the Robes at the coming Theatre Royal, and even to witnessing her darling’s debut691 as Lady Agnes from the front. Several hysterical494 embraces had already passed between her and the bride—somewhat to Blanche’s jealousy—and all things swam before her in a rosy mist as she now pulled a cracker692 with Mr. Purley and read unblushingly:
“When glass meets glass and Friendship quaffs693,
?From lip to lip ’tis Love that laughs!”
a motto which caused the hurdle-maker to remark that it was lucky his “good wife” had left the room.
That loquacious lady had fallen strangely silent. The wine which had loosened all the other tongues seemed to have constricted694 hers. Perhaps it was merely the already mentioned preoccupation with her pies or other dishes still in the oven. Or perhaps it was the encounter for the first time in her life with a great rival tongue. It consorted695 with this latter hypothesis that she could be heard babbling696 now from her kitchen like a cricket on the hearth, and her elaboration of a temperature theme came distractingly across the larger horizons of Mr. Flippance’s discourse, playing havoc697 with his account of Macready’s Farewell at Drury Lane that March, and obscuring the moral of the vacant succession. Charles Kean? Pooh! Not a patch on his father. Had they seen him in Dion Boucicault’s new play at the Princess’s, Love in a Maze698? No? Then before voting for Charles Kean he would advise them to go—or, rather, not to go. He had never denied the merits of the manager of Sadler’s Wells especially as Sir Pertinax Macsycophant, though he knew his young friend Willie preferred Mr. Phelps in Othello. “I say whom the mantle66 fits, let him wear it,” summed up Mr. Flippance oracularly, and launched into an exposition of how he would run “The National Theatre.” No Miss Mitford tragedies for him with Macreadys at thirty pounds a week, still less Charles Kean Hamlets at fifty pounds a night, but real plays of the day—he did not mean the sort of things they did at the Surrey, which were no truer to life than the repertory of the marionettes, but why not, say, the Chartist movement and the forbidden demonstration699 on Kennington Common? Or let Mr. Sheridan Knowles, instead of talking his Baptist theology at Exeter Hall, write a “No Popery” play, with Cardinal700 Wiseman as the villain. (Hear, hear! from Miss Gentry.) Of course there was the danger the censor701 would quash such plays as he had quashed even Miss Mitford’s Charles the First, but then he, Mr. Flippance, knew old John Kemble, and would undertake to persuade him that times had changed.
Mrs. Flippance, who had displayed some restiveness702 under the long appraisal of male talent, displayed yet more when Mr. Flippance was now provoked to rapturous boyish memories of the censor’s sister, Mrs. Siddons. But Blanche and Barnaby listened so spellbound that they ceased finally to hear their mother’s inborne monologue at all.
It was at this literally dramatic moment that Bundock appeared at the banquet with the explanation that nobody would answer his knocking, and tendered the bridegroom a pink envelope which he had benevolently brought on from Frog Farm on his homeward journey. Miss Gentry, unused to these bomb-shells, uttered a shriek, which more than ever riveted703 the postman’s eyes on her flamboyant efflorescence.
“Steady! Steady!” said Tony, opening the telegram with unfaltering fingers. “Take some more fizz. And give brother Bundock a glass.”
He read the fateful message, and the anxious watchers saw strange thoughts and feelings passing in lines across his forehead, and in waves across the folds of his flabby clean-shaven jowl. Then his emotions all coalesced704 and crashed into laughter, noisy, but not devoid of grimness. “Listen to this!” he cried. “‘Sincere condolences. Married Polly this morning. Duke.’”
Mrs. Flippance turned scarlet. “He’s married Polly!” she shrieked. “The beast! The insulting beast!”
“Easy! Easy!” said the bridegroom to this second perturbed female. “It isn’t him Polly’s married—it’s his marionettes. Chingford, the telegram is marked. I expect the caravan is honeymooning705 in Epping Forest. Give me Boulogne.”
But nobody was listening to him any longer. The hysterics that had been only a rumour in church became a reality now. Miss Gentry had produced salts for her darling and was calling for burnt feathers, and Blanche and Barnaby, tumbling over each other kitchenwards, only set their mother’s tongue clacking fortissimo. Even Mr. Purley was slapping the bride’s hands as she shrieked on the sofa—he was deeply moved by her convulsions, never having seen a doll in distress. Bundock alone remained petrified706, the empty champagne-glass in his hand, his eyes still glued on Miss Gentry, and the bubbles in his veins707 re-evoking that effervescence of the Spring in which even a rear-ward consciousness of green mud had not availed to blunt the charm of opulent beauty. Through the tohu-bohu Mr. Flippance calmly scribbled708 a counter-telegram: “Congratulations on your marriage. Condolences to Polly.”
“Pity we ain’t got some of that Scotch709 stuff to quiet her,” said the agitated hurdle-maker.
“Whisky, do you mean?” said Tony.
“No, no! That new stuff they should be telling of—discovered by that Scotch doctor—puts you to sleep, like, and onsenses you.”
“Oh, chloroform!” said Tony.
“Ay, that’s the name. Masterous stuff for females to my thinking.”
“So it is, I understand.” Mr. Flippance smiled faintly. “But not for cases like this.”
“The parsons won’t let you use it!” Bundock burst forth. “They say it’s against religion. I suppose they want the monopoly of sending you to sleep.” He sniggered happily.
“I’ll chloroform her,” Mr. Flippance murmured. He could well understand Cleopatra’s fury at being replaced by a woman so superficially unattractive as dear Polly, especially as she herself, catching at any stage career in her impecunious710 days, had not even been married by the fellow.
“Can you read my writing, Bundock?” he asked loudly, proceeding462 to read to him in stentorian711 tones as if from the telegram. “Polly, care of Duke’s Marionettes, Chingford. Come home at once and all shall be forgotten and forgiven. Your heart-broken——”
But Mrs. Flippance was already on her feet and the telegram in fragments on the floor. “I won’t have her here!” she cried. “You’ve got to choose between us!”
“My darling! Who could hesitate? Try a little gin.” He hovered712 over her tenderly. “Take down a different reply, Bundock, please.” He dictated713 the message he had really written.
“Condolences to Polly!” repeated Mrs. Flippance, smiling savagely. “I should think so. I doubt if he has even legally married her.”
“Oh, trust Polly for that! She’s got her head square on.”
At this Mrs. Flippance showed signs of relapse.
“Poor Polly!” said Tony hastily. “Fancy her being tied to a man like that!”
“I don’t know that she could have done much better,” snorted Mrs. Flippance.
“But fancy Polly being wasted on a man who packs for himself! Another glass, Bundock?”
“Not while I’m on the Queen’s business, thank you,” said the postman.
“But you’re not. Aren’t your letters delivered?”
“What about your telegram?”
“True, true. O Bundock, what a sense of duty! You recall us to ours. We must drink to the Queen! The Queen, ladies and gentlemen——” he filled up Bundock’s glass.
“I can’t refuse to drink that,” sniggered Bundock. “Wonderful what one day’s round can bring forth!” he said, putting down his glass. “I began with a baby—I mean the midwife told me of one—went on to a corpse714—and now here am I at a wedding! It’s in a cottage by the holly-grove—the corpse, I mean——”
“We don’t want the skeleton at the feast,” interrupted Tony. Bundock hastened to turn the conversation to the grand new house Elijah Skindle was building—Rosemary Villa93.
Blanche pouted715 her beautiful lips in disgust: “Don’t talk of a knacker—that’s worse than a corpse.”
But Bundock was anxious to work off that Elijah called his house “Rosemary Villa” because rosemary was good for the hair, and having achieved this stroke, prudently716 departed before the laughter died. Blanche seemed especially taken with his gibe717 at that poor grotesque Mr. Skindle.
After his departure, flown with stuff for scandal and witticism718, headier to him than the wine, the party grew jollier than ever. They played Pope Joan with mother-o’-pearl counters and then Blanche sang “Farewell to the Mountain,” by ear, like—a bird, without preliminary fuss or instrumental accompaniment, and Mr. Flippance crying “Encore!” and “Bis!” spoke significantly of the possibility of including an annual opera season in English in his Drury Lane repertory. Why should Her Majesty’s Theatre and the Italian tongue have a monopoly? Ravished, Blanche gave “The Lass that Loves a Sailor,” her eyes languishing719, and this led Mr. Purley on to dancing the old Essex hornpipe, whose name sounded like his own, with Barnaby banging a tray for the tambourine721 and Will’s throat replacing the melodeon. To Miss Gentry, beaming in Christian goodwill722 upon the merry company, it appeared strangely multiplied at moments. But the more the merrier!
When the happy pair had departed for Boulogne via the Chipstone barouche, what wonder if Will, finding himself alone in the passage with Blanche, and not denied a kiss, felt his last hesitations723 deliciously dissolved. How restful to absorb this clinging femininity, this surrendered sweetness! With what almost open abandonment she had sung “The Lass that Loves a Sailor” at him, with what breaking trills and adoring glances! Marriage was in the air—two examples of it had been brought to his ken29 in one morning—and he now plumply proposed a third. A strange awakening724 awaited him.
Blanche grew suddenly rigid362. Her imagination had already been inflamed725 by Cleopatra, clinging to whose aromatic726 skirts she saw herself soaring to a world of romance and mystery. She had swallowed credulously727 the exuberant728 play of Mr. Flippance’s fantasy round her feats729 of wasp-killing, and was willing to do even that on the stage if it enabled her soles to touch the sacred boards. In her daydreams730 Will had already begun to recede538. But now that Mr. Flippance had discovered a voice in her too, and operatic vistas731 opened out under his champagne and his no less gaseous732 compliments, she could not suddenly sink to the comparative lowliness of a box-seat. That song which Will had taken for the symbol of her submission733 was really the final instrument of his humiliation734.
Rejected by the girl who has snuggled into one’s heart, evoked735 one’s protective emotions, exhibited herself all softness and sweetness! It was incredible! He did not know whether he was more angry or more ashamed, and he was tortured by this warm, creamy, scented736 loveliness which a moment before had seemed under his palms to mould as he would, and was now become baffling, polar, and remote.
“Blanche! Blanche!” he cried, trying to retain her hand, and tears actually rolled down his cheeks. But underneath737 all the storm he heard a still small voice crying: “Jinny! Jinny! Jinny!”
So he had been saved from this fatuous738 marriage, from this supple36, conceited739 minx with her imitative scents740 and mock graces. The genuine simple rosebud741 of a Jinny was waiting, waiting for him all the time, the Jinny round whose heart his own heart-strings had been twined from mysterious infancy742, who touched him like the song of “Home, Sweet Home,” heard when miserable in Montreal, the darling lovable little Jinny as pretty as she was merry, no real exemplar of the unmaidenly, only a dutiful supporter of her grandfather and his business, at most a bit unbalanced by her mannish role; Jinny the girl with the brains to appreciate him, and whom he alone could appreciate as she deserved! How wonderful were the ways of Providence! How nearly he had been trapped and caged and robbed of her!
“I don’t see what you mean by leading a fellow on!” he reproached Blanche hoarsely743, with no feigned744 sense of grievance, as he gazed at the mocking mirage745 of her loveliness. But underneath the tears and the torment746, his heart seemed to have come to haven.
“Jinny!” it sang happily. “Jinny! Jinny! Jinny!”
XII
On arriving home, Jinny’s first thought after giving the Gaffer his dinner and swallowing a few mouthfuls to overcome her faintness—her mood of self-torture would not allow more—was to give Methusalem some oats extracted by stratagem747 from the old man’s padlocked barn. She had scraped together a few handfuls and was bearing them towards his manger in a limp sack when she perceived that the stable-door was open and gave on a littered emptiness. Her heart stood still as before the supernatural. True, the new padlock was clawing laxly at its staple as if forced open, but then it had not been there at all till that very morning, and for Methusalem to leave his stable voluntarily was as unthinkable as for a sheep to abandon a clover-field. Yet there stretched the bare space, looking portentously748 vast. What had happened? She ran round the little estate, as though Methusalem would not have bulked on the vision from almost any point, and then she peered anxiously over the Common, as if he could be concealed749 among the gorse or the blackberry-bushes. The hard ground of the road, marked only by the dried-up ruts of her own wheels, gave no indication of his hoofs750. It flashed upon her that padlocks were after all not so ridiculous, but examining more closely the one that drooped751 by the stable-door, she saw that its little key was still in it. Evidently the old man had forgotten to turn it. The cart was still in its shed, looking as dead to her now as a shell without its snail, though the image was perhaps a little too hard on Methusalem.
But to alarm her grandfather before she had made a thorough search would only confirm him in his delusions752. Peeping through the casement of the living-room, she was relieved to see and hear him at the table, safely asleep on his after-dinner Bible. With his beard thus buried in the text, he might sleep for hours in the warmth and buzzing silence. Lucky, she thought, as she tip-toed past, that he had not made the discovery himself. He would probably have accused poor Mr. Skindle again, even set out after the innocent vet35. with his whip. Then perhaps actions for assault and battery, for slander753, for who knew what!
Horse-stealing was unheard of in these parts, and who save a dealer754 in antiquities755 would steal Methusalem? No; as in a fit of midsummer madness—under the depression of the drought and his depleted756 nosebags—he had bolted! After all, old horses were probably as uncertain as old grandfathers. Was there to be a new course of senility for her study, she wondered ruefully: had she now to school herself to the vagaries757 of horsey decay as she had schooled herself to human? But, of course, she surmised758 suddenly, it was the dragging the poor horse up in the middle of the night that had turned his aged brain, and the hammering-in of the staple had lent the last touch of alarm. He had been liable to panic even in his prime. Perhaps he had bolted before Gran’fer’s very eyes, mane and tail madly erect759. That might explain the uneasy look with which the old man had met her return—a sidelong glance almost like Nip’s squint760 after an escapade—his taciturnity as of a culprit not daring to confess his carelessness, as well as his welcome blindness to the wedding fineries she had been too desperate to remove. But no, he would not have sat down under such a loss, or brisked up so swiftly under the smell of dinner, or pressed the food so solicitously761 upon her with the remark, “There’s a plenty for both of us, dearie—-do ye don’t be afeared.” It would almost seem as if he had been noting her self-denial: at any rate such an assurance could not coexist with the loss of their means of livelihood.
It was a mystery. The only thing that was clear was that Methusalem must be recaptured before her grandfather was aware of his loss. Such a catastrophe762, coming after the scene in the small hours, might have as morbid763 an effect upon him as that nocturnal episode had evidently had upon Methusalem himself.
Bonnetless, with streaming ringlets, in her lace-adorned dress, she wandered farther and farther in quest of her beloved companion. It was some time before she discovered that her other friend was at her heels. Surely Nip would guide her to Methusalem, as he had guided her through the darkness. But this abandonment to his whim465 only led her to the cottages with which he was on terms of cupboard affection, and dragged her into the very heart of the tragedy retailed764 by Bundock to the wedding-party, to the home of a dead labourer.
“His fitten were dead since the morning,” the widow informed her with lachrymose765 gusto. “At the end he was loight-headed and talked about puttin’ up the stack.”
The neighbours were still more ghoulishly garrulous766, and the odour of this death pervaded767 their cottages like the smell of the straw steeped in their pails, and as the housewives turned their plaiting-wheels they span rival tales of lurid768 deceases, while a woman who was walking with her little girl—both plaiting hard as they walked—removed the split straws from her mouth to proclaim that she had prophesied769 a death in the house—having seen the man’s bees swarm312 on his clothes-prop. She hoped they would tell his bees of his decease. But desirable as it was to meet a white horse—that bringer of luck—nobody had set eyes on a wild-wandering Methusalem. Nor was he in the village pound.
She found herself drifting through the wood where she had once sat with Will, and through the glade where the tops of the aspens were a quiver of little white gleams. Had Methusalem perhaps come trampling770 here? That was all her thought, save for a shadowy rim16 of painful memory. Bare of Methusalem, the wood at this anxious moment was as blank of poetry as the lanky771 hornbeam “poles,” or the bundles of “tops” lying around. One aspen was so weak and bent it recalled her grandfather, and the white-barked birches craned so over the other trees, she was reminded of a picture with giraffes in Mother Gander’s sanctum. But of horses there was no sign. Picking up a wing covert772 of a jay, not because of the beautiful blue barring, but because it would make fishing flies for Uncle Lilliwhyte, she now ran to his hut with a flickering773 hope that he would have information, but it was empty of him, and she saw from the absence of his old flintlock that he was sufficiently774 recovered to be poaching. She emerged from the wood near Miss Gentry’s cottage. But the landlady775, who had the deserted Squibs in her arms, could only calculate that Methusalem had left his stable at the same moment as the dead labourer’s soul had flown out of his body, and that there was doubtless a connexion. “Harses has wunnerful sense,” said the good woman. Jinny agreed, but withheld776 her opinion of humans. She felt if only all the horses jogging along these sun-splashed arcades777 of elms could speak, the mystery would soon be cleared up. For Methusalem was of a nose-rubbing sociability778. But it was only the drivers of all these lazy-rolling carts—fodder, straw, timber, dung, what not—that presumed to speak for their great hairy-legged beasts. To one wagoner lying so high on his golden-hued load that his eye seemed to sweep all Essex, she called up with peculiar hope: he confessed he had been drowsing in the heat. “So mungy,” he pleaded. Indeed the afternoon was getting abnormally hot and stuffy779, and Jinny had to defend her bare head from the sun with her handkerchief. Hedgers and ditchers had seen as little of a masterless, bare-flanked Methusalem as the thatcher780 with his more advantageous781 view-point. Leisurely782 driving in the stakes with his little club, this knee-padded, corduroyed elder opined that it would be “tempesty.” And they could do with some rain.
That the rain was indeed wanted as badly as she wanted Methusalem was obvious enough from the solitude783 about the white, gibbet-shaped Silverlane pump and the black barrel on wheels round which aproned, lank-bosomed women should have been gossiping, jug or pail in hand. In the absence of this congregation Jinny had to perambulate the green-and-white houses of the great square and hurl784 individual inquiries785 across the wooden door-boards that safeguarded the infants. Only the village midwife had seen a horse like Methusalem as she returned from a case. She had been too sleepy, though, to notice properly. From this futile786 quest Jinny came out on the road again. But wheelwright and blacksmith, ploughman and gipsy, publican and tinker, all were drawn787 blank.
Beside trees tidily bounding farms, or meadows dotted with cows and foals, and every kind of horse except Methusalem, past grotesque quaint-chimneyed houses half brick, half weather-board, the road led Jinny on and on till it took her across the bridge. Here on the bank she recognized the plastered hair of Mr. Charles Mott, who was fishing gloomily. No, he had not seen a white horse—worse luck!—and would to God, he added savagely, that he had never seen a black sheep. Jinny hurried off, as from a monster of profanity, for Mr. Mott’s disinclination for his wife’s society, especially on chapel days, was, she knew, beginning to perturb80 the “Peculiars”; and with the sacramental language of the marriage service yet ringing in her ears, it seemed to our guileless Jinny ineffably788 wicked to be sunk in selfish sport instead of cherishing and comforting the woman to whom you had consecrated789 yourself.
She moved on pensively—the road after descending rose somewhat, so that Long Bradmarsh seemed to nestle behind her in a hollow, a medley790 of thatch128 and slate, steeple and chimney-stacks, hayricks and inn-signs, and fluttering sheets and petticoats. But the forward view seemed far more bounded than usual, deprived as it was of the driver’s vantage-point: to the toiling791 pedestrian her familiar landscape was subtly changed, and this added to the sense of change and disaster.
She passed Foxearth Farm near enough to see again the barouche now awaiting the honeymooners, and to hear the voices of Will and Blanche mingling792 in a merry chorus. There was an aching at her heart, but everything now came dulled to her as through an opiate. Methusalem was the only real thing in life. She wanted to make her inquiry793 of the driver, but her legs bore her onwards to a glade where she could rest on one of Mr. Purley’s felled trunks. Even there the chorus pursued her, spoiling the music of the little stream that babbled794 at her feet, and the beauty of willow-herb and tall yellow leopard’s-bane and those white bell-blossoms of convolvulus twining and twisting high up among the trees still standing.
It was well past five before, footsore and spent, she stopped on her homeward road at the Pennymole cottage for information and a glass of water. This must be her last point, for standing as it did at the Four Wantz Way, it overlooked every direction in which Methusalem could possibly have gone, had he come thus far, while the size of the Pennymole family provided over a score of eyes. She found herself plunged795 into the eve-of-Sabbath ritual—all the seven younger children being scrubbed in turn by the mother in a single tub of water, and left to run about in a state of nature, or varying stages of leisurely redressing796.
But neither the nude797 nor the semi-decent nor Mrs. Pennymole herself, with her bar of yellow soap, had seen even the tip of Methusalem’s tail, and the extinction798 of this last hope left Jinny so visibly overcome that the busy mother insisted on her sitting down and waiting for tea. She urged that “father” would soon be home, as well as the two elder boys, all at work in different places, and “happen lucky” one of the three would have seen the missing animal. Jinny felt too weak to refuse the tea, and though the thought of her neglected grandfather was as gnawing as her hunger, she reasoned with herself that she would really get to him quicker if refreshed. The elder lads came in very soon, one after the other, each handing his day’s sixpence to his mother and receiving a penny for himself. But neither brought even a crumb799 for Jinny. Mrs. Pennymole beguiled800 the time of waiting for the master and the meal by relating, in view of the labourer’s death, how she had lost two children five years ago.
No fewer than four were down at once with the black thrush. Two boys lay on the sofa, one at each end, an infant in the bassinet under the table, and a girl in the bed. One of the sofa patients had swellings behind his ears the size of eggs, but they were lanced and he lived to earn his three shillings a week. The other, a fine lad of thirteen, died at three in the afternoon. The girl died at half-past eleven at night—beautiful she looked; like a wax statue. The undertaker was afraid to put them in their coffin801; afraid to bring contagion802 to his own children. “Perhaps your husband would do it,” he suggested to her. But her husband, poor man, couldn’t. “How would you like to put your childer in coffins803?” he asked the undertaker. The doctor wouldn’t let her follow the funeral, she was so broken.
But it was Jinny who was broken now. These reminiscences were more painful for her than for the mother who—inexhaustible fountain of life—scoured her newer progeny804 to their accompaniment. Yes, existence seemed very black to Jinny, sitting there without food, or Will, or Methusalem, or anything but a grandfather; and the china owl with a real coloured handkerchief tied round its head, which was the outstanding ornament424 of the mantelpiece, seemed in its grotesque gloom an apt symbol of existence. She was very glad when cheery, brawny805 Mr. Pennymole burst in, labouring with a story in which whisker-shaking laughter bubbled through a humorous stupefaction.
He had begun to tell the story almost before he had perceived and greeted Jinny, and Methusalem’s disappearance, on which he could throw no light, served to enhance it. To him, too, the day had brought an earth-shaking novelty—there must be something in the moon. For thirty years, he explained, as he took off his coat and boots (though not his cap), he had risen at half-past four. But waking that morning at one o’clock, he had got to sleep again, and the next thing he knew—after what seemed to him a little light slumber—was a child saying: “Mother, what’s the time?” Half-past five, mother had replied—Mrs. Pennymole here corroborated the statement at some length; adding that it was Jemima who inquired, she being such a light sleeper806, and always so anxious to be off to school: an interruption that her lord sustained impatiently, for this was the dramatic moment of the story. Half-past five! Up he had jumped, never made his fire nor his tea, never had his pipe, and instead of leaving home at twenty to six, still smoking it, he had rushed round to his brother-in-law’s, where fortunately he was in time for the last cup o’ tea, and then out with his horses as usual!
“And I made him tea and sent it round to the field,” gurgled Mrs. Pennymole as she unhooked her bodice for the last baby. “He had two teas!”
Mr. Pennymole and Jinny joined in her laugh. “Sometimes I’ve woke at ’arf-past three,” he explained carefully. “But then I felt all right.” He recapitulated807 the wonder of his oversleeping himself, as he drew up to the table, where the bulk of his progeny was already installed, and it overbrooded his distribution of bread and jam in great slices.
“And I was up at four!” Mrs. Pennymole bragged808 waggishly.
“Yes, upstairs!” Mr. Pennymole retorted, sharp as his knife, and the table was in a roar, not to mention the four corners of the room, where those of the brood squatted809 who could not find places at the board. Everybody sat munching810 the ritual hunk, though for the black strong tea the adults alone had cups, two mugs circulating among the swarm of children, whose clamours for their fair turn had to be checked by paternal811 cries for silence. Mrs. Pennymole pressed both husband and guest to share her little piece of fat pork fried with bread, but they knew better what was due to a nursing mother. Jinny felt grateful enough for the bread and jam and the tea, cheap but at least not from burnt crusts, and sugared abundantly, despite that sugar—as Mrs. Pennymole complained—had gone up “something cruel.” But though such a meal was luxury for her nowadays, she could hardly help wistful mouth-watering visions of the wedding-feast, from the known dumplings to the unknown champagne. It was for a strange company she had exchanged the wedding-party, she thought ruefully, as she refused a third slice of bread. She could not well accept it, when each child, solemnly asked in turn whether it would like a second, had replied with wonderful unanimity812 in the affirmative, and Mr. Pennymole, with his eye on the waning813 loaf, had remarked that children had wonderful healthy appetites, though that was better than doctors. She was glad, however, to be given a wedge of bread and cheese, though when her host jabbed his into his mouth at the point of his knife, it called up a distressing814 memory of a gobbet of wedding-cake thrown to a dog, and she became suddenly aware that Nip was no longer with her. She remembered seeing him last as she sat on the log, and she rightly divined that—wiser than she—he had gone to the wedding-meal!
Before she could get away from her Barmecide banquet, the brother-in-law and his wife came in, and then the whole story of the oversleeping had to be laughed and marvelled815 over afresh. The more often Mr. Pennymole told the story, the more his sense of its whimsicalness and wonder grew upon him, and the more his audience enjoyed it. “I made his tea,” cackled Mrs. Pennymole. “I sent it round to the field. So he had two teas!” The cottage rocked with laughter. Only the owl and Jinny preserved their gravity. And even Jinny could not resist the infection when Mrs. Pennymole boasted to her visitors that she herself had been up at four, and Mr. Pennymole, with an air of invincible shrewdness, pointed out that it was “upstairs” she had been. So that though neither of the new-comers could throw light upon the Methusalem mystery, Jinny left the cottage refreshed by more than tea, and with the flavour of the corpse-talk washed away. The humour of it all even went with her on her long homeward tramp. In imagination she heard the oddness of the oversleeping and the duplication of the teas still savoured with grins and guffaws816, while the little ones dribbled817 bedwards, while the elder boys were scrubbed in the scullery, and while the indefatigable818 Mrs. Pennymole was washing the hero of the history down to his waist. Her fancy followed the tale spreading over the parish, told and retold, borne by Bundock to ever wider circles, adding to the gaiety of the Hundred, abiding819 as a family tradition when that babe at Mrs. Pennymole’s breast was a grandmother—the tale of how for thirty years Mr. Pennymole had got up at half-past four, and how at long last the record was broken!
Speeding along in this merrier mood, Jinny had almost reached home by a short cut through the woods, when she espied a gay-stringed, battered820 beaver821 and learned the tragic truth.
XIII
Uncle Lilliwhyte was carrying by its long legs the spoil of his rusty822 flintlock—Jinny was glad to see it was only a legitimate curlew with its dagger-like bill. He offered the bird for sale, but she was afraid it had fed too long on the marsh110 mud. She was glad to hear, though, he had called that very morning and sold her grandfather truffles—Uncle had a pig’s nose for truffles, and her grandfather a passion for them.
“He hadn’t got change for a foive-pun’ note,” Uncle Lilliwhyte reported. “And Oi hadn’t, neither,” he chuckled. “So ye owes me tuppence.”
Jinny was amused at her grandfather’s magnificent mendacity—his lordly way of carrying off his pennilessness.
“Never mind the twopence now,” she said. “You haven’t seen Methusalem, I suppose?”
She had supposed it so often that she took the answer for granted. This reply struck her like a cannon-ball.
“Not since ’Lijah Skindle took him away this marnin’!”
“Elijah Skindle took him!” she gasped, breathless yet relieved. “What for? Where?” Had her grandfather’s fears been justified823 then?
“To his ’orspital, Oi reckon. Trottin’ behind the trap he was, tied to it. A sick ’oss don’t want to goo that pace though, thinks Oi. ’Twould be before bever,” he added, when she demanded the exact hour.
“When I was at church! But Methusalem wasn’t sick when I left home.”
“Must ha’ been took sick—or it stands to reason your Gran’fer wouldn’t ha’ let him goo!”
“But Gran’fer didn’t know——!”
“Arxin’ your pardon, Jinny—Mr. Quarles waved to ’em as they went off. And Oi’ll be thankful to you for the tuppence, needin’ my Sunday beer.”
She groped in her purse. “But if Mr. Skindle took him back to Chipstone, how comes it nobody has seen him?”
“He went roundabouts by Bog588 Lane and Squash End, ’tis all droied-up nowadays. And took Bidlake’s Ferry, Oi reckon, stead o’ the bridge.”
A sinister feeling, as yet formless, began to creep into Jinny’s veins. Handing the nondescript his twopence and the jay feather, she ran out of the wood and then in the dusking owl-light by a field-path, and through a prickly hedge of dog-rose and blackberry that left her with scratched fingers, into her own little plot of ground. The stable door was now locked, though its aching emptiness was still visible through the weather-boarding as she passed by; the house-door was even more securely fastened, and all the windows were tightly closed. She rattled824 the casement of the living-room and heard her grandfather finally hobbling down the stairs.
He examined her cautiously through the little panes825.
“Ye’ve left me in the dark,” he complained, turning the window-clasp. “Oi’m famished. Where you been gaddin’ in that frock?”
“Did you send Methusalem away?” she cried impatiently.
He put a scooped826 hand to his ear. “What be you a-sayin’?”
“Open the door!” she called angrily. “You mustn’t shut me out.”
“We’ve got to be careful, Jinny.” He moved to the door. “There’s a sight o’ bad charriters about.”
“Yes, indeed. What did Mr. Skindle want here?” she asked, as the bolts shot back.
“Skindle!” He pondered. “Young ’Lijah, d’ye mean? He brought me a pot.”
“That was long ago—what did he want this morning?”
“This marnin’? Oh, ay”—the sidelong look returned with remembrance and was succeeded by one of defiance—“That’s my business.”
A terrible suspicion flashed upon Jinny.
“You haven’t sold Methusalem?” she cried.
He winced. “That’s my property. Daniel Quarles, Carrier. And by the good rights, Oi——”
“You have sold him!” she hissed in a fury strange to herself. And she found herself shaking the old man by the arms, shaking him as he had shaken her that very morning in the small hours. And he was cowering827 before her, the fierce old man, cowering there on his own doorstep.
“Oi couldn’t see ye starve,” he pleaded.
“Oh, it’s not me you were thinking of!” she said harshly, not caring whether she was just or not. “You might have trusted yourself to me after all these years.” Indignation at Elijah’s supposed swindling mingled828 with her wrath—the idea of his getting Methusalem, an animal worth his weight in gold, for a miserable five-pound note! She gave the old man a final shake, imaginatively intended for Mr. Skindle. “Where’s the money?” she cried, letting him go.
He recovered himself somewhat. “That’s my money,” he said sullenly.
“But where have you put it?”
Cunning and obstinacy829 mingled in his eye. “Oi’ve put it safe agin all they thieves!”
“I don’t believe you’ve got any money!” she said, matching cunning by cunning. “You just let Mr. Skindle rob you.”
“Noa, Oi dedn’t. Oi got more than Methusalem was worth.”
“Really? More than a sovereign?”
“A suvran!” He cackled with a crafty830 air. “More than double that!”
“More than two sovereigns?” said Jinny in tones of ingenuous831 admiration832.
“More than double that!”
“More than four sovereigns?” Enthusiasm shone in her eyes through the dusk.
He hurried towards the stairs.
“You’re not going to bed?” she called with mock anxiety. “You haven’t had supper!”
“We’ll have plenty o’ supper now. He, he!” His gleeful cackle descended38 from the winding833 staircase. Before he returned, chuckling834 still, she had lit the lamp and put out some cold rabbit-pie and a jug of beer on the tiger-painted tray.
“A foiver!” he cried, waving it.
She snatched at the note and tore it in two and let the pieces flutter away.
“Help! Thieves! She’s robbed me,” screamed the Gaffer. He scrambled835 on his knees after the fragments.
“Hush! How dare you sell Methusalem?” He cowered836 again before her passion.
“That was eating us out of house and home!” he whimpered.
“Get up! There’s your supper.”
He rose like a scolded child, clutching the scraps837 of thin paper. She put on her bonnet.
“Where ye gooin’?”
“To Mr. Skindle, of course.”
“Too late for that!”
“No, it isn’t.”
“But ye won’t git Methusalem back.”
“Oh, won’t I, though!”
“But ye’ve tore up his foiver!”
“I don’t care.” But alarmed at heart over her insane deed, she took the pieces from his unresisting hand and put them in her purse. “Don’t bolt me out or I’ll break the window.”
“But listen, dearie, Mr. Skindle won’t be there—the place’ll be shut up!”
“All the better. I’ll break it in.”
“But what’s the good o’ that? Poor old Methusalem’s out o’ his misery by now!”
Her heart stood still. “What do you mean?” She was white and shaking.
“?’Lijah kills at seven,” he said, “afore his supper.”
“Oh, my God!” she gasped, the completeness of the tragedy impinging on her for the first time. “You sold him to be killed! No, no!” she cried, recovering. “He wouldn’t give five pounds just for a carcase!”
“Then ef that ain’t killed yet,” said the Gaffer, “that won’t be till to-morrow night.”
A sensible remark for once, Jinny thought, subsiding838 almost happily into a chair. It had been silly even to contemplate839 setting out afresh after all the day’s journeyings. In this weather the doomed840 horses would be shut up in Mr. Skindle’s field,—she recalled their joyous gambollings—the first thing in the morning she would set out to the rescue. And yet what if her grandfather should be wrong, what if Mr. Skindle killed before breakfast! No, delay might be fatal, and she started up afresh and, unlocking the stable-door, brought in her lantern.
“Ye’re not gooin’ to Mr. Skindle at this time o’ day?” protested the Gaffer from his soothing tray.
“I must.” She lit the candle in the lantern.
“Well, give my love to his mother!” She thought it sarcasm841 and went off even more embittered842 against him.
She had not gone far before she met the returning reveller843. Nip’s ears were abased844 and his eyes edge-long, but in an instant, aware she was glad of his company, he welcomed her roysterously to it. But the blackness that now began to fall upon the pair was not wholly of the night. Great livid thunder-clouds were sagging845 over them, and of a sudden the whole landscape was lit up with blue blazings and shaken with terrific thunder. And then came the rain—the long-prayed-for rain, with its rich rejoicing gurgle. Providence, importuned846 on all sides, now asserted itself in a pour that was like solid sheets of water, and the parched847 soil seemed swilled848 in a few seconds. To plough along was not only difficult but foolhardy. Heaven had clearly thrown cold water on the project. She crept almost shame-facedly back to her still guzzling849 grandfather.
“Got a wettin’,” he chuckled. “Sarve ye right to be sow obstropolus. And sarve you right too!” he added, launching a kick towards the shivering and dripping animal. Nip, though untouched, uttered a dreadful howl, and grovelled850 on his back.
“Do you want to kill them both?” cried Jinny. She was now sure that Methusalem was beyond reprieve—the point of Mr. Skindle’s strategy in purchasing him, so as to leave her no sphere but matrimony, was penetrating851 to her mind, and, by the side of such “a dirty bit,” Will’s frank and blusterous methods began to appear magnanimity itself. To have found out, too, probably from Bundock, that she would be away at the wedding! The sly skunk852!
XIV
For a full hour after Nip and her grandfather slept the sleep of the innocent in their beds, she sat up watching the storm, with no surprise at this unrest of the elements. No less a cataclysm853 was adequate to the passing of Methusalem. This sympathy of Nature indeed relieved her, some of her stoniness854 melted, and her face—as if in reciprocation—became as deluged855 as the face of the earth-mother. All the long years with Methusalem passed before her vision, ever since that first meeting of theirs outside the Watch Vessel856: their common adventures in sunshine and snow, in mud and rain, her whip only an extra tail for him to whisk off his flies withal: ah, the long martyrdom from those flies, especially the nose-fly that spoilt the glory of July. She heard again that queer tick-tack of his hoofs, his whinnying, his coughing, saw the spasmodic shudder857 of his shoulder-joints, the peculiar gulp683 with which he took his drench858. How often they had gone together to have a nail fixed, or his shoes roughed for the winter! What silly alarms he had felt, when she had had to soothe him like a mother, coax469 him to pass something, and on the other hand what a skill beyond hers in going unguided through the moonless, swift-fallen winter night! How happily he had nibbled859 at the beans in his corner-crib or the oats in his manger, what time he was brushed and combed—would that beloved mane get into rats’-tails no more? Was she never again to feel that soft nose against her cheek in a love passing the love of man? Could all this cheery laborious860 vitality have ended, be one with the dust she had so often brushed from his fetlocks? That joy which had set him frisking like an uncouth861 kitten when he was released from the shafts, was it not to be his now that he was freed for ever? Was he to be nothing but a carcase? Nay—horror upon horror—would he survive only as glove-or boot-buttons, as that wretch17 of a Skindle calculated? Would that triumphant455 tail wave only at human funerals, his own last rites unpaid862? A remembrance of her glimpse at the charnel-house made her almost sick. Fed to the foxhounds perhaps! Could such things be in a God-governed world?
And her cart too would go—of the old life there would be nothing left any more. She could see the bill pasted up on the barn-doors: “Carrier’s Cart on Springs, with Set of Harness, Cart Gear, Back Bands, Belly863 Bands——” But what nonsense! Who would advertise such a ramshackle ruin? “A Shabby, Cracked Canvas Tilt864, Patched with Sacking”—fancy that on a poster! No, like its horse, it would be adjudged fit only to be broken up. Perhaps somebody wearing Methusalem on his shoes would sit on the bar of a stile made of its axle-tree.
She woke from her reverie and to the wetness of her face, streaming with bitter-sweet tears. The moon rode almost full, and in the pale blue spread of sky sparse865 stars shone, one or two twinkling. She opened the door and went out into the night. What delicious wafts866 of smells after the long mugginess867 of the day! The elms and poplars rose in mystic lines bordering the great bare spaces. Surely the death of Methusalem had been but a nightmare—if she went to the stable, there would he be as usual, snug83 and safe in his straw. She sped thither868, over the sodden869 grass, with absolute conviction. Alas, the same endless emptiness yawned, the manger looked strange and tragic in the moonlight. She thought of a divine infant once lying in one, wrapped in his swaddling-clothes, and then looking up skywards she saw a figure hovering. Yes, it was—it was the Angel-Mother, so beautiful in the azure870 light. At the sight all her anguish720 was dissolved in sweetness. “Mother! Mother!” she cried, stretching up her arms to the vision. “Comfort thee, my child!” came the dulcet871 tones. “Methusalem is not dead, but sleeping!”
At the glad news Jinny burst into tears, and, in the mist they made, her mother faded away. But she walked in soft happiness back to the house, and said her prayers of gratitude and went believingly to bed and slept as when she was a babe.
So long did she sleep that when she woke, the old man was standing over her again, just as the morning before, save that now he was in his everyday earth-coloured smock and wore a frown instead of a wedding-look, and the sunshine was streaming into the room.
“Where’s my breakfus, Jinny?” he said grumpily.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, yawning and rubbing her eyes. “I must have overslept myself.” And then she remembered Mr. Pennymole’s story, and a smile came over her face.
“There’s nawthen to laugh at,” he said savagely. “Ef ye goo out at bull’s noon, ye’re bound to forgit my breakfus. And that eatin’ his head off too! Ye know there’s no work for him. Ye dedn’t want to bring him back.”
“Back?” she almost screamed. “Is Methusalem back?”
“As ef ye dedn’t know!” he said, disgusted.
Disregarding him and everything else, she sprang out of bed, rolling the blanket round her, and with bare feet she sped to the stable. But she had hardly got outside before the jet of hope had sunk back. It was but another of her grandfather’s delusions.
But no! O incredible, miraculous872, enchanting873 spectacle! There he was, the dear old beast, not dead but sleeping, exactly as the Angel-Mother had said, not a hair of his mane injured, not an inch of his tail less, and never did two Polynesian lovers rub noses half so passionately874 as this happy pair.
Jinny would have rubbed his nose still more adoringly had she known—as she knew later—the r?le it had played in his salvation. The threatening thunder-clouds had made Mr. Skindle put off his slaughtering875 till the morning, so that he himself might get home before the storm broke. The doomed horses he left shut in his field—who cared whether they got wet? But as soon as the coast was clear of Skindle and his latest-lingering myrmidons, Methusalem had simply lifted the latch of the gate with his nose and gone home. Mr. Skindle, oblivious876 of this accomplishment877 of his, though he had seen it practised on his never-forgotten journey with Jinny, had imagined him conclusively878 corralled. Mr. Charles Mott, returning with some boon companions from a distant hostelry where the draughts879 were more generous than he was allowed at “The Black Sheep,” was among the few who saw the noble animal hurrying homewards, and he told Jinny the next Tuesday that she ought to enter Methusalem for the Colchester Stakes. His unusual rate of motion was also reported by Miss Gentry, who, lying awake with a headache after the excitement of the day, had heard him snort past her window just when the storm was ebbing880. He must have sagely881 sheltered while it raged and have arrived at Blackwater Hall soon after Jinny had beheld her vision.
But as yet Jinny attributed the miracle to her Angel-Mother. And what a happy Sunday morning was that, with the church bells all clearly ringing “Come and thank God and her!” She did not fail to obey them, though not without a sharp turn in that padlock, and with the little key safe in her bosom. And having happily ascertained882 from Mother Gander that the five-pound note was valid883 in pieces, she dropped them into Mr. Skindle’s letter-box together with remarks that drew heavily on her Spelling-Book’s “Noun Adjectives of Four Syllables884.” Cadaverous (Belonging to a Carcase); Execrable (Hateful, Accursed); Sophistical (Captious, Deceitful); Sulphureous (Full of Brimstone); and Vindictive885 (Belonging to an Apology) were among her proudest specimens886. They were not calculated to encourage Mr. Skindle’s matrimonial hopes.
点击收听单词发音
1 itches | |
n.痒( itch的名词复数 );渴望,热望v.发痒( itch的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 scant | |
adj.不充分的,不足的;v.减缩,限制,忽略 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 supplication | |
n.恳求,祈愿,哀求 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 quota | |
n.(生产、进出口等的)配额,(移民的)限额 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 savagely | |
adv. 野蛮地,残酷地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 luscious | |
adj.美味的;芬芳的;肉感的,引与性欲的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 pamper | |
v.纵容,过分关怀 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 growl | |
v.(狗等)嗥叫,(炮等)轰鸣;n.嗥叫,轰鸣 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 owl | |
n.猫头鹰,枭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 rim | |
n.(圆物的)边,轮缘;边界 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 monotonously | |
adv.单调地,无变化地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 ironic | |
adj.讽刺的,有讽刺意味的,出乎意料的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 mar | |
vt.破坏,毁坏,弄糟 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 larder | |
n.食物贮藏室,食品橱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 postpone | |
v.延期,推迟 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 stinted | |
v.限制,节省(stint的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 ken | |
n.视野,知识领域 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 amiably | |
adv.和蔼可亲地,亲切地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 distended | |
v.(使)膨胀,肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 coveted | |
adj.令人垂涎的;垂涎的,梦寐以求的v.贪求,觊觎(covet的过去分词);垂涎;贪图 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 vet | |
n.兽医,退役军人;vt.检查 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 supple | |
adj.柔软的,易弯的,逢迎的,顺从的,灵活的;vt.使柔软,使柔顺,使顺从;vi.变柔软,变柔顺 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 condescended | |
屈尊,俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 ); 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 gnawed | |
咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 ); (长时间) 折磨某人; (使)苦恼; (长时间)危害某事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 awed | |
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 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 poultry | |
n.家禽,禽肉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 prop | |
vt.支撑;n.支柱,支撑物;支持者,靠山 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 cater | |
vi.(for/to)满足,迎合;(for)提供饮食及服务 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 housekeeper | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 forgo | |
v.放弃,抛弃 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 diversified | |
adj.多样化的,多种经营的v.使多样化,多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 );进入新的商业领域 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 pangs | |
突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 ); 悲痛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
参考例句: |
|
|
51 jaunt | |
v.短程旅游;n.游览 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
52 jauntily | |
adv.心满意足地;洋洋得意地;高兴地;活泼地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
53 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
54 fascinations | |
n.魅力( fascination的名词复数 );有魅力的东西;迷恋;陶醉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
55 hoops | |
n.箍( hoop的名词复数 );(篮球)篮圈;(旧时儿童玩的)大环子;(两端埋在地里的)小铁弓 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
56 cumber | |
v.拖累,妨碍;n.妨害;拖累 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
57 cypress | |
n.柏树 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
58 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
59 croak | |
vi.嘎嘎叫,发牢骚 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
60 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
61 solicitude | |
n.焦虑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
62 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
63 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
64 groaning | |
adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
65 protruding | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的现在分词 );凸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
66 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
67 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
68 lapsed | |
adj.流失的,堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
69 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
70 deigned | |
v.屈尊,俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
71 sullenly | |
不高兴地,绷着脸,忧郁地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
72 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
73 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
74 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
75 depicting | |
描绘,描画( depict的现在分词 ); 描述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
76 skewers | |
n.串肉扦( skewer的名词复数 );烤肉扦;棒v.(用串肉扦或类似物)串起,刺穿( skewer的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
77 annexation | |
n.吞并,合并 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
78 ply | |
v.(搬运工等)等候顾客,弯曲 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
79 imperturbably | |
adv.泰然地,镇静地,平静地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
80 perturb | |
v.使不安,烦扰,扰乱,使紊乱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
81 aridly | |
adv.arid(干燥的,干旱的)的变形 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
82 calves | |
n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子,腓;腿肚子( calf的名词复数 );牛犊;腓;小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 );(冰川)崩解;生(小牛等),产(犊);使(冰川)崩解 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
83 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
84 meditatively | |
adv.冥想地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
85 somnolence | |
n.想睡,梦幻;欲寐;嗜睡;嗜眠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
86 flick | |
n.快速的轻打,轻打声,弹开;v.轻弹,轻轻拂去,忽然摇动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
87 flicking | |
(尤指用手指或手快速地)轻击( flick的现在分词 ); (用…)轻挥; (快速地)按开关; 向…笑了一下(或瞥了一眼等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
88 bucolic | |
adj.乡村的;牧羊的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
89 turnips | |
芜青( turnip的名词复数 ); 芜菁块根; 芜菁甘蓝块根; 怀表 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
90 rape | |
n.抢夺,掠夺,强奸;vt.掠夺,抢夺,强奸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
91 fodder | |
n.草料;炮灰 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
92 munched | |
v.用力咀嚼(某物),大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
93 villa | |
n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
94 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
95 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
96 aphorisms | |
格言,警句( aphorism的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
97 chuckle | |
vi./n.轻声笑,咯咯笑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
98 chuckled | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
99 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
100 apathy | |
n.漠不关心,无动于衷;冷淡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
101 vat | |
n.(=value added tax)增值税,大桶 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
102 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
103 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
104 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
105 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
106 severed | |
v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
107 skull | |
n.头骨;颅骨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
108 bead | |
n.念珠;(pl.)珠子项链;水珠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
109 hips | |
abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯,耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 );[建筑学]屋脊;臀围(尺寸);臀部…的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
110 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
111 dissent | |
n./v.不同意,持异议 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
112 proximity | |
n.接近,邻近 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
113 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
114 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
115 magnetism | |
n.磁性,吸引力,磁学 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
116 rend | |
vt.把…撕开,割裂;把…揪下来,强行夺取 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
117 conversion | |
n.转化,转换,转变 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
118 pastor | |
n.牧师,牧人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
119 reassure | |
v.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
120 edifice | |
n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿,教室) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
121 pal | |
n.朋友,伙伴,同志;vi.结为友 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
122 staple | |
n.主要产物,常用品,主要要素,原料,订书钉,钩环;adj.主要的,重要的;vt.分类 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
123 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
124 aberrations | |
n.偏差( aberration的名词复数 );差错;脱离常规;心理失常 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
125 tithes | |
n.(宗教捐税)什一税,什一的教区税,小部分( tithe的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
126 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
127 lichened | |
adj.长满地衣的,长青苔的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
128 thatch | |
vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部;n.茅草(屋) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
129 spiky | |
adj.长而尖的,大钉似的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
130 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
131 whitewash | |
v.粉刷,掩饰;n.石灰水,粉刷,掩饰 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
132 unicorn | |
n.(传说中的)独角兽 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
133 hideously | |
adv.可怕地,非常讨厌地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
134 impair | |
v.损害,损伤;削弱,减少 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
135 tranquillity | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
136 glaze | |
v.因疲倦、疲劳等指眼睛变得呆滞,毫无表情 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
137 hovering | |
鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
138 benediction | |
n.祝福;恩赐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
139 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
140 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
141 guardianship | |
n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
142 outraged | |
a.震惊的,义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
143 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
144 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
145 alienated | |
adj.感到孤独的,不合群的v.使疏远( alienate的过去式和过去分词 );使不友好;转让;让渡(财产等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
146 foresight | |
n.先见之明,深谋远虑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
147 brotherhood | |
n.兄弟般的关系,手中情谊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
148 poke | |
n.刺,戳,袋;vt.拨开,刺,戳;vi.戳,刺,捅,搜索,伸出,行动散慢 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
149 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
150 poking | |
n. 刺,戳,袋 vt. 拨开,刺,戳 vi. 戳,刺,捅,搜索,伸出,行动散慢 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
151 interfered | |
v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 );调停;妨碍;干涉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
152 lawsuit | |
n.诉讼,控诉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
153 repudiated | |
v.(正式地)否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 );拒绝接受;拒绝与…往来;拒不履行(法律义务) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
154 feud | |
n.长期不和;世仇;v.长期争斗;世代结仇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
155 flea | |
n.跳蚤 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
156 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
157 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
158 phantom | |
n.幻影,虚位,幽灵;adj.错觉的,幻影的,幽灵的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
159 prying | |
adj.爱打听的v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的现在分词 );撬开 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
160 caped | |
披斗篷的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
161 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
162 accretion | |
n.自然的增长,增加物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
163 quotations | |
n.引用( quotation的名词复数 );[商业]行情(报告);(货物或股票的)市价;时价 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
164 shuffling | |
adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
165 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
166 guttering | |
n.用于建排水系统的材料;沟状切除术;开沟 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
167 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
168 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
169 tinged | |
v.(使)发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
170 inflated | |
adj.(价格)飞涨的;(通货)膨胀的;言过其实的;充了气的v.使充气(于轮胎、气球等)( inflate的过去式和过去分词 );(使)膨胀;(使)通货膨胀;物价上涨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
171 gambolling | |
v.蹦跳,跳跃,嬉戏( gambol的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
172 maker | |
n.制造者,制造商 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
173 rebuking | |
责难或指责( rebuke的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
174 brutes | |
兽( brute的名词复数 ); 畜生; 残酷无情的人; 兽性 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
175 dour | |
adj.冷酷的,严厉的;(岩石)嶙峋的;顽强不屈 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
176 prick | |
v.刺伤,刺痛,刺孔;n.刺伤,刺痛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
177 lull | |
v.使安静,使入睡,缓和,哄骗;n.暂停,间歇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
178 invincible | |
adj.不可征服的,难以制服的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
179 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
180 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
181 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
182 frenzied | |
a.激怒的;疯狂的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
183 receding | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
184 plaintive | |
adj.可怜的,伤心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
185 trot | |
n.疾走,慢跑;n.老太婆;现成译本;(复数)trots:腹泻(与the 连用);v.小跑,快步走,赶紧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
186 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
187 flute | |
n.长笛;v.吹笛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
188 perused | |
v.读(某篇文字)( peruse的过去式和过去分词 );(尤指)细阅;审阅;匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览(某篇文字) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
189 jug | |
n.(有柄,小口,可盛水等的)大壶,罐,盂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
190 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
191 evicting | |
v.(依法从房屋里或土地上)驱逐,赶出( evict的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
192 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
193 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
194 charred | |
v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式);烧焦 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
195 glade | |
n.林间空地,一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
196 snares | |
n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 );圈套;诱人遭受失败(丢脸、损失等)的东西;诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉,诱陷,陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
197 horrified | |
a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
198 communal | |
adj.公有的,公共的,公社的,公社制的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
199 boon | |
n.恩赐,恩物,恩惠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
200 evicted | |
v.(依法从房屋里或土地上)驱逐,赶出( evict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
201 touchingly | |
adv.令人同情地,感人地,动人地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
202 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
203 glimmering | |
n.微光,隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
204 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
205 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
206 tangles | |
(使)缠结, (使)乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
207 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
208 glide | |
n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
209 perversely | |
adv. 倔强地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
210 bruising | |
adj.殊死的;十分激烈的v.擦伤(bruise的现在分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
211 accurately | |
adv.准确地,精确地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
212 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
213 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
214 knuckles | |
n.(指人)指关节( knuckle的名词复数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝v.(指人)指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
215 willows | |
n.柳树( willow的名词复数 );柳木 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
216 perilously | |
adv.充满危险地,危机四伏地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
217 rippling | |
起涟漪的,潺潺流水般声音的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
218 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
219 adumbration | |
n.预示,预兆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
220 firmament | |
n.苍穹;最高层 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
221 psalm | |
n.赞美诗,圣诗 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
222 testimonies | |
(法庭上证人的)证词( testimony的名词复数 ); 证明,证据 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
223 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
224 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
225 spoke | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
226 writ | |
n.命令状,书面命令 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
227 dubious | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
228 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
229 parasite | |
n.寄生虫;寄生菌;食客 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
230 sibylline | |
adj.预言的;神巫的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
231 debtor | |
n.借方,债务人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
232 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
233 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
234 flip | |
vt.快速翻动;轻抛;轻拍;n.轻抛;adj.轻浮的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
235 widower | |
n.鳏夫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
236 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
237 grumbled | |
抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
238 grumble | |
vi.抱怨;咕哝;n.抱怨,牢骚;咕哝,隆隆声 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
239 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
240 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
241 fomenter | |
挑唆者,煽动者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
242 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
243 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
244 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
245 ointment | |
n.药膏,油膏,软膏 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
246 lodger | |
n.寄宿人,房客 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
247 lodgers | |
n.房客,租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
248 revolving | |
adj.旋转的,轮转式的;循环的v.(使)旋转( revolve的现在分词 );细想 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
249 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
250 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
251 revolved | |
v.(使)旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 );细想 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
252 ousted | |
驱逐( oust的过去式和过去分词 ); 革职; 罢黜; 剥夺 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
253 amicably | |
adv.友善地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
254 spouse | |
n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
255 hurdles | |
n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 );跳栏;(供人或马跳跃的)栏架;跨栏赛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
256 enigma | |
n.谜,谜一样的人或事 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
257 ramifications | |
n.结果,后果( ramification的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
258 maternity | |
n.母性,母道,妇产科病房;adj.孕妇的,母性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
259 sordid | |
adj.肮脏的,不干净的,卑鄙的,暗淡的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
260 scrap | |
n.碎片;废料;v.废弃,报废 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
261 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
262 stimulated | |
a.刺激的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
263 profane | |
adj.亵神的,亵渎的;vt.亵渎,玷污 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
264 patronage | |
n.赞助,支援,援助;光顾,捧场 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
265 wilful | |
adj.任性的,故意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
266 wilfully | |
adv.任性固执地;蓄意地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
267 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
268 sniff | |
vi.嗅…味道;抽鼻涕;对嗤之以鼻,蔑视 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
269 sniffed | |
v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
270 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
271 hissed | |
发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 ); 发嘘声表示反对 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
272 metaphor | |
n.隐喻,暗喻 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
273 conjured | |
用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
274 prettily | |
adv.优美地;可爱地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
275 profaned | |
v.不敬( profane的过去式和过去分词 );亵渎,玷污 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
276 oracle | |
n.神谕,神谕处,预言 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
277 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
278 basking | |
v.晒太阳,取暖( bask的现在分词 );对…感到乐趣;因他人的功绩而出名;仰仗…的余泽 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
279 diverging | |
分开( diverge的现在分词 ); 偏离; 分歧; 分道扬镳 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
280 chivalrously | |
adv.象骑士一样地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
281 manor | |
n.庄园,领地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
282 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
283 scion | |
n.嫩芽,子孙 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
284 marketing | |
n.行销,在市场的买卖,买东西 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
285 tantalizing | |
adj.逗人的;惹弄人的;撩人的;煽情的v.逗弄,引诱,折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
286 appraisal | |
n.对…作出的评价;评价,鉴定,评估 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
287 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
288 attainable | |
a.可达到的,可获得的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
289 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
290 poignant | |
adj.令人痛苦的,辛酸的,惨痛的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
291 apathetic | |
adj.冷漠的,无动于衷的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
292 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
293 flicked | |
(尤指用手指或手快速地)轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 ); (用…)轻挥; (快速地)按开关; 向…笑了一下(或瞥了一眼等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
294 torpor | |
n.迟钝;麻木;(动物的)冬眠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
295 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
296 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
297 animating | |
v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 );驱动;使栩栩如生地动作;赋予…以生命 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
298 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
299 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
300 fungi | |
n.真菌,霉菌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
301 clove | |
n.丁香味 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
302 picturesqueness | |
参考例句: |
|
|
303 hawthorn | |
山楂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
304 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
305 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
306 shimmery | |
adj.微微发亮的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
307 ivy | |
n.常青藤,常春藤 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
308 squat | |
v.蹲坐,蹲下;n.蹲下;adj.矮胖的,粗矮的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
309 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
310 orchards | |
(通常指围起来的)果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
311 scattering | |
n.[物]散射;散乱,分散;在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的;分散在不同范围的;广泛扩散的;(选票)数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式);散布;驱散 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
312 swarm | |
n.(昆虫)等一大群;vi.成群飞舞;蜂拥而入 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
313 swarms | |
蜂群,一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
314 acorns | |
n.橡子,栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
315 scuttling | |
n.船底穿孔,打开通海阀(沉船用)v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 );快跑,急走 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
316 darting | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的现在分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
317 mounds | |
土堆,土丘( mound的名词复数 ); 一大堆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
318 farmhouse | |
n.农场住宅(尤指主要住房) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
319 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
320 prematurely | |
adv.过早地,贸然地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
321 abashed | |
adj.窘迫的,尴尬的v.使羞愧,使局促,使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
322 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
323 droll | |
adj.古怪的,好笑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
324 benevolently | |
adv.仁慈地,行善地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
325 waggishly | |
adv.waggish(滑稽的,诙谐的)的变形 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
326 corroded | |
已被腐蚀的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
327 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
328 wasps | |
黄蜂( wasp的名词复数 ); 胡蜂; 易动怒的人; 刻毒的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
329 slaughter | |
n.屠杀,屠宰;vt.屠杀,宰杀 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
330 haven | |
n.安全的地方,避难所,庇护所 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
331 vouchsafed | |
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 );允诺 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
332 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
333 gasped | |
v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
334 shackles | |
手铐( shackle的名词复数 ); 脚镣; 束缚; 羁绊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
335 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
336 rekindled | |
v.使再燃( rekindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
337 grievance | |
n.怨愤,气恼,委屈 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
338 remonstrated | |
v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 );告诫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
339 appropriation | |
n.拨款,批准支出 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
340 winced | |
赶紧避开,畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
341 diabolically | |
参考例句: |
|
|
342 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
343 impending | |
a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
参考例句: |
|
|
344 avalanche | |
n.雪崩,大量涌来 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
345 frantically | |
ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
346 babble | |
v.含糊不清地说,胡言乱语地说,儿语 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
347 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
348 apprehensive | |
adj.担心的,恐惧的,善于领会的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
349 apprehensively | |
adv.担心地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
350 latch | |
n.门闩,窗闩;弹簧锁 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
351 transformation | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
352 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
353 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
354 reassuring | |
a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的,使人放心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
355 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
356 pungent | |
adj.(气味、味道)刺激性的,辛辣的;尖锐的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
357 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
358 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
359 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
360 twitching | |
n.颤搐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
361 frigidly | |
adv.寒冷地;冷漠地;冷淡地;呆板地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
362 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
363 barley | |
n.大麦,大麦粒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
364 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
365 dame | |
n.女士 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
366 slate | |
n.板岩,石板,石片,石板色,候选人名单;adj.暗蓝灰色的,含板岩的;vt.用石板覆盖,痛打,提名,预订 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
367 wedlock | |
n.婚姻,已婚状态 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
368 testily | |
adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
369 grimaces | |
n.(表蔑视、厌恶等)面部扭曲,鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相,做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
370 pebbles | |
[复数]鹅卵石; 沙砾; 卵石,小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
371 casement | |
n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
372 flamboyant | |
adj.火焰般的,华丽的,炫耀的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
373 hurrah | |
int.好哇,万岁,乌拉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
374 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
375 effulgence | |
n.光辉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
376 rubicund | |
adj.(脸色)红润的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
377 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
378 smelt | |
v.熔解,熔炼;n.银白鱼,胡瓜鱼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
379 paltry | |
adj.无价值的,微不足道的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
380 glower | |
v.怒目而视 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
381 endorsed | |
vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 );在(尤指支票的)背面签字;在(文件的)背面写评论;在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
382 bouquets | |
n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 );(酒的)芳香 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
383 bouquet | |
n.花束,酒香 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
384 rehearsal | |
n.排练,排演;练习 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
385 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
386 corroborated | |
v.证实,支持(某种说法、信仰、理论等)( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
387 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
388 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
389 reined | |
勒缰绳使(马)停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 ); 驾驭; 严格控制; 加强管理 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
390 ravens | |
n.低质煤;渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
391 sickle | |
n.镰刀 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
392 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
393 shears | |
n.大剪刀 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
394 agog | |
adj.兴奋的,有强烈兴趣的; adv.渴望地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
395 repartee | |
n.机敏的应答 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
396 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
397 impoverished | |
adj.穷困的,无力的,用尽了的v.使(某人)贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 );使(某物)贫瘠或恶化 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
398 commiseration | |
n.怜悯,同情 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
399 loquacious | |
adj.多嘴的,饶舌的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
400 grievances | |
n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 );苦衷;不满;牢骚 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
401 plaintively | |
adv.悲哀地,哀怨地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
402 transparent | |
adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
403 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
404 glibly | |
adv.流利地,流畅地;满口 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
405 shrouded | |
v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 );保密 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
406 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
407 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
408 nervously | |
adv.神情激动地,不安地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
409 pretexts | |
n.借口,托辞( pretext的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
410 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
411 reek | |
v.发出臭气;n.恶臭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
412 sacrosanct | |
adj.神圣不可侵犯的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
413 pervasion | |
n.扩散,渗透 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
414 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
415 shriek | |
v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
416 bulged | |
凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 ); 充满; 塞满(某物) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
417 bristled | |
adj. 直立的,多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
418 greasy | |
adj. 多脂的,油脂的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
419 jocose | |
adj.开玩笑的,滑稽的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
420 jocosely | |
adv.说玩笑地,诙谐地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
421 improper | |
adj.不适当的,不合适的,不正确的,不合礼仪的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
422 tartly | |
adv.辛辣地,刻薄地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
423 blandly | |
adv.温和地,殷勤地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
424 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
425 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
426 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
427 protrusive | |
adj.伸出的,突出的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
428 scroll | |
n.卷轴,纸卷;(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
429 beatifically | |
adj. 祝福的, 幸福的, 快乐的, 慈祥的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
430 bough | |
n.大树枝,主枝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
431 extricated | |
v.使摆脱困难,脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
432 archer | |
n.射手,弓箭手 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
433 conning | |
v.诈骗,哄骗( con的现在分词 );指挥操舵( conn的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
434 jealousies | |
n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 );妒羡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
435 deceptive | |
adj.骗人的,造成假象的,靠不住的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
436 stainless | |
adj.无瑕疵的,不锈的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
437 blasphemy | |
n.亵渎,渎神 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
438 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
439 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
440 tedium | |
n.单调;烦闷 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
441 meticulous | |
adj.极其仔细的,一丝不苟的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
442 tracts | |
大片土地( tract的名词复数 ); 地带; (体内的)道; (尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的)短文 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
443 averse | |
adj.厌恶的;反对的,不乐意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
444 fathom | |
v.领悟,彻底了解 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
445 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
446 caravan | |
n.大蓬车;活动房屋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
447 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
448 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
449 aspirations | |
强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
450 prod | |
vt.戳,刺;刺激,激励 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
451 cherubs | |
小天使,胖娃娃( cherub的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
452 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
453 obfuscation | |
n.昏迷,困惑;发暗 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
454 triumphantly | |
ad.得意洋洋地;得胜地;成功地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
455 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
456 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
457 partnership | |
n.合作关系,伙伴关系 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
458 appreciative | |
adj.有鉴赏力的,有眼力的;感激的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
459 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
460 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
461 connive | |
v.纵容;密谋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
462 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
463 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
464 jovial | |
adj.快乐的,好交际的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
465 whim | |
n.一时的兴致,突然的念头;奇想,幻想 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
466 sobbed | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
467 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
468 coaxed | |
v.哄,用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 );巧言骗取;哄劝,劝诱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
469 coax | |
v.哄诱,劝诱,用诱哄得到,诱取 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
470 puff | |
n.一口(气);一阵(风);v.喷气,喘气 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
471 yearning | |
a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
472 soothingly | |
adv.抚慰地,安慰地;镇痛地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
473 tongs | |
n.钳;夹子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
474 complexity | |
n.复杂(性),复杂的事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
475 exodus | |
v.大批离去,成群外出 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
476 cork | |
n.软木,软木塞 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
477 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
478 nominal | |
adj.名义上的;(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
479 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
480 reverting | |
恢复( revert的现在分词 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
481 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
482 pals | |
n.朋友( pal的名词复数 );老兄;小子;(对男子的不友好的称呼)家伙 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
483 remorseful | |
adj.悔恨的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
484 remorsefully | |
adv.极为懊悔地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
485 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
486 chapels | |
n.小教堂, (医院、监狱等的)附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 );(在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的)礼拜仪式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
487 sect | |
n.派别,宗教,学派,派系 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
488 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
489 pickle | |
n.腌汁,泡菜;v.腌,泡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
490 walnuts | |
胡桃(树)( walnut的名词复数 ); 胡桃木 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
491 whining | |
n. 抱怨,牢骚 v. 哭诉,发牢骚 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
492 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
493 hysterically | |
ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
494 hysterical | |
adj.情绪异常激动的,歇斯底里般的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
495 champagne | |
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
496 shuffled | |
v.洗(纸牌)( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 );拖着脚步走;粗心地做;摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
497 subterranean | |
adj.地下的,地表下的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
498 hostility | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
499 rivalry | |
n.竞争,竞赛,对抗 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
500 perturbed | |
adj.烦燥不安的v.使(某人)烦恼,不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
501 desecrate | |
v.供俗用,亵渎,污辱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
502 dubiously | |
adv.可疑地,怀疑地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
503 maliciously | |
adv.有敌意地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
504 aggrieved | |
adj.愤愤不平的,受委屈的;悲痛的;(在合法权利方面)受侵害的v.令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式);令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
505 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
506 rites | |
仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
507 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
508 loathed | |
v.憎恨,厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 );极不喜欢 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
509 transpired | |
(事实,秘密等)被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 ); 泄露; 显露; 发生 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
510 paragon | |
n.模范,典型 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
511 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
512 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
513 pane | |
n.窗格玻璃,长方块 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
514 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
515 speckless | |
adj.无斑点的,无瑕疵的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
516 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
517 auditor | |
n.审计员,旁听着 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
518 collaborator | |
n.合作者,协作者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
519 monologue | |
n.长篇大论,(戏剧等中的)独白 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
520 evoke | |
vt.唤起,引起,使人想起 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
521 curd | |
n.凝乳;凝乳状物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
522 improvise | |
v.即兴创作;临时准备,临时凑成 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
523 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
524 chattering | |
n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
525 shrilling | |
(声音)尖锐的,刺耳的,高频率的( shrill的现在分词 ); 凄厉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
526 querying | |
v.质疑,对…表示疑问( query的现在分词 );询问 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
527 lulled | |
vt.使镇静,使安静(lull的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
528 cascade | |
n.小瀑布,喷流;层叠;vi.成瀑布落下 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
529 inscription | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
530 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
531 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
532 patriot | |
n.爱国者,爱国主义者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
533 profuseness | |
n.挥霍 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
534 unintelligible | |
adj.无法了解的,难解的,莫明其妙的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
535 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
536 derided | |
v.取笑,嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
537 unaware | |
a.不知道的,未意识到的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
538 recede | |
vi.退(去),渐渐远去;向后倾斜,缩进 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
539 granite | |
adj.花岗岩,花岗石 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
540 mobility | |
n.可动性,变动性,情感不定 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
541 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
542 abetted | |
v.教唆(犯罪)( abet的过去式和过去分词 );煽动;怂恿;支持 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
543 sketchy | |
adj.写生的,写生风格的,概略的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
544 teller | |
n.银行出纳员;(选举)计票员 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
545 perturbing | |
v.使(某人)烦恼,不安( perturb的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
546 pall | |
v.覆盖,使平淡无味;n.柩衣,棺罩;棺材;帷幕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
547 parental | |
adj.父母的;父的;母的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
548 boundless | |
adj.无限的;无边无际的;巨大的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
549 alluring | |
adj.吸引人的,迷人的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
550 dint | |
n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
551 lure | |
n.吸引人的东西,诱惑物;vt.引诱,吸引 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
552 glamour | |
n.魔力,魅力;vt.迷住 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
553 expended | |
v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 );使用(钱等)做某事;用光;耗尽 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
554 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
555 pawned | |
v.典当,抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 );以(某事物)担保 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
556 redeem | |
v.买回,赎回,挽回,恢复,履行(诺言等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
557 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
558 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
559 drolly | |
adv.古里古怪地;滑稽地;幽默地;诙谐地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
560 deplored | |
v.悲叹,痛惜,强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
561 lore | |
n.传说;学问,经验,知识 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
562 entangled | |
adj.卷入的;陷入的;被缠住的;缠在一起的v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
563 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
564 slit | |
n.狭长的切口;裂缝;vt.切开,撕裂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
565 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
566 temporized | |
v.敷衍( temporize的过去式和过去分词 );拖延;顺应时势;暂时同意 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
567 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
568 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
569 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
570 effusively | |
adv.变溢地,热情洋溢地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
571 avow | |
v.承认,公开宣称 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
572 avowed | |
adj.公开声明的,承认的v.公开声明,承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
573 gratis | |
adj.免费的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
574 gnawing | |
a.痛苦的,折磨人的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
575 reminder | |
n.提醒物,纪念品;暗示,提示 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
576 mattress | |
n.床垫,床褥 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
577 feverishly | |
adv. 兴奋地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
578 unravelling | |
解开,拆散,散开( unravel的现在分词 ); 阐明; 澄清; 弄清楚 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
579 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
580 soothe | |
v.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
581 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
582 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
583 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
584 reassured | |
adj.使消除疑虑的;使放心的v.再保证,恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
585 caressed | |
爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
586 reassurance | |
n.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
587 temporizing | |
v.敷衍( temporize的现在分词 );拖延;顺应时势;暂时同意 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
588 bog | |
n.沼泽;室...陷入泥淖 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
589 shafts | |
n.轴( shaft的名词复数 );(箭、高尔夫球棒等的)杆;通风井;一阵(疼痛、害怕等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
590 hemmed | |
缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 ); 包围 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
591 foes | |
敌人,仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
592 prodigal | |
adj.浪费的,挥霍的,放荡的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
593 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
594 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
595 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
596 agitatedly | |
动摇,兴奋; 勃然 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
597 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
598 shrieked | |
v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
599 tottering | |
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
600 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
601 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
602 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
603 espied | |
v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
604 thumped | |
v.重击, (指心脏)急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
605 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
606 incongruity | |
n.不协调,不一致 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
607 saluting | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的现在分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
608 traitorous | |
adj. 叛国的, 不忠的, 背信弃义的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
609 massacre | |
n.残杀,大屠杀;v.残杀,集体屠杀 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
610 gunpowder | |
n.火药 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
611 tingling | |
v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
612 faltering | |
犹豫的,支吾的,蹒跚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
613 devoutly | |
adv.虔诚地,虔敬地,衷心地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
614 remissness | |
n.玩忽职守;马虎;怠慢;不小心 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
615 appallingly | |
毛骨悚然地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
616 dowdiness | |
参考例句: |
|
|
617 acoustically | |
听觉上,声学上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
618 expatiating | |
v.详述,细说( expatiate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
619 dominant | |
adj.支配的,统治的;占优势的;显性的;n.主因,要素,主要的人(或物);显性基因 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
620 augury | |
n.预言,征兆,占卦 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
621 sable | |
n.黑貂;adj.黑色的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
622 omens | |
n.前兆,预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
623 placidly | |
adv.平稳地,平静地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
624 parley | |
n.谈判 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
625 rambling | |
adj.[建]凌乱的,杂乱的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
626 sequestered | |
adj.扣押的;隐退的;幽静的;偏僻的v.使隔绝,使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 );扣押 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
627 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
628 mow | |
v.割(草、麦等),扫射,皱眉;n.草堆,谷物堆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
629 snail | |
n.蜗牛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
630 irrelevantly | |
adv.不恰当地,不合适地;不相关地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
631 pounced | |
v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 );猛扑;一眼看出;抓住机会(进行抨击) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
632 joyfully | |
adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
633 bullying | |
v.恐吓,威逼( bully的现在分词 );豪;跋扈 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
634 lamely | |
一瘸一拐地,不完全地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
635 scorpions | |
n.蝎子( scorpion的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
636 weirdly | |
古怪地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
637 graveyard | |
n.坟场 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
638 forefinger | |
n.食指 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
639 symbolic | |
adj.象征性的,符号的,象征主义的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
640 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
641 interrogating | |
n.询问技术v.询问( interrogate的现在分词 );审问;(在计算机或其他机器上)查询 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
642 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: |
|
|
643 sanctuary | |
n.圣所,圣堂,寺庙;禁猎区,保护区 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
644 lackadaisically | |
adv.无精打采地,不决断地,不热心地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
645 lawful | |
adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
646 transcending | |
超出或超越(经验、信念、描写能力等)的范围( transcend的现在分词 ); 优于或胜过… | |
参考例句: |
|
|
647 pallid | |
adj.苍白的,呆板的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
648 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: |
|
|
649 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
650 dispelled | |
v.驱散,赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
651 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
652 debonair | |
adj.殷勤的,快乐的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
653 bulwark | |
n.堡垒,保障,防御 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
654 niche | |
n.壁龛;合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
655 hunched | |
(常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦)耸肩弓身的,伏首前倾的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
656 starched | |
adj.浆硬的,硬挺的,拘泥刻板的v.把(衣服、床单等)浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
657 honeymoon | |
n.蜜月(假期);vi.度蜜月 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
658 oysters | |
牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
659 famished | |
adj.饥饿的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
660 conjures | |
用魔术变出( conjure的第三人称单数 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
661 yearningly | |
怀念地,思慕地,同情地; 渴 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
662 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
663 gravy | |
n.肉汁;轻易得来的钱,外快 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
664 veraciously | |
adv.诚实地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
665 majestically | |
雄伟地; 庄重地; 威严地; 崇高地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
666 jingled | |
喝醉的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
667 rhetoric | |
n.修辞学,浮夸之言语 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
668 blur | |
n.模糊不清的事物;vt.使模糊,使看不清楚 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
669 dwindled | |
v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
670 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
671 voluptuousness | |
n.风骚,体态丰满 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
672 poignancy | |
n.辛酸事,尖锐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
673 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
674 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
675 enchantment | |
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
676 bluebells | |
n.圆叶风铃草( bluebell的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
677 peevish | |
adj.易怒的,坏脾气的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
678 rankling | |
v.(使)痛苦不已,(使)怨恨不已( rankle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
679 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: |
|
|
680 prattle | |
n.闲谈;v.(小孩般)天真无邪地说话;发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
681 facetious | |
adj.轻浮的,好开玩笑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
682 gulps | |
n.一大口(尤指液体)( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃,吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 );大口地吸(气);哽住 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
683 gulp | |
vt.吞咽,大口地吸(气);vi.哽住;n.吞咽 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
684 funereal | |
adj.悲哀的;送葬的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
685 entrusted | |
v.委托,托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
686 prodigy | |
n.惊人的事物,奇迹,神童,天才,预兆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
687 genially | |
adv.亲切地,和蔼地;快活地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
688 asseverated | |
v.郑重声明,断言( asseverate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
689 giggled | |
v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
690 hilarity | |
n.欢乐;热闹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
691 debut | |
n.首次演出,初次露面 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
692 cracker | |
n.(无甜味的)薄脆饼干 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
693 quaffs | |
v.痛饮( quaff的第三人称单数 );畅饮;大口大口将…喝干;一饮而尽 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
694 constricted | |
adj.抑制的,约束的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
695 consorted | |
v.结伴( consort的过去式和过去分词 );交往;相称;调和 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
696 babbling | |
n.胡说,婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 );作潺潺声(如流水);含糊不清地说话;泄漏秘密 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
697 havoc | |
n.大破坏,浩劫,大混乱,大杂乱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
698 maze | |
n.迷宫,八阵图,混乱,迷惑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
699 demonstration | |
n.表明,示范,论证,示威 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
700 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
701 censor | |
n./vt.审查,审查员;删改 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
702 restiveness | |
n.倔强,难以驾御 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
703 riveted | |
铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 ); 把…固定住; 吸引; 引起某人的注意 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
704 coalesced | |
v.联合,合并( coalesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
705 honeymooning | |
度蜜月(honeymoon的现在分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
706 petrified | |
adj.惊呆的;目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆,使惊呆;变僵硬;使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
707 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
708 scribbled | |
v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 );乱画;草草地写;匆匆记下 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
709 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
710 impecunious | |
adj.不名一文的,贫穷的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
711 stentorian | |
adj.大声的,响亮的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
712 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
713 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
714 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
715 pouted | |
v.撅(嘴)( pout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
716 prudently | |
adv. 谨慎地,慎重地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
717 gibe | |
n.讥笑;嘲弄 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
718 witticism | |
n.谐语,妙语 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
719 languishing | |
a. 衰弱下去的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
720 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
721 tambourine | |
n.铃鼓,手鼓 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
722 goodwill | |
n.善意,亲善,信誉,声誉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
723 hesitations | |
n.犹豫( hesitation的名词复数 );踌躇;犹豫(之事或行为);口吃 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
724 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
725 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
726 aromatic | |
adj.芳香的,有香味的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
727 credulously | |
adv.轻信地,易被瞒地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
728 exuberant | |
adj.充满活力的;(植物)繁茂的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
729 feats | |
功绩,伟业,技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
730 daydreams | |
n.白日梦( daydream的名词复数 )v.想入非非,空想( daydream的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
731 vistas | |
长条形景色( vista的名词复数 ); 回顾; 展望; (未来可能发生的)一系列情景 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
732 gaseous | |
adj.气体的,气态的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
733 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
734 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
735 evoked | |
[医]诱发的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
736 scented | |
adj.有香味的;洒香水的;有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
737 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
738 fatuous | |
adj.愚昧的;昏庸的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
739 conceited | |
adj.自负的,骄傲自满的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
740 scents | |
n.香水( scent的名词复数 );气味;(动物的)臭迹;(尤指狗的)嗅觉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
741 rosebud | |
n.蔷薇花蕾,妙龄少女 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
742 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
743 hoarsely | |
adv.嘶哑地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
744 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
745 mirage | |
n.海市蜃楼,幻景 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
746 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
747 stratagem | |
n.诡计,计谋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
748 portentously | |
参考例句: |
|
|
749 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
750 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
751 drooped | |
弯曲或下垂,发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
752 delusions | |
n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 );谬见;错觉;妄想 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
753 slander | |
n./v.诽谤,污蔑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
754 dealer | |
n.商人,贩子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
755 antiquities | |
n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 );古迹;古人们;古代的风俗习惯 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
756 depleted | |
adj. 枯竭的, 废弃的 动词deplete的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
757 vagaries | |
n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 );异想天开;异常行为;难以预测的情况 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
758 surmised | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 );揣测;猜想 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
759 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
760 squint | |
v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
761 solicitously | |
adv.热心地,热切地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
762 catastrophe | |
n.大灾难,大祸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
763 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
764 retailed | |
vt.零售(retail的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
765 lachrymose | |
adj.好流泪的,引人落泪的;adv.眼泪地,哭泣地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
766 garrulous | |
adj.唠叨的,多话的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
767 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
768 lurid | |
adj.可怕的;血红的;苍白的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
769 prophesied | |
v.预告,预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
770 trampling | |
踩( trample的现在分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
771 lanky | |
adj.瘦长的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
772 covert | |
adj.隐藏的;暗地里的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
773 flickering | |
adj.闪烁的,摇曳的,一闪一闪的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
774 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
775 landlady | |
n.女房东,女地主 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
776 withheld | |
withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
777 arcades | |
n.商场( arcade的名词复数 );拱形走道(两旁有商店或娱乐设施);连拱廊;拱形建筑物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
778 sociability | |
n.好交际,社交性,善于交际 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
779 stuffy | |
adj.不透气的,闷热的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
780 thatcher | |
n.茅屋匠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
781 advantageous | |
adj.有利的;有帮助的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
782 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
783 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
784 hurl | |
vt.猛投,力掷,声叫骂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
785 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
786 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
787 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
788 ineffably | |
adv.难以言喻地,因神圣而不容称呼地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
789 consecrated | |
adj.神圣的,被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣,给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 );奉献 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
790 medley | |
n.混合 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
791 toiling | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
792 mingling | |
adj.混合的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
793 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
794 babbled | |
v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 );作潺潺声(如流水);含糊不清地说话;泄漏秘密 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
795 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
796 redressing | |
v.改正( redress的现在分词 );重加权衡;恢复平衡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
797 nude | |
adj.裸体的;n.裸体者,裸体艺术品 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
798 extinction | |
n.熄灭,消亡,消灭,灭绝,绝种 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
799 crumb | |
n.饼屑,面包屑,小量 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
800 beguiled | |
v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 );使陶醉;使高兴;消磨(时间等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
801 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
802 contagion | |
n.(通过接触的疾病)传染;蔓延 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
803 coffins | |
n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 );使某人早亡[死,完蛋,垮台等]之物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
804 progeny | |
n.后代,子孙;结果 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
805 brawny | |
adj.强壮的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
806 sleeper | |
n.睡眠者,卧车,卧铺 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
807 recapitulated | |
v.总结,扼要重述( recapitulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
808 bragged | |
v.自夸,吹嘘( brag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
809 squatted | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
810 munching | |
v.用力咀嚼(某物),大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
811 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
812 unanimity | |
n.全体一致,一致同意 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
813 waning | |
adj.(月亮)渐亏的,逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 );(月)亏;变小;变暗淡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
814 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
815 marvelled | |
v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
816 guffaws | |
n.大笑,狂笑( guffaw的名词复数 )v.大笑,狂笑( guffaw的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
817 dribbled | |
v.流口水( dribble的过去式和过去分词 );(使液体)滴下或作细流;运球,带球 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
818 indefatigable | |
adj.不知疲倦的,不屈不挠的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
819 abiding | |
adj.永久的,持久的,不变的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
820 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
821 beaver | |
n.海狸,河狸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
822 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
823 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
824 rattled | |
慌乱的,恼火的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
825 panes | |
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
826 scooped | |
v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 );(敏捷地)抱起;抢先获得;用铲[勺]等挖(洞等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
827 cowering | |
v.畏缩,抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
828 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: |
|
|
829 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
830 crafty | |
adj.狡猾的,诡诈的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
831 ingenuous | |
adj.纯朴的,单纯的;天真的;坦率的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
832 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
833 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
834 chuckling | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
835 scrambled | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
836 cowered | |
v.畏缩,抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
837 scraps | |
油渣 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
838 subsiding | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的现在分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
839 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
840 doomed | |
命定的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
841 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
842 embittered | |
v.使怨恨,激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
843 reveller | |
n.摆设酒宴者,饮酒狂欢者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
844 abased | |
使谦卑( abase的过去式和过去分词 ); 使感到羞耻; 使降低(地位、身份等); 降下 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
845 sagging | |
下垂[沉,陷],松垂,垂度 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
846 importuned | |
v.纠缠,向(某人)不断要求( importune的过去式和过去分词 );(妓女)拉(客) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
847 parched | |
adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
848 swilled | |
v.冲洗( swill的过去式和过去分词 );猛喝;大口喝;(使)液体流动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
849 guzzling | |
v.狂吃暴饮,大吃大喝( guzzle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
850 grovelled | |
v.卑躬屈节,奴颜婢膝( grovel的过去式和过去分词 );趴 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
851 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
852 skunk | |
n.臭鼬,黄鼠狼;v.使惨败,使得零分;烂醉如泥 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
853 cataclysm | |
n.洪水,剧变,大灾难 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
854 stoniness | |
冷漠,一文不名 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
855 deluged | |
v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 );淹没;被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没;穷于应付 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
856 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
857 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
858 drench | |
v.使淋透,使湿透 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
859 nibbled | |
v.啃,一点一点地咬(吃)( nibble的过去式和过去分词 );啃出(洞),一点一点咬出(洞);慢慢减少;小口咬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
860 laborious | |
adj.吃力的,努力的,不流畅 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
861 uncouth | |
adj.无教养的,粗鲁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
862 unpaid | |
adj.未付款的,无报酬的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
863 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
864 tilt | |
v.(使)倾侧;(使)倾斜;n.倾侧;倾斜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
865 sparse | |
adj.稀疏的,稀稀落落的,薄的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
866 wafts | |
n.空中飘来的气味,一阵气味( waft的名词复数 );摇转风扇v.吹送,飘送,(使)浮动( waft的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
867 mugginess | |
n.(天气)闷热而潮湿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
868 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
869 sodden | |
adj.浑身湿透的;v.使浸透;使呆头呆脑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
870 azure | |
adj.天蓝色的,蔚蓝色的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
871 dulcet | |
adj.悦耳的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
872 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
873 enchanting | |
a.讨人喜欢的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
874 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
875 slaughtering | |
v.屠杀,杀戮,屠宰( slaughter的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
876 oblivious | |
adj.易忘的,遗忘的,忘却的,健忘的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
877 accomplishment | |
n.完成,成就,(pl.)造诣,技能 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
878 conclusively | |
adv.令人信服地,确凿地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
879 draughts | |
n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
880 ebbing | |
(指潮水)退( ebb的现在分词 ); 落; 减少; 衰落 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
881 sagely | |
adv. 贤能地,贤明地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
882 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
883 valid | |
adj.有确实根据的;有效的;正当的,合法的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
884 syllables | |
n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
885 vindictive | |
adj.有报仇心的,怀恨的,惩罚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
886 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |