Was it to look after me?
The conviction that it was so, fixed4 itself in my mind with startling force, and I grew nearly as sick with fear as I had been when I was a little child. That he was personally unknown to the Chandos family was evident: it seemed a strange thing that he should come and plant himself down at their very gates as soon as I became an inmate5 in the family. Had he in some crafty6 manner made himself acquainted with my entrance to it the very hour it took place? Surely it must have been so. And he had lost no time in following.
When once suspicion connected with fear arises in man's mind, or in woman's, the most trifling7 circumstances are allowed to confirm it. Events, however unconnected with it in reality, accidental coincidences that have no rapport8 (I'm afraid that's a French word, but I can't help it) with it whatever, are converted by the suggestive imagination into suspicious proof's, and looked upon as links in the chain. It might have occurred to my mind--it did occur to it--that it was just within the range of possibility Mr. Edwin Barley's advent9 had nothing whatever to do with me or my presence at Chandos, that it might be wholly unconnected with it, and he ignorant of it and of who I was; but I threw this view away at once in my fear, and did not glance at it a second time. Edwin Barley had come to Chandos because I was there, and no power of reasoning could have removed this impression from me. All these years, and he had never (so far as appeared) sought to put himself in personal connexion with the family: why should he have done it now, save for my presence in it?
Thought is quick. Before Mr. Chandos returned to me from watching Edwin Barley out at the lodge-gates and across the road, I had gone over it all in my mind, and arrived at my unpleasant conviction. Some dim idea of putting as great a space of ground between me and him as was practicable, caused me to rise hastily from the garden chair and turn to go indoors. Mr. Chandos walked by my side, talking of various things--the leaves that were beginning to fall, the fineness of the early autumn day, the discontent of Mr. Nero in his new home at the farmer's--having apparently10 forgotten already the episode of the intrusion. I answered in monosyllables, scarcely knowing what, my mind full of its new trouble.
I had done no harm during my short sojourn11 at Mr. Edwin Barley's, in those long past days; I had never heard of or from him since; he had never, so far as I knew, inquired after me; so why should I fear him now? I cannot answer this: I have never been able to answer it--no, not even since things, dark and mysterious then, have been made clear. The fear had taken possession of me, and probably seemed all the worse because it was vague and inexplicable12.
Luncheon13 was on the table when we turned into the oak parlour, and Lady Chandos ready for it. Hickens was uncorking a bottle of claret.
"Harry14, Hickens says that our new tenant has arrived," observed Lady Chandos.
We were sitting down then and Mr. Chandos did not immediately reply. Perhaps Hickens thought the news required confirmation15, for he turned round from the sideboard.
"The gentleman took possession last night, sir; so Brooks16 tells me: himself and four or five servants. It is only a single gentleman; there's no family. Immensely rich, they say."
"Do you know who he is, Harry?" pursued Lady Chandos.
"I don't know who he is, but I have just seen himself," replied Mr. Chandos. "He came in at our gates, deeming Chandos public property. I had to warn him off by telling him it was private."
"What did he want?" asked Lady Chandos.
"Nothing, except to look about him. Had I known he was your new tenant, I might not have been in so great a hurry to eject him."
"Oh, but, Harry, it was as well to do it. Better to let him understand from the first that we cannot have strangers entering here at will. It would not suit me, you know; I like privacy."
"That is what I told him."
"I suppose you were civil?"
"Quite civil, both of us--on the surface, at any rate. I did not take to him at first sight; that is, to his looks; and I don't fancy he took to me. There was something peculiar17 in the tone of his voice, and he eyed me as though he wished to take my photograph."
"He did not know you, I daresay."
"He said he supposed he was speaking to Mr. Harry Chandos. Perhaps he thought it discourteous18 to be warned off in that manner. Not that he looks like one to go in for much courtesy himself: there was an air of independence about him almost bordering upon insolence19. This young lady, I fancy, was not prepossessed in his favour."
I had sat with my head bent20 on my plate, trying to seem unconcerned, as if the matter were no business of mine. The sudden address of Mr. Chandos turned my face crimson21. Lady Chandos looked at me.
"He--is very ugly," I stammered22 in my perplexity.
"Is he?" she cried, turning to her son.
"He is rather ill-favoured, mother; a short, dark man. There's one redeeming23 feature in his face; his teeth. They are small, white, and regular: very beautiful."
"What is his name?"
"I don't know," said Mr. Chandos.
"Not know his name!" repeated Lady Chandos, laughing slightly; "and yet you accepted him as tenant!"
"Oh, well, Dexter made all the arrangements. I did not interfere24 personally."
"I think, before I accepted a man as tenant, I should make myself acquainted with his name," spoke25 Lady Chandos, in a half-joking tone, evidently attaching no importance to the matter. "Do you happen to have heard it, Hickens?"
"No, my lady."
"We shall learn it soon enough," carelessly observed Mr. Chandos. "A man may not make a less desirable tenant because he happens not to have a handsome face. Tastes differ, you know, Miss Hereford. Were we all bought and sold by our looks, what a squabbling of opinions there'd be!"
The meal was nearly over, when a startling interruption occurred. Mrs. Chandos burst wildly into the room, agitated26, trembling; her hands raised, her face ashy white. Mr. Chandos threw down his knife and fork, and rose in consternation27.
"Oh, Lady Chandos! Oh, Harry!" came the words, almost in a shriek28. "Do come! She has fallen on the carpet in a fit--or something. I think she may be dying!"
"Excited again, Ethel!" observed Lady Chandos, the perfect calmness of her tone presenting a curious contrast. "When will you learn to take trifles quietly and rationally? Who has fallen? The white kitten?"
Mrs. Chandos did not like the reproach. "There's nothing to blame me for this time," she said, with a sob29 of vehemence30. "It is Mrs. Freeman. She is lying there on the floor, looking frightful31. I am not sure but she's dead."
"Take care of her, Harry," said Lady Chandos. "I will see what it is."
"Shall I go?" he asked. "It may be better. You can stay with Ethel."
Lady Chandos only answered by waving him back, as she quitted the room. Mrs. Chandos trembled excessively, and Mr. Chandos placed her in an easy-chair.
"Calm yourself, Ethel--as my mother says."
"What nonsense you talk, Harry! As if everybody could have their feelings under control as she has--as you have! Time was when I was calm and heedless enough, Heaven knows, but since--since--you know?"
"Yes, yes; be still now. I think you might acquire a little more self-control if you tried, considering that excitement does you so much harm."
"It weakens me; it lays me prostrate32 for three or four days. I don't know what other harm it does me."
"Is not that enough? Where is Mrs. Freeman?"
"She is in my dining-room. I will tell you what happened. We were at luncheon--that is, I was, for she sat by the window, and would not take any: she has complained of illness latterly, as I told you. 'I think you might eat a bit of this fowl,' I said to her; 'it is very nice.' Well, she made no answer; so I spoke again. Still she said nothing, and I got up to look at her, wondering whether she could have dropped asleep in a minute. I went round the chair, and there she was with a face drawn33 in the most frightful manner you can conceive, and the next moment she had slipped from the chair to the carpet. And you and Lady Chandos blame me for not retaining my calmness."
"Will you take anything?" he inquired, pointing to the luncheon-tray; and it struck me that he wished to get the scene she had described out of her memory.
"No, thank you. The sight of Mrs. Freeman has taken my appetite away. Suppose you come and see her for yourself: I don't mind going with you."
Mrs. Chandos put her arm within his, and they departed. Hill ran upstairs; two or three of the maids followed her. Hickens looked after them in curiosity, and then came back to his luncheon-table. Not to be in the way of anybody, I went up to my room.
For some hours I saw none of them. There was bustle34 in the house. Lady Chandos's voice I heard now and then, and once I caught a glimpse of Mr. Chandos in the grounds. Getting tired of my confinement35, I looked out, and asked a maid-servant, who was passing in the corridor, what had been the matter.
"It was a sort of fit, Miss, but she's better now," was Harriet's reply. "The doctor says she must be still, and have rest for some time to come, and she is going away this evening."
"Going away! Do you speak of Mrs. Freeman?"
"Yes, Miss. She is going by her own choice. She has a sister who lives about thirteen miles from this, and she wishes to go at once to her house. My lady urged her to wait, at any rate until to-morrow, but Mrs. Freeman said she would rather go, especially as she can be of no further use at present to Mrs. Chandos. They have a suspicion that she fears another attack, and thinks she had better get to her sister's without delay. So it's all settled, and Hill is to accompany her."
Harriet departed, leaving my door on the latch36. I sat, reading and listening by turns, and presently there sounded two more encountering voices outside. Those of Lady Chandos and Hill, her attendant.
"My lady," said the latter, in one of those loud whispers which penetrate37 the ear worse than open speaking, "is it right that I should go to-night? I could not allude38 to it before Mrs. Chandos."
"Why should it not be right, Hill?"
"It is the full of the moon, my lady."
Lady Chandos paused before replying, possibly in reflection. "There is no help for it, Hill," she said, at last. "Mrs. Freeman is too ill to be trusted to the care of any one but you."
The carriage was brought to the lower door in the wing, unbarred and unbolted for the occasion, and Mrs. Freeman was taken down the enclosed stairs to it, by Mr. Chandos and the doctor, so that I and my curiosity saw nothing of the exit, which I looked upon as an unmerited wrong. She was placed in the carriage, and Hill and the doctor went with her.
It was getting near dinner-time. I scarcely knew whether to go down or not, or whether there would be any dinner at all, in the state of confusion the house seemed to be in, when my doubt was solved by Lady Chandos herself. Looking out at my door, she passed me, coming along the gallery from her own room.
"I think the dinner is ready, Miss Hereford?"
Following her downstairs, I saw Mr. Dexter, the agent, in the open portico39, having that moment, as it appeared, come to the house. Lady Chandos crossed the hall to speak to him. He put a sealed parcel, or thick letter into her hands.
"I beg your pardon, my lady. As I was passing here, I brought up these papers for Mr. Chandos. The new tenant opposite says there's something amiss with the roof of the coach-house, and I'm going to call and look at it."
Lady Chandos glanced casually40 at the letter she held; and then a thought seemed to strike her.
"What is the name of the new tenant, Mr. Dexter?"
"Barley, my lady. Mr. Edwin Barley."
There was a startled pause. Lady Chandos suddenly put her hand to her heart, as if some pang41 had taken it.
"Barley!" she repeated. "Edwin Barley! Do you know whether he comes from Hallam?"
"Hallam?--Hallam?" debated Mr. Dexter with himself, in consideration. "Yes, that is the place he comes from. I remember now. 'Edwin Barley, Esquire, of the Oaks, Hallam.' That's the address in the deed of agreement. Good-day, my lady."
She did not attempt to detain him. With the look of awful consternation on her livid face, she turned to come back. I slipped into the dining-room, and sat down in a shady nook by the piano, hoping not to have been seen. The cloth was laid, but no servants were in the room. Only Mr. Chandos, and he stood at a side-table looking into his desk, his back to the room.
"Harry! Harry!"
Turning at the tones of unmistakeable terror, Mr. Chandos came swiftly to his mother, and took her hand.
"The new tenant," she gasped--and I think it was the only time I ever saw Lady Chandos excited; she, who imparted always the idea of calmness intensified42; who had reproached Mrs. Chandos with allowing emotion to sway her! "The man by our entrance-gates!"
"Yes, yes! what of him?" cried Mr. Chandos, when she stopped from pain. "My dear mother, what has alarmed you?"
"It is Edwin Barley."
"Who?" almost shouted Mr. Chandos.
"Edwin Barley. Here at our very gates!"
Whatever calamity43 the words might imply, it seemed nearly to overwhelm Mr. Chandos. He dropped his mother's hands, and stood looking at her.
"Is the agreement signed, Harry?"
"Yes."
"Then we cannot get rid of him! What can have brought him here? Here, of all places in the world! Chance, think you?"
"No. Chance it cannot have been. I told you the new tenant had an ill-favoured face. He----"
Mr. Chandos stopped: Hickens and the footman were coming in. The soup was put on the table, and we sat down to dinner. As I moved forward from my corner, quietly and unobtrusively, looking as if I had neither seen nor heard, Lady Chandos turned to me with a start, a red flush darkening her cheeks. But I don't believe she knows, to this hour, whether I had been present during the scene, or had come in with the soup and the servants.
The dinner was eaten in almost total silence. Lady and Mr. Chandos were absorbed in their own thoughts; I in mine. The chance words of the agent, "Mr. Edwin Barley of the Oaks," had disclosed the fact that the simple-minded old man who had been so kind to me was dead, and his brother reigned44 in his stead, lord of all. A rich man, indeed, Edwin Barley must be. I think the servants in waiting must have seen that something was amiss; though, perhaps, the silence did not strike upon them so ominously45 as it did on my own self-consciousness.
You cannot have failed to note--and I think I have said it--that there was little ceremony observed in the everyday life at Chandos. Ten minutes after dinner, tea was rung for. Lady Chandos sat while it was brought in, and the dessert taken away.
"Will you oblige me by presiding at tea this evening, Miss Hereford?"
Had Lady Chandos not preferred the request at once, I should have withdrawn47 to my own room, with an excuse that I did not wish for any tea. How miserably48 uncomfortable I felt, sitting with them, an interloper, when I knew they must want to be talking together, and were wishing me, naturally, at the other end of the earth, none but myself can tell. I poured out the tea. Lady Chandos drank one sup, and rose.
"I must go to sit with Ethel, Harry. Will you, come?"
"She does not want me," was his reply. And Lady Chandos left the room.
He let his tea stand until it was quite cold, evidently forgetting it: forgetting all but his own thoughts. I sat in patient silence. Awakening49 later out of his reverie, he drank it down at a draught50, and rang the bell for the things to be taken away. As the man left the room with them, I happened to look at Mr. Chandos, who was then standing51 near the mantelpiece, and caught his eyes fixed on me, something peculiar in their expression.
"Mr. Chandos," I took courage to say, "I am very sorry to be in this position--an intruder here."
"And but for one thing I should be very glad of it," was his ready answer. "It is a pleasant in-break on our monotonous52 life."
"And that one thing, sir?"
"Ah! I cannot tell you all my secrets," he said, with a light laugh. "Do you make yourself at home, young lady. But for your book, that I know you are longing53 to be reading again, I should have compunction at leaving you alone."
He quitted the room, laughing still. I reached the book he alluded54 to, and sat down again. But I could not read; the surprise was too new, and thought upon thought kept crowding upon me. They evidently had cause to fear Edwin Barley, far more than I; perhaps then, after all, he had not come here to look after me? What the matter or the mystery could be, I knew not: but unmistakeably there was something wrong between him and Chandos.
It was turned half-past ten when Lady Chandos came back again to the oak-parlour. I had got to my book then, and was buried in it. Mr. Chandos followed her nearly immediately, and began to wish us good-night.
"You must be tired, Harry," she observed. "You have had a fatiguing55 day."
"I am tired," was his reply. "I shall sleep to-night without rocking. Good-night, mother; good-night, Miss Hereford."
He left the room. Lady Chandos said she was tired too, and she and I went out together. Mr. Chandos, who had stayed in the hall, speaking, to Hickens, went up just before us, entered his room and closed the door. I turned into mine; and I heard Lady Chandos traverse the long gallery and shut herself into the west wing.
Instead of undressing, what should I do but put back the curtains and shutters56, sit down and open my book again. Only for two minutes, of course, said I to my conscience. It was that most charming of all romances, whether of Scott's works or of others, the "Bride of Lammermoor," which Mr. Chandos had given me out the previous day. The two minutes grew into--but that I have to do it, I should not confess how many, especially as I could only guess at the number. My watch--the pretty watch of Selina's, given me so long ago by Mr. Edwin Barley--had latterly acquired a trick of stopping. It had been so delightful57 sitting there with that enchanting58 romance, the window open to the bright night and balmy air.
Perhaps, after all, it was not more than twelve o'clock. I wound up the defaulting watch, shook it till it went again; set it at twelve by guess, and undressed slowly, and in silence. Then, putting out the light, I threw on a warm shawl, and leaned out of the window for a last look, before closing it. Which, of course, was a very senseless proceeding59, although romantic. If Mademoiselle Annette could have seen me!
I stayed there, lost in thought; various interests jumbling60 themselves together in my mind, Lucy Ashton and the Master of Ravenswood; my own uncertain future and present disagreeable position; the curious mysteries that seemed to envelop61 Chandos; and the ominous46 proximity62 of Mr. Edwin Barley. As I leaned against the corner of the window, still as a statue, I was startled by observing a movement in the garden.
And a very extraordinary movement, too, if it was that of a rational being. Something dark, the height of a tall man, appeared to emerge from the clusters of trees skirting the lawn opposite, approach a few steps; and then dart63 in again and this was repeated over and over again, the man advancing always nearer to the other end of the house. It was like the motions of one who wished to come on, yet feared being seen; a full minute he stood within those dark trees, each time that he penetrated64 them.
I watched, still as a mouse, and gazed eagerly, feeling like one chilled with a sudden fear. It was certainly very singular. When opposite the west wing, he stood for a minute out on the open greensward, and took off his round broad-brimmed hat as he looked up at the windows. Then I recognised the features of Mr. Chandos. He wore a short cloak, which in a degree hid his figure; but there was no mistaking the face, for the moon shone full upon it. The next moment he crossed the grass, and disappeared within the narrow laurel path that led to the private entrance of the west wing.
How had he got out of his room? That he had not come out of its door, I felt sure; for I had been so silent that I must have heard it, had it opened; besides, that door of his would only open with a jerk and a creaking noise. If there was another door to his apartment, it must lead into the wing inhabited by Mrs. Chandos. Why had he been dodging65 about in that strange way in the grounds? and put on a cloak and broad hat to do it in, just as if he wished to disguise himself? And what could he want in the apartments of Lady Chandos in the middle of the night? Truly there was mystery at Chandos. But I could not solve it, and went to bed.
"Good morning, Miss Hereford."
The salutation came from Mr. Chandos, who was following me into the breakfast-room, having that instant quitted his own. I was going quickly; so was he; for we were late, and Lady Chandos liked punctuality. But she was not in the oak-parlour.
"That's right," he cried, when he saw the room empty. "I hope my mother has overslept herself too, and had as good a night as I have."
"Have you had a good night, sir?" came the involuntary question.
"Too good: a man does not want eight or nine hours' sleep. I dropped asleep the minute I got into bed last night; did not even hear my clock strike eleven, though it only wanted a few minutes to it; and I never woke until twenty minutes to eight this morning. I was very tired last night."
"Was Mr. Chandos mystifying me? Somehow it caused me vexation. My eyes had a resentful expression as I fixed them on his; which, of course, they had no right in the world to have.
"You did not go to sleep at eleven o'clock, sir."
"Indeed I did, Miss Hereford."
"Then you must have got up again, sir."
"Nothing of the sort! Why do you say that? I never woke until this morning."
Standing there and deliberately66 saying this to my face, with every appearance of truth, could only be done to mislead--to deceive me. I had far rather he had struck me a blow; though why, I did not stay to ask myself.
"Mr. Chandos, I saw you in the grounds in the middle of the night!"
"Saw me in the grounds in the middle of the night!" he echoed. "You were dreaming, Miss Hereford."
"No, sir; I was wide awake. It must have been getting on for one o'clock. You had on a cloak and a low broad-brimmed hat, and were dodging in and out of the trees."
"What trees?"
"Those opposite."
"Wearing a cloak and broad hat, and dodging in and out of the opposite trees! Well, that is good, Miss Hereford!"
His face wore an amused expression: his dark eyes--and they were looking dark as purple in the morning light--were dancing with mirth. I turned cross. Some foolish thought, that Mr. Chandos would make a confidant of me in the morning, had run into my mind in the night.
"I don't possess a cloak, young lady."
"At any rate, sir, I saw you in one. A short one, a sort of cape67. I saw your face quite plainly when you were looking up at the windows. The moon was as bright as day, and shining full upon you."
"It must decidedly have been my ghost, Miss Hereford."
"No, sir; it was yourself. I don't believe in ghosts. When you had finished your dance in and out of the trees, you crossed the grass to the laurel walk that leads down by the west wing."
"What do you say?"
The tone was an abrupt68 one; the manner had entirely69 changed: something like a glance of fear shot across the face of Mr. Chandos. But at that moment Hill came in.
"So you are back, Hill!" he exclaimed.
"I have been back an hour, sir. Mrs. Freeman's no worse, and I came by the Parliamentary train. And it is well I did come," added she, "for I found my lady ill!"
Mr. Chandos swung himself short round on his heel. "My mother ill! what is the matter with her?"
"Well, sir, I hardly know. I came to ask you to go up and see her."
"She was very well last night," he observed, striding upstairs on his way to the west wing.
"You had better begin breakfast, Miss," Hill said to me. "My lady won't be down; I'll go and order it in."
"Am I to send any up to Lady Chandos, Hill?"
"I have taken my lady's breakfast up," was her answer. The tea and coffee came in, and I waited; waited, and waited. When I had nearly given Mr. Chandos up, he came. His face was pale, troubled, and he appeared lost in inward thought. From the signs, I gathered that Lady Chandos's malady70 was serious.
"I fear you have found Lady Chandos worse than you anticipated, sir?"
"Yes--no--yes--not exactly," was the contradictory71 answer. "I hope it is nothing dangerous," he more collectedly added; "but she will not be able to leave her rooms to-day."
"Is she in bed, sir?"
"No; she is sitting up. My tea? thank you. You should not have waited for me, Miss Hereford."
He took his breakfast in silence, ringing once for Hickens, to ask after a paper that ought to have come. Afterwards he quitted the room, and I saw him go strolling across to the Pine Walk.
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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barley
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| n.大麦，大麦粒 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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rapport
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| n.和睦，意见一致 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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discourteous
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| adj.不恭的，不敬的 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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jumbling
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| 混杂( jumble的现在分词 )； （使）混乱； 使混乱； 使杂乱 | |
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envelop
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| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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