Hilda took me back with her to the embryo1 farm where she had pitched her tent for the moment; a rough, wild place. It lay close to the main road from Salisbury to Chimoio.
Setting aside the inevitable2 rawness and newness of all things Rhodesian, however, the situation itself was not wholly unpicturesque. A ramping3 rock or tor of granite4, which I should judge at a rough guess to extend to an acre in size, sprang abruptly5 from the brown grass of the upland plain. It rose like a huge boulder6. Its summit was crowned by the covered grave of some old Kaffir chief—a rude cairn of big stones under a thatched awning7. At the foot of this jagged and cleft8 rock the farmhouse9 nestled—four square walls of wattle-and-daub, sheltered by its mass from the sweeping10 winds of the South African plateau. A stream brought water from a spring close by: in front of the house—rare sight in that thirsty land—spread a garden of flowers. It was an oasis11 in the desert. But the desert itself stretched grimly all round. I could never quite decide how far the oasis was caused by the water from the spring, and how far by Hilda's presence.
“Then you live here?” I cried, gazing round—my voice, I suppose, betraying my latent sense of the unworthiness of the position.
“For the present,” Hilda answered, smiling. “You know, Hubert, I have no abiding12 city anywhere, till my Purpose is fulfilled. I came here because Rhodesia seemed the farthest spot on earth where a white woman just now could safely penetrate—in order to get away from you and Sebastian.”
“That is an unkind conjunction!” I exclaimed, reddening.
“But I mean it,” she answered, with a wayward little nod. “I wanted breathing-space to form fresh plans. I wanted to get clear away for a time from all who knew me. And this promised best.... But nowadays, really, one is never safe from intrusion anywhere.”
“You are cruel, Hilda!”
“Oh, no. You deserve it. I asked you not to come—and you came in spite of me. I have treated you very nicely under the circumstances, I think. I have behaved like an angel. The question is now, what ought I to do next? You have upset my plans so.”
“Upset your plans? How?”
“Dear Hubert,”—she turned to me with an indulgent smile,—“for a clever man, you are really TOO foolish! Can't you see that you have betrayed my whereabouts to Sebastian? I crept away secretly, like a thief in the night, giving no name or place; and, having the world to ransack13, he might have found it hard to track me; for HE had not YOUR clue of the Basingstoke letter—nor your reason for seeking me. But now that YOU have followed me openly, with your name blazoned14 forth15 in the company's passenger-lists, and your traces left plain in hotels and stages across the map of South Africa—why, the spoor is easy. If Sebastian cares to find us, he can follow the scent16 all through without trouble.”
“I never thought of that!” I cried, aghast.
She was forbearance itself. “No, I knew you would never think of it. You are a man, you see. I counted that in. I was afraid from the first you would wreck17 all by following me.”
I was mutely penitent18. “And yet, you forgive me, Hilda?”
Her eyes beamed tenderness. “To know all, is to forgive all,” she answered. “I have to remind you of that so often! How can I help forgiving, when I know WHY you came—what spur it was that drove you? But it is the future we have to think of now, not the past. And I must wait and reflect. I have NO plan just at present.”
“What are you doing at this farm?” I gazed round at it, dissatisfied.
“I board here,” Hilda answered, amused at my crestfallen19 face. “But, of course, I cannot be idle; so I have found work to do. I ride out on my bicycle to two or three isolated21 houses about, and give lessons to children in this desolate22 place, who would otherwise grow up ignorant. It fills my time, and supplies me with something besides myself to think about.”
“And what am I to do?” I cried, oppressed with a sudden sense of helplessness.
She laughed at me outright23. “And is this the first moment that that difficulty has occurred to you?” she asked, gaily24. “You have hurried all the way from London to Rhodesia without the slightest idea of what you mean to do now you have got here?”
I laughed at myself in turn. “Upon my word, Hilda,” I cried, “I set out to find you. Beyond the desire to find you, I had no plan in my head. That was an end in itself. My thoughts went no farther.”
She gazed at me half saucily25. “Then don't you think, sir, the best thing you can do, now you HAVE found me, is—to turn back and go home again?”
“I am a man,” I said, promptly26, taking a firm stand. “And you are a judge of character. If you really mean to tell me you think THAT likely—well, I shall have a lower opinion of your insight into men than I have been accustomed to harbour.”
Her smile was not wholly without a touch of triumph.
“In that case,” she went on, “I suppose the only alternative is for you to remain here.”
“That would appear to be logic,” I replied. “But what can I do? Set up in practice?”
“I don't see much opening,” she answered. “If you ask my advice, I should say there is only one thing to be done in Rhodesia just now—turn farmer.”
“It IS done,” I answered, with my usual impetuosity. “Since YOU say the word, I am a farmer already. I feel an interest in oats that is simply absorbing. What steps ought I to take first in my present condition?”
She looked at me, all brown with the dust of my long ride. “I would suggest,” she said slowly, “a good wash, and some dinner.”
“Hilda,” I cried, surveying my boots, or what was visible of them, “that is REALLY clever of you. A wash and some dinner! So practical, so timely! The very thing! I will see to it.”
Before night fell, I had arranged everything. I was to buy the next farm from the owner of the one where Hilda lodged28; I was also to learn the rudiments29 of South African agriculture from him for a valuable consideration; and I was to lodge27 in his house while my own was building. He gave me his views on the cultivation30 of oats. He gave them at some length—more length than perspicuity31. I knew nothing about oats, save that they were employed in the manufacture of porridge—which I detest33; but I was to be near Hilda once more, and I was prepared to undertake the superintendence of the oat from its birth to its reaping if only I might be allowed to live so close to Hilda.
The farmer and his wife were Boers, but they spoke34 English. Mr. Jan Willem Klaas himself was a fine specimen35 of the breed—tall, erect36, broad-shouldered, and genial37. Mrs. Klaas, his wife, was mainly suggestive, in mind and person, of suet-pudding. There was one prattling38 little girl of three years old, by name Sannie, a most engaging child; and also a chubby40 baby.
“You are betrothed41, of course?” Mrs. Klaas said to Hilda before me, with the curious tactlessness of her race, when we made our first arrangement.
Hilda's face flushed. “No; we are nothing to one another,” she answered—which was only true formally. “Dr. Cumberledge had a post at the same hospital in London where I was a nurse; and he thought he would like to try Rhodesia. That is all.”
Mrs. Klaas gazed from one to other of us suspiciously. “You English are strange!” she answered, with a complacent43 little shrug44. “But there—from Europe! Your ways, we know, are different.”
Hilda did not attempt to explain. It would have been impossible to make the good soul understand. Her horizon was so simple. She was a harmless housewife, given mostly to dyspepsia and the care of her little ones. Hilda had won her heart by unfeigned admiration45 for the chubby baby. To a mother, that covers a multitude of eccentricities46, such as one expects to find in incomprehensible English. Mrs. Klaas put up with me because she liked Hilda.
We spent some months together on Klaas's farm. It was a dreary47 place, save for Hilda. The bare daub-and-wattle walls; the clumps48 of misshapen and dusty prickly-pears that girt round the thatched huts of the Kaffir workpeople; the stone-penned sheep-kraals, and the corrugated49 iron roof of the bald stable for the waggon50 oxen—all was as crude and ugly as a new country can make things. It seemed to me a desecration51 that Hilda should live in such an unfinished land—Hilda, whom I imagined as moving by nature through broad English parks, with Elizabethan cottages and immemorial oaks—Hilda, whose proper atmosphere seemed to be one of coffee-coloured laces, ivy-clad abbeys, lichen-incrusted walls—all that is beautiful and gracious in time-honoured civilisations.
Nevertheless, we lived on there in a meaningless sort of way—I hardly knew why. To me it was a puzzle. When I asked Hilda, she shook her head with her sibylline53 air and answered, confidently: “You do not understand Sebastian as well as I do. We have to wait for HIM. The next move is his. Till he plays his piece, I cannot tell how I may have to checkmate him.”
So we waited for Sebastian to advance a pawn54. Meanwhile, I toyed with South African farming—not very successfully, I must admit. Nature did not design me for growing oats. I am no judge of oxen, and my views on the feeding of Kaffir sheep raised broad smiles on the black faces of my Mashona labourers.
I still lodged at Tant Mettie's, as everybody called Mrs. Klaas; she was courtesy aunt to the community at large, while Oom Jan Willem was its courtesy uncle. They were simple, homely55 folk, who lived up to their religious principles on an unvaried diet of stewed57 ox-beef and bread; they suffered much from chronic58 dyspepsia, due in part, at least, no doubt, to the monotony of their food, their life, their interests. One could hardly believe one was still in the nineteenth century; these people had the calm, the local seclusion59 of the prehistoric60 epoch61. For them, Europe did not exist; they knew it merely as a place where settlers came from. What the Czar intended, what the Kaiser designed, never disturbed their rest. A sick ox, a rattling39 tile on the roof, meant more to their lives than war in Europe. The one break in the sameness of their daily routine was family prayers; the one weekly event, going to church at Salisbury. Still, they had a single enthusiasm. Like everybody else for fifty miles around, they believed profoundly in the “future of Rhodesia.” When I gazed about me at the raw new land—the weary flat of red soil and brown grasses—I felt at least that, with a present like that, it had need of a future.
I am not by disposition63 a pioneer; I belong instinctively64 to the old civilisations. In the midst of rudimentary towns and incipient66 fields, I yearn67 for grey houses, a Norman church, an English thatched cottage.
However, for Hilda's sake, I braved it out, and continued to learn the A B C of agriculture on an unmade farm with great assiduity from Oom Jan Willem.
We had been stopping some months at Klaas's together when business compelled me one day to ride in to Salisbury. I had ordered some goods for my farm from England which had at last arrived. I had now to arrange for their conveyance68 from the town to my plot of land—a portentous69 matter. Just as I was on the point of leaving Klaas's, and was tightening70 the saddle-girth on my sturdy little pony71, Oom Jan Willem himself sidled up to me with a mysterious air, his broad face all wrinkled with anticipatory72 pleasure. He placed a sixpence in my palm, glancing about him on every side as he did so, like a conspirator73.
“What am I to buy with it?” I asked, much puzzled, and suspecting tobacco. Tant Mettie declared he smoked too much for a church elder.
He put his finger to his lips, nodded, and peered round. “Lollipops74 for Sannie,” he whispered low, at last, with a guilty smile. “But”—he glanced about him again—“give them to me, please, when Tant Mettie isn't looking.” His nod was all mystery.
“You may rely on my discretion,” I replied, throwing the time-honoured prejudices of the profession to the winds, and well pleased to aid and abet52 the simple-minded soul in his nefarious75 designs against little Sannie's digestive apparatus76. He patted me on the back. “PEPPERMINT lollipops, mind!” he went on, in the same solemn undertone. “Sannie likes them best—peppermint.”
I put my foot in the stirrup, and vaulted77 into my saddle. “They shall not be forgotten,” I answered, with a quiet smile at this pretty little evidence of fatherly feeling. I rode off. It was early morning, before the heat of the day began. Hilda accompanied me part of the way on her bicycle. She was going to the other young farm, some eight miles off, across the red-brown plateau, where she gave lessons daily to the ten-year old daughter of an English settler. It was a labour of love; for settlers in Rhodesia cannot afford to pay for what are beautifully described as “finishing governesses”; but Hilda was of the sort who cannot eat the bread of idleness. She had to justify78 herself to her kind by finding some work to do which should vindicate79 her existence.
I parted from her at a point on the monotonous80 plain where one rubbly81 road branched off from another. Then I jogged on in the full morning sun over that scorching82 plain of loose red sand all the way to Salisbury. Not a green leaf or a fresh flower anywhere. The eye ached at the hot glare of the reflected sunlight from the sandy level.
My business detained me several hours in the half-built town, with its flaunting83 stores and its rough new offices; it was not till towards afternoon that I could get away again on my sorrel, across the blazing plain once more to Klaas's.
I moved on over the plateau at an easy trot42, full of thoughts of Hilda. What could be the step she expected Sebastian to take next? She did not know, herself, she had told me; there, her faculty84 failed her. But SOME step he WOULD take; and till he took it she must rest and be watchful85.
I passed the great tree that stands up like an obelisk86 in the midst of the plain beyond the deserted87 Matabele village. I passed the low clumps of dry karroo-bushes by the rocky kopje. I passed the fork of the rubbly roads where I had parted from Hilda. At last, I reached the long, rolling ridge32 which looks down upon Klaas's, and could see in the slant88 sunlight the mud farmhouse and the corrugated iron roof where the oxen were stabled.
The place looked more deserted, more dead-alive than ever. Not a black boy moved in it. Even the cattle and Kaffir sheep were nowhere to be seen.... But then it was always quiet; and perhaps I noticed the obtrusive89 air of solitude90 and sleepiness even more than usual, because I had just returned from Salisbury. All things are comparative. After the lost loneliness of Klaas's farm, even brand-new Salisbury seemed busy and bustling91.
I hurried on, ill at ease. But Tant Mettie would, doubtless, have a cup of tea ready for me as soon as I arrived, and Hilda would be waiting at the gate to welcome me.
I reached the stone enclosure, and passed up through the flower-garden. To my great surprise, Hilda was not there. As a rule, she came to meet me, with her sunny smile. But perhaps she was tired, or the sun on the road might have given her a headache. I dismounted from my mare92, and called one of the Kaffir boys to take her to the stable. Nobody answered.... I called again. Still silence.... I tied her up to the post, and strode over to the door, astonished at the solitude. I began to feel there was something weird93 and uncanny about this home-coming. Never before had I known Klaas's so entirely94 deserted.
I lifted the latch95 and opened the door. It gave access at once to the single plain living-room. There, all was huddled96. For a moment my eyes hardly took in the truth. There are sights so sickening that the brain at the first shock wholly fails to realise them.
On the stone slab97 floor of the low living-room Tant Mettie lay dead. Her body was pierced through by innumerable thrusts, which I somehow instinctively recognised as assegai wounds. By her side lay Sannie, the little prattling girl of three, my constant playmate, whom I had instructed in cat's-cradle, and taught the tales of Cinderella and Red Riding Hood98. My hand grasped the lollipops in my pocket convulsively. She would never need them. Nobody else was about. What had become of Oom Jan Willem—and the baby?
I wandered out into the yard, sick with the sight I had already seen. There Oom Jan Willem himself lay stretched at full length; a bullet had pierced his left temple; his body was also riddled99 through with assegai thrusts.
I saw at once what this meant. A rising of the Matabele!
I had come back from Salisbury, unknowing it, into the midst of a revolt of bloodthirsty savages101.
Yet, even if I had known, I must still have hurried home with all speed to Klaas's—to protect Hilda.
Hilda? Where was Hilda? A breathless sinking crept over me.
I staggered out into the open. It was impossible to say what horror might not have happened. The Matabele might even now be lurking102 about the kraal—for the bodies were hardly cold. But Hilda? Hilda? Whatever came, I must find Hilda.
Fortunately, I had my loaded revolver in my belt. Though we had not in the least anticipated this sudden revolt—it broke like a thunder-clap from a clear sky—the unsettled state of the country made even women go armed about their daily avocations103.
I strode on, half maddened. Beside the great block of granite which sheltered the farm there rose one of those rocky little hillocks of loose boulders104 which are locally known in South Africa by the Dutch name of kopjes. I looked out upon it drearily105. Its round brown ironstones lay piled irregularly together, almost as if placed there in some earlier age by the mighty106 hands of prehistoric giants. My gaze on it was blank. I was thinking, not of it, but of Hilda, Hilda.
I called the name aloud: “Hilda! Hilda! Hilda!”
As I called, to my immense surprise, one of the smooth round boulders on the hillside seemed slowly to uncurl, and to peer about it cautiously. Then it raised itself in the slant sunlight, put a hand to its eyes, and gazed out upon me with a human face for a moment. After that it descended107, step by step, among the other stones, with a white object in its arms. As the boulder uncurled and came to life, I was aware, by degrees... yes, yes, it was Hilda, with Tant Mettie's baby!
In the fierce joy of that discovery I rushed forward to her, trembling, and clasped her in my arms. I could find no words but “Hilda! Hilda!”
“Are they gone?” she asked, staring about her with a terrified air, though still strangely preserving her wonted composure of manner.
“Who gone? The Matabele?”
“Yes, yes!”
“Did you see them, Hilda?”
“For a moment—with black shields and assegais, all shouting madly. You have been to the house, Hubert? You know what has happened?”
“Yes, yes, I know—a rising. They have massacred the Klaases.”
She nodded. “I came back on my bicycle, and, when I opened the door, found Tant Mettie and little Sannie dead. Poor, sweet little Sannie! Oom Jan was lying shot in the yard outside. I saw the cradle overturned, and looked under it for the baby. They did not kill her—perhaps did not notice her. I caught her up in my arms, and rushed out to my machine, thinking to make for Salisbury, and give the alarm to the men there. One must try to save others—and YOU were coming, Hubert! Then I heard horses' hoofs109—the Matabele returning. They dashed back, mounted,—stolen horses from other farms,—they have taken poor Oom Jan's,—and they have gone on, shouting, to murder elsewhere! I flung down my machine among the bushes as they came,—I hope they have not seen it,—and I crouched110 here between the boulders, with the baby in my arms, trusting for protection to the colour of my dress, which is just like the ironstone.”
“It is a perfect deception,” I answered, admiring her instinctive65 cleverness even then. “I never so much as noticed you.”
“No, nor the Matabele either, for all their sharp eyes. They passed by without stopping. I clasped the baby hard, and tried to keep it from crying—if it had cried, all would have been lost; but they passed just below, and swept on toward Rozenboom's. I lay still for a while, not daring to look out. Then I raised myself warily111, and tried to listen. Just at that moment, I heard a horse's hoofs ring out once more. I couldn't tell, of course, whether it was YOU returning, or one of the Matabele, left behind by the others. So I crouched again.... Thank God, you are safe, Hubert!”
All this took a moment to say, or was less said than hinted. “Now, what must we do?” I cried. “Bolt back again to Salisbury?”
“It is the only thing possible—if my machine is unhurt. They may have taken it... or ridden over and broken it.”
We went down to the spot, and picked it up where it lay, half-concealed among the brittle112, dry scrub of milk-bushes. I examined the bearings carefully; though there were hoof-marks close by, it had received no hurt. I blew up the tire, which was somewhat flabby, and went on to untie113 my sturdy pony. The moment I looked at her I saw the poor little brute114 was wearied out with her two long rides in the sweltering sun. Her flanks quivered. “It is no use,” I cried, patting her, as she turned to me with appealing eyes that asked for water. “She CAN'T go back as far as Salisbury; at least, till she has had a feed of corn and a drink. Even then, it will be rough on her.”
“Give her bread,” Hilda suggested. “That will hearten her more than corn. There is plenty in the house; Tant Mettie baked this morning.”
I crept in reluctantly to fetch it. I also brought out from the dresser a few raw eggs, to break into a tumbler and swallow whole; for Hilda and I needed food almost as sorely as the poor beast herself. There was something gruesome in thus rummaging115 about for bread and meat in the dead woman's cupboard, while she herself lay there on the floor; but one never realises how one will act in these great emergencies until they come upon one. Hilda, still calm with unearthly calmness, took a couple of loaves from my hand, and began feeding the pony with them. “Go and draw water for her,” she said, simply, “while I give her the bread; that will save time. Every minute is precious.”
I did as I was bid, not knowing each moment but that the insurgents116 would return. When I came back from the spring with the bucket, the mare had demolished117 the whole two loaves, and was going on upon some grass which Hilda had plucked for her.
“She hasn't had enough, poor dear,” Hilda said, patting her neck. “A couple of loaves are penny buns to her appetite. Let her drink the water, while I go in and fetch out the rest of the baking.”
I hesitated. “You CAN'T go in there again, Hilda!” I cried. “Wait, and let me do it.”
Her white face was resolute118. “Yes, I CAN,” she answered. “It is a work of necessity; and in works of necessity a woman, I think, should flinch119 at nothing. Have I not seen already every varied56 aspect of death at Nathaniel's?” And in she went, undaunted, to that chamber120 of horrors, still clasping the baby.
The pony made short work of the remaining loaves, which she devoured121 with great zest122. As Hilda had predicted, they seemed to hearten her. The food and drink, with a bucket of water dashed on her hoofs, gave her new vigour123 like wine. We gulped124 down our eggs in silence. Then I held Hilda's bicycle. She vaulted lightly on to the seat, white and tired as she was, with the baby in her left arm, and her right hand on the handle-bar.
“I must take the baby,” I said.
She shook her head.
“Oh, no. I will not trust her to you.”
“Hilda, I insist.”
“And I insist, too. It is my place to take her.”
“But can you ride so?” I asked, anxiously.
She began to pedal. “Oh, dear, yes. It is quite, quite easy. I shall get there all right—if the Matabele don't burst upon us.”
Tired as I was with my long day's work, I jumped into my saddle. I saw I should only lose time if I disputed about the baby. My little horse seemed to understand that something grave had occurred; for, weary as she must have been, she set out with a will once more over that great red level. Hilda pedalled bravely by my side. The road was bumpy125, but she was well accustomed to it. I could have ridden faster than she went, for the baby weighted her. Still, we rode for dear life. It was a grim experience.
All round, by this time, the horizon was dim with clouds of black smoke which went up from burning farms and plundered126 homesteads. The smoke did not rise high; it hung sullenly128 over the hot plain in long smouldering masses, like the smoke of steamers on foggy days in England. The sun was nearing the horizon; his slant red rays lighted up the red plain, the red sand, the brown-red grasses, with a murky129, spectral130 glow of crimson131. After those red pools of blood, this universal burst of redness appalled132 one. It seemed as though all nature had conspired133 in one unholy league with the Matabele. We rode on without a word. The red sky grew redder.
“They may have sacked Salisbury!” I exclaimed at last, looking out towards the brand-new town.
“I doubt it,” Hilda answered. Her very doubt reassured134 me.
We began to mount a long slope. Hilda pedalled with difficulty. Not a sound was heard save the light fall of my pony's feet on the soft new road, and the shrill135 cry of the cicalas. Then, suddenly, we started. What was that noise in our rear? Once, twice, it rang out. The loud ping of a rifle!
Looking behind us, we saw eight or ten mounted Matabele! Stalwart warriors136 they were—half naked, and riding stolen horses. They were coming our way! They had seen us! They were pursuing us!
“Put on all speed!” I cried, in my agony. “Hilda, can you manage it?” She pedalled with a will. But, as we mounted the slope, I saw they were gaining upon us. A few hundred yards were all our start. They had the descent of the opposite hill as yet in their favour.
One man, astride on a better horse than the rest, galloped137 on in front and came within range of us. He had a rifle in his hand, he pointed138 it twice, and covered us. But he did not shoot. Hilda gave a cry of relief. “Don't you see?” she exclaimed. “It is Oom Jan Willem's rifle! That was their last cartridge139. They have no more ammunition140.”
I saw she was probably right; for Klaas was out of cartridges141, and was waiting for my new stock to arrive from England. If that were correct, they must get near enough to attack us with assegais. They are more dangerous so. I remembered what an old Boer had said to me at Buluwayo: “The Zulu with his assegai is an enemy to be feared; with a gun, he is a bungler142.”
We pounded on up the hill. It was deadly work, with those brutes143 at our heels. The child on Hilda's arm was visibly wearying her. It kept on whining144. “Hilda,” I cried, “that baby will lose your life! You CANNOT go on carrying it.”
She turned to me with a flash of her eyes. “What! You are a man,” she broke out, “and you ask a woman to save her life by abandoning a baby! Hubert, you shame me!”
I felt she was right. If she had been capable of giving it up, she would not have been Hilda. There was but one other way left.
“Then YOU must take the pony,” I called out, “and let me have the bicycle!”
“You couldn't ride it,” she called back. “It is a woman's machine, remember.”
“Yes, I could,” I replied, without slowing. “It is not much too short; and I can bend my knees a bit. Quick, quick! No words! Do as I tell you!”
She hesitated a second. The child's weight distressed145 her. “We should lose time in changing,” she answered, at last, doubtful but still pedalling, though my hand was on the rein146, ready to pull up the pony.
“Not if we manage it right. Obey orders! The moment I say 'Halt,' I shall slacken my mare's pace. When you see me leave the saddle, jump off instantly, you, and mount her! I will catch the machine before it falls. Are you ready? Halt, then!”
She obeyed the word without one second's delay. I slipped off, held the bridle147, caught the bicycle, and led it instantaneously. Then I ran beside the pony—bridle in one hand, machine in the other—till Hilda had sprung with a light bound into the stirrup. At that, a little leap, and I mounted the bicycle. It was all done nimbly, in less time than the telling takes, for we are both of us naturally quick in our movements. Hilda rode like a man, astride—her short, bicycling skirt, unobtrusively divided in front and at the back, made this easily possible. Looking behind me with a hasty glance, I could see that the savages, taken aback, had reined148 in to deliberate at our unwonted evolution. I feel sure that the novelty of the iron horse, with a woman riding it, played not a little on their superstitious149 fears; they suspected, no doubt, this was some ingenious new engine of war devised against them by the unaccountable white man; it might go off unexpectedly in their faces at any moment. Most of them, I observed, as they halted, carried on their backs black ox-hide shields, interlaced with white thongs150; they were armed with two or three assegais apiece and a knobkerry.
Instead of losing time by the change, as it turned out, we had actually gained it. Hilda was able to put on my sorrel to her full pace, which I had not dared to do, for fear of outrunning my companion; the wise little beast, for her part, seemed to rise to the occasion, and to understand that we were pursued; for she stepped out bravely. On the other hand, in spite of the low seat and the short crank of a woman's machine, I could pedal up the slope with more force than Hilda, for I am a practised hill-climber; so that in both ways we gained, besides having momentarily disconcerted and checked the enemy. Their ponies151 were tired, and they rode them full tilt152 with savage100 recklessness, making them canter up-hill, and so needlessly fatiguing153 them. The Matabele, indeed, are unused to horses, and manage them but ill. It is as foot soldiers, creeping stealthily through bush or long grass, that they are really formidable. Only one of their mounts was tolerably fresh, the one which had once already almost overtaken us. As we neared the top of the slope, Hilda, glancing behind her, exclaimed, with a sudden thrill, “He is spurting154 again, Hubert!”
I drew my revolver and held it in my right hand, using my left for steering155. I did not look back; time was far too precious. I set my teeth hard. “Tell me when he draws near enough for a shot,” I said, quietly.
Hilda only nodded. Being mounted on the mare, she could see behind her more steadily156 now than I could from the machine; and her eye was trustworthy. As for the baby, rocked by the heave and fall of the pony's withers157, it had fallen asleep placidly158 in the very midst of this terror!
After a second, I asked once more, with bated breath, “Is he gaining?”
She looked back. “Yes; gaining.”
A pause. “And now?”
“Still gaining. He is poising159 an assegai.”
Ten seconds more passed in breathless suspense160. The thud of their horses' hoofs alone told me their nearness. My finger was on the trigger. I awaited the word. “Fire!” she said at last, in a calm, unflinching voice. “He is well within distance.”
I turned half round and levelled as true as I could at the advancing black man. He rode, nearly naked, showing all his teeth and brandishing161 his assegai; the long white feathers stuck upright in his hair gave him a wild and terrifying barbaric aspect. It was difficult to preserve one's balance, keep the way on, and shoot, all at the same time; but, spurred by necessity, I somehow did it. I fired three shots in quick succession. My first bullet missed; my second knocked the man over; my third grazed the horse. With a ringing shriek162, the Matabele fell in the road, a black writhing163 mass; his horse, terrified, dashed back with maddened snorts into the midst of the others. Its plunging164 disconcerted the whole party for a minute.
We did not wait to see the rest. Taking advantage of this momentary165 diversion in our favour, we rode on at full speed to the top of the slope—I never knew before how hard I could pedal—and began to descend108 at a dash into the opposite hollow.
The sun had set by this time. There is no twilight166 in those latitudes167. It grew dark at once. We could see now, in the plain all round, where black clouds of smoke had rolled before, one lurid168 red glare of burning houses, mixed with a sullen127 haze169 of tawny170 light from the columns of prairie fire kindled171 by the insurgents.
We made our way still onward172 across the open plain without one word towards Salisbury. The mare was giving out. She strode with a will; but her flanks were white with froth; her breath came short; foam173 flew from her nostrils174.
As we mounted the next ridge, still distancing our pursuers, I saw suddenly, on its crest20, defined against the livid red sky like a silhouette175, two more mounted black men!
“It's all up, Hilda!” I cried, losing heart at last. “They are on both sides of us now! The mare is spent; we are surrounded!”
She drew rein and gazed at them. For a moment suspense spoke in all her attitude. Then she burst into a sudden deep sigh of relief. “No, no,” she cried; “these are friendlies!”
“How do you know?” I gasped176. But I believed her.
“They are looking out this way, with hands shading their eyes against the red glare. They are looking away from Salisbury, in the direction of the attack. They are expecting the enemy. They MUST be friendlies! See, see! they have caught sight of us!”
As she spoke, one of the men lifted his rifle and half pointed it. “Don't shoot! don't shoot!” I shrieked177 aloud. “We are English! English!”
The men let their rifles drop, and rode down towards us. “Who are you?” I cried.
They saluted178 us, military fashion. “Matabele police, sah,” the leader answered, recognising me. “You are flying from Klaas's?”
“Yes,” I answered. “They have murdered Klaas, with his wife and child. Some of them are now following us.”
The spokesman was a well-educated Cape179 Town negro. “All right sah,” he answered. “I have forty men here right behind de kopje. Let dem come! We can give a good account of dem. Ride on straight wit de lady to Salisbury!”
“The Salisbury people know of this rising, then?” I asked.
“Yes, sah. Dem know since five o'clock. Kaffir boys from Klaas's brought in de news; and a white man escaped from Rozenboom's confirm it. We have pickets180 all round. You is safe now; you can ride on into Salisbury witout fear of de Matabele.”
I rode on, relieved. Mechanically, my feet worked to and fro on the pedals. It was a gentle down-gradient now towards the town. I had no further need for special exertion181.
Suddenly, Hilda's voice came wafted182 to me, as through a mist. “What are you doing, Hubert? You'll be off in a minute!”
I started and recovered my balance with difficulty. Then I was aware at once that one second before I had all but dropped asleep, dog tired, on the bicycle. Worn out with my long day and with the nervous strain, I began to doze183 off, with my feet still moving round and round automatically, the moment the anxiety of the chase was relieved, and an easy down-grade gave me a little respite184.
I kept myself awake even then with difficulty. Riding on through the lurid gloom, we reached Salisbury at last, and found the town already crowded with refugees from the plateau. However, we succeeded in securing two rooms at a house in the long street, and were soon sitting down to a much-needed supper.
As we rested, an hour or two later, in the ill-furnished back room, discussing this sudden turn of affairs with our host and some neighbours—for, of course, all Salisbury was eager for news from the scene of the massacres—I happened to raise my head, and saw, to my great surprise... a haggard white face peering in at us through the window.
It peered round a corner, stealthily. It was an ascetic185 face, very sharp and clear-cut. It had a stately profile. The long and wiry grizzled moustache, the deep-set, hawk-like eyes, the acute, intense, intellectual features, all were very familiar. So was the outer setting of long, white hair, straight and silvery as it fell, and just curled in one wave-like inward sweep where it turned and rested on the stooping shoulders. But the expression on the face was even stranger than the sudden apparition186. It was an expression of keen and poignant187 disappointment—as of a man whom fate has baulked of some well-planned end, his due by right, which mere62 chance has evaded188.
“They say there's a white man at the bottom of all this trouble,” our host had been remarking, one second earlier. “The niggers know too much; and where did they get their rifles? People at Rozenboom's believe some black-livered traitor189 has been stirring up the Matabele for weeks and weeks. An enemy of Rhodes's, of course, jealous of our advance; a French agent, perhaps; but more likely one of these confounded Transvaal Dutchmen. Depend upon it, it's Kruger's doing.”
As the words fell from his lips, I saw the face. I gave a quick little start, then recovered my composure.
But Hilda noted190 it. She looked up at me hastily. She was sitting with her back to the window, and therefore, of course, could not see the face itself, which indeed was withdrawn191 with a hurried movement, yet with a certain strange dignity, almost before I could feel sure of having seen it. Still, she caught my startled expression, and the gleam of surprise and recognition in my eye. She laid one hand upon my arm. “You have seen him?” she asked quietly, almost below her breath.
“Seen whom?”
“Sebastian.”
It was useless denying it to HER. “Yes, I have seen him,” I answered, in a confidential192 aside.
“Just now—this moment—at the back of the house—looking in at the window upon us?”
“You are right—as always.”
She drew a deep breath. “He has played his game,” she said low to me, in an awed193 undertone. “I felt sure it was he. I expected him to play; though what piece, I knew not; and when I saw those poor dead souls, I was certain he had done it—indirectly done it. The Matabele are his pawns194. He wanted to aim a blow at ME; and THIS was the way he chose to aim it.”
“Do you think he is capable of that?” I cried. For, in spite of all, I had still a sort of lingering respect for Sebastian. “It seems so reckless—like the worst of anarchists—when he strikes at one head, to involve so many irrelevant195 lives in one common destruction.”
Hilda's face was like a drowned man's.
“To Sebastian,” she answered, shuddering196, “the End is all; the Means are unessential. Who wills the End, wills the Means; that is the sum and substance of his philosophy of life. From first to last, he has always acted up to it. Did I not tell you once he was a snow-clad volcano?”
“Still, I am loth to believe—” I cried.
She interrupted me calmly. “I knew it,” she said. “I expected it. Beneath that cold exterior197, the fires of his life burn fiercely still. I told you we must wait for Sebastian's next move; though I confess, even from HIM, I hardly dreamt of this one. But, from the moment when I opened the door on poor Tant Mettie's body, lying there in its red horror, I felt it must be he. And when you started just now, I said to myself in a flash of intuition—'Sebastian has come! He has come to see how his devil's work has prospered198.' He sees it has gone wrong. So now he will try to devise some other.”
I thought of the malign199 expression on that cruel white face as it stared in at the window from the outer gloom, and I felt convinced she was right. She had read her man once more. For it was the desperate, contorted face of one appalled to discover that a great crime attempted and successfully carried out has failed, by mere accident, of its central intention.
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1
embryo
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| n.胚胎，萌芽的事物 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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3
ramping
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| 土堤斜坡( ramp的现在分词 )； 斜道； 斜路； （装车或上下飞机的）活动梯 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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10
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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ransack
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| v.彻底搜索，洗劫 | |
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blazoned
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| v.广布( blazon的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布；夸示；装饰 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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17
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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18
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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19
crestfallen
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| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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21
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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23
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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24
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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saucily
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| adv.傲慢地，莽撞地 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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27
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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28
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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29
rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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perspicuity
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| n.（文体的）明晰 | |
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32
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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34
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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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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38
prattling
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的现在分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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39
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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40
chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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41
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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42
trot
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| 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 | |
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43
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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44
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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45
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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46
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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47
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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48
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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49
corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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50
waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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51
desecration
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| n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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52
abet
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| v.教唆，鼓励帮助 | |
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53
sibylline
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| adj.预言的；神巫的 | |
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54
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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55
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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56
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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57
stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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58
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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59
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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60
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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61
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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62
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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63
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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64
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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66
incipient
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| adj.起初的，发端的，初期的 | |
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67
yearn
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| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
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68
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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71
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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anticipatory
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| adj.预想的，预期的 | |
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conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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74
lollipops
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| n.棒糖，棒棒糖( lollipop的名词复数 )；（用交通指挥牌让车辆暂停以便儿童安全通过马路的）交通纠察 | |
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75
nefarious
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| adj.恶毒的，极坏的 | |
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76
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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77
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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78
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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vindicate
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| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
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80
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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81
rubbly
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| 碎裂 | |
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82
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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83
flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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84
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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85
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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86
obelisk
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| n.方尖塔 | |
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87
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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88
slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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89
obtrusive
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| adj.显眼的；冒失的 | |
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90
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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91
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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92
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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93
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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94
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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95
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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96
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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97
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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98
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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99
riddled
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| adj.布满的；充斥的；泛滥的v.解谜，出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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100
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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101
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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102
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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103
avocations
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| n.业余爱好，嗜好( avocation的名词复数 )；职业 | |
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104
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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105
drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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106
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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107
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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108
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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109
hoofs
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| 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 ) | |
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110
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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112
brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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113
untie
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| vt.解开，松开；解放 | |
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114
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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115
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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116
insurgents
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| n.起义，暴动，造反( insurgent的名词复数 ) | |
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117
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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118
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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119
flinch
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| v.畏缩，退缩 | |
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120
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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121
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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122
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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123
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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124
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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125
bumpy
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| adj.颠簸不平的，崎岖的 | |
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126
plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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128
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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129
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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130
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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131
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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132
appalled
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| 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 | |
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133
conspired
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| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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134
reassured
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| 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) | |
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135
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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136
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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137
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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138
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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139
cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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140
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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141
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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142
Bungler
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| n.笨拙者，经验不够的人 | |
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143
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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144
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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145
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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146
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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147
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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148
reined
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| 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 | |
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149
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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150
thongs
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| 的东西 | |
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151
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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152
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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153
fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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154
spurting
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的现在分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺； 溅射 | |
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155
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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156
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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157
withers
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| 马肩隆 | |
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158
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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159
poising
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| 使平衡( poise的现在分词 )； 保持（某种姿势）； 抓紧； 使稳定 | |
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160
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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161
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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162
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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163
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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164
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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165
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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166
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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167
latitudes
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| 纬度 | |
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168
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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169
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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170
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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171
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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172
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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173
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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174
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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175
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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176
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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177
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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178
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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179
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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180
pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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181
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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182
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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183
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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184
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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185
ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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186
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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187
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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188
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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189
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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190
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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191
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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192
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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193
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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194
pawns
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| n.（国际象棋中的）兵( pawn的名词复数 )；卒；被人利用的人；小卒v.典当，抵押( pawn的第三人称单数 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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195
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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196
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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197
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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198
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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199
malign
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| adj.有害的；恶性的；恶意的；v.诽谤，诬蔑 | |
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