Three times did he approach close to the garden door, as he walked slowly from end to end of the room. But he never once looked up at it. His thoughts were wandering after Zack, and Zack’s friend; and his attention was keeping them company. “Whoever this mysterious Mat may be,” mused1 Valentine, stopping at the fourth turn, and walking up to the fireplace; “I don’t believe there’s anything bad about him; and so I shall tell Mrs. Thorpe the next time I see her.”
He set himself to rake out the fire, leaving only a few red embers and tiny morsels4 of coal to flame up fitfully from time to time in the bottom of the grate. Having done this, he stood and warmed himself for a little while, and tried to whistle a favorite tune5. The attempt was a total failure. He broke down at the third bar, and ended lamentably6 in another sigh.
“What can be the matter with me? I never felt so miserable7 about going away from home before.” Puzzling himself uselessly with such reflections as these, he went to the supper-table, and drank a glass of wine, picked a bit of a sandwich, and unnecessarily spoilt the appearance of two sponge cakes, by absently breaking a small piece off each of them. He was in no better humor for eating or drinking, than for whistling; so he wisely determined8 to light his candle forthwith, and go to bed.
After extinguishing the lights that had been burning on the supper-table, he cast a parting glance all round the room, and was then about to leave it, when the drawing of the old five-barred gate, which he had taken down for Mat to look at, and had placed on a painting-stand at the lower end of the studio, caught his eye. He advanced towards it directly—stopped half-way—hesitated—yawned—shivered a little—thought to himself that it was not worth while to trouble about hanging the drawing up over the garden door, that night—and so, yawning again, turned on his heel and left the studio.
Mr. Blyth’s two servants slept up-stairs. About ten minutes after their master had ascended9 to his bed-room, they left the kitchen for their dormitory on the garret floor. Patty, the housemaid, stopped as she passed the painting room, to look in, and see that the lights were out, and the fire safe for the night. Polly, the cook, went on with the bedroom candle; and, after having ascended the stairs as far as the first landing from the hall, discreetly10 bethought herself of the garden door, the general care and superintendence of which was properly attached to her department in the household.
“I say, did you lock the garden door?” said Polly to Patty through the banisters.
“Yes; I did it when I took up master’s tea,” said Patty to Polly, appearing lazily in the hall, after one sleepy look round the fast-darkening studio.
“Hadn’t you better see to it again, to make sure?” suggested the cautious cook.
“Hadn’t you? It’s your place,” retorted the careless house-maid.
“Hush!” whispered Valentine, suddenly appearing on the landing above Polly, from his bedroom, arrayed in his flannel11 dressing-gown and nightcap. “Don’t talk here, or you’ll disturb your mistress. Go up to bed, and talk there. Good night.”
“Good night, sir,” answered together the two faithful female dependents of the house of Blyth, obeying their master’s order with simpering docility12, and deferring13 to a future opportunity all further considerations connected with the garden door.
The fire was fading out fast in the studio grate. Now and then, at long intervals14, a thin tongue of flame leapt up faintly against the ever-invading gloom, flickered15 for an instant over the brighter and more prominent objects in the room, then dropped back again into darkness. The profound silence was only interrupted by those weird17 house-noises which live in the death of night and die in the life of day; by that sudden crackling in the wall, by that mysterious creaking in the furniture, by those still small ghostly sounds from inanimate bodies, which we have all been startled by, over and over again, while lingering at our book after the rest of the family are asleep in bed, while waiting up for a friend who is out late, or while watching alone through the dark hours in a sick chamber18. Excepting such occasional night-noises as these, so familiar, yet always so strange, the perfect tranquillity19 of the studio remained undisturbed for nearly an hour after Mr. Blyth had left it. No neighbors came home in cabs, no bawling20 drunken men wandered into the remote country fastnesses of the new suburb. The night-breeze, blowing in from the fields, was too light to be audible. The watch-dog in the nurseryman’s garden hard by, was as quiet on this particular night as if he had actually barked himself dumb at last. Outside the house, as well as inside, the drowsy21 reign22 of old primeval Quiet was undisturbed by the innovating24 vagaries25 of the rebel, Noise.
Undisturbed, till the clock in the hall pointed26 to a quarter past eleven. Then there came softly and slowly up the iron stairs that led from the back garden to the studio, a sound of footsteps. When these ceased, the door at the lower end of the room was opened gently from outside, and the black bulky figure of Mat appeared on the threshold, lowering out gloomily against a back-ground of starry27 sky.
He stepped into the painting-room, and closed the door quietly behind him; stood listening anxiously in the darkness for a moment or two; then pulling from his pocket the wax taper28 and the matches which he had bought that afternoon, immediately provided himself with a light.
While the wick of the taper was burning up, he listened again. Except the sound of his own heavy breathing, all was quiet around him. He advanced at once to the bureau, starting involuntarily as he brushed by Mr. Blyth’s lay figure with the Spanish hat and the Roman toga; and cursing it under his breath for standing30 in his way, as if it had been a living creature. The door leading from the studio into the passage of the house was not quite closed; but he never noticed this as he passed to the bureau, though it stood close to the chink left between the door and the post. He had the false key in his hand; he knew that he should be in possession of the Hair Bracelet31 in another moment; and, his impatience32 for once getting the better of his cunning, he pounced33 on the bureau, without looking aside first either to the right or the left.
He had unlocked it, had pulled open the inner drawer, had taken out the Hair Bracelet, and was just examining it closely by the light of his taper (after having locked the bureau again)—when a faint sound on the staircase of the house caught his ear.
At the same instant, a thin streak34 of candle-light flashed on him through the narrow chink between the hardly-closed door and the doorpost. It increased rapidly in intensity35, as the sound of softly-advancing footsteps now grew more and more distinct from the stone passage leading to the interior of the house.
He had the presence of mind to extinguish his taper, to thrust the Hair Bracelet into his pocket, and to move across softly from the bureau (which stood against the lock-side doorpost) to the wall (which was by the hinge-side doorpost); so that the door itself might open back upon him, and thus keep him concealed36 from the view of any person entering the room. He had the presence of mind to take these precautions instantly; but he had not self-control enough to suppress the involuntary exclamation37 which burst from his lips, at the moment when the thin streak of candle-light first flashed into his eyes. A violent spasmodic action contracted the muscles of his throat. He clenched38 his fist in a fury of suppressed rage against himself, as he felt that his own voice had turned traitor39 and betrayed him.
The light came close: the door opened—opened gently, till it just touched him as he stood with his back against the wall.
For one instant his heart stopped; the next, it burst into action again with a heave, and the blood rushed hotly through every vein40 all over him, as his wrought-up nerves of mind and body relaxed together under a sense of ineffable41 relief. He was saved almost by a miracle from the inevitable42 consequence of the rash exclamation that had escaped him. It was Madonna who had opened the door—it was the deaf and dumb girl whom he now saw walking into the studio.
She had been taking her working materials out of the tobacco-pouch43 in her own room before going to bed, and had then missed her mother-of-pearl bodkin-case. Suspecting immediately that she must have dropped it in the studio, and fearing that it might be trodden on and crushed if she left it there until the next morning, she had now stolen downstairs by herself to look for it. Her hair, not yet put up for the night, was combed back from her face, and hung lightly down in long silky folds over her shoulders. Her complexion44 looked more exquisitely45 clear and pure than ever, set off as it was by the white dressing-gown which now clothed her. She had a pretty little red and blue china candlestick, given to her by Mrs. Blyth, in her hand; and, holding the light above her, advanced slowly from the studio doorway46, with her eyes bent47 on the ground, searching anxiously for the missing bodkin-case.
Mat’s resolution was taken the moment he caught sight of her. He never stirred an inch from his place of concealment48, until she had advanced three or four paces into the room, and had her back turned full upon him. Then quietly stepping a little forward from the door, but still keeping well behind her, he blew out her candle, just as she was raising it over her head, and looking down intently on the floor in front of her.
He had calculated, rightly enough, on being able to execute this maneuver49 with impunity50 from discovery, knowing that she was incapable51 of hearing the sound of his breath when he blew her candle out, and that the darkness would afterwards not only effectually shield him from detection, but also oblige her to leave him alone in the room again, while she went to get another light. He had not calculated, however, on the serious effect which the success of his stratagem52 would have upon her nerves, for he knew nothing of the horror which the loss of her sense of hearing caused her always to feel when she was left in darkness; and he had not stopped to consider that by depriving her of her light, he was depriving her of that all-important guiding sense of sight, the loss of which she could not supply in the dark, as others could, by the exercise of the ear.
The instant he blew her candle out, she dropped the china candlestick, in a paroxysm of terror. It fell, and broke, with a deadened sound, on one of the many portfolios53 lying on the floor about her. He had hardly time to hear this happen, before the dumb moaning, the inarticulate cry of fear which was all that the poor panic-stricken girl could utter, rose low, shuddering54, and ceaseless, in the darkness—so close at his ear, that he fancied he could feel her breath palpitating quick and warm on his cheek.
If she should touch him? If she should be sensible of the motion of his foot on the floor, as she had been sensible of the motion of Zack’s, when young Thorpe offered her the glass of wine at supper-time? It was a risk to remain still—it was a risk to move! He stood as helpless even as the helpless creature near him. That low, ceaseless, dumb moaning, smote55 so painfully on his heart, roused up so fearfully the rude superstitious56 fancies lying in wait within him, in connection with the lost and dead Mary Grice, that the sweat broke out on his face, the coldness of sharp mental suffering seized on his limbs, the fever of unutterable expectation parched57 up his throat, and mouth, and lips; and for the first time, perhaps, in his existence, he felt the chillness of mortal dread58 running through him to his very soul—he, who amid perils59 of seas and wildernesses60, and horrors of hunger and thirst, had played familiarly with his own life for more than twenty years past, as a child plays familiarly with an old toy.
He knew not how long it was before the dumb moaning seemed to grow fainter; to be less fearfully close to him; to change into what sounded, at one moment, like a shivering of her whole body; at another, like a rustling61 of her garments; at a third, like a slow scraping of her hands over the table on the other side of her, and of her feet over the floor. She had summoned courage enough at last to move, and to grope her way out—he knew it as he listened. He heard her touch the edge of the half-opened door; he heard the still sound of her first footfall on the stone passage outside; then the noise of her hand drawn62 along the wall; then the lessening63 gasps64 of her affrighted breathing as she gained the stairs.
When she was gone, and the change and comfort of silence and solitude65 stole over him, his power of thinking, his cunning and resolution began to return. Listening yet a little while, and hearing no sound of any disturbance66 among the sleepers67 in the house, he ventured to light one of his matches; and, by the brief flicker16 that it afforded, picked his way noiselessly through the lumber68 in the studio, and gained the garden door. In a minute he was out again in the open air. In a minute more, he had got over the garden wall, and was walking freely along the lonely road of the new suburb, with the Hair Bracelet safe in his pocket.
At first, he did not attempt to take it out and examine it. He had not felt the slightest scruple69 beforehand; he did not feel the slightest remorse70 now, in connection with the Bracelet, and with his manner of obtaining possession of it. Callous71, however, as he was in this direction, he was sensitive in another. There was both regret and repentance72 in him, as he thought of the deaf and dumb girl, and of the paroxysm of terror he had caused her. How patiently and prettily73 she had tried to explain to him her gratitude74 for his gift, and the use she meant to put it to; and how cruelly he had made her suffer in return! “I wish I hadn’t frighted her so,” said Mat to himself; thinking of this in his own rough way, as he walked rapidly homewards. “I wish I hadn’t frighted her so.”
But his impatience to examine the Bracelet got the better of his repentance, as it had already got the better of every other thought and feeling in him. He stopped under a gas lamp, and drew his prize out of his pocket. He could see that it was made of two kinds of hair, and that something was engraved75 on the flat gold of the clasp. But his hand shook, his eyes were dimmer than usual, the light was too high above him, and try as he might he could make out nothing clearly.
He put the Bracelet into his pocket again, and, muttering to himself impatiently, made for Kirk Street at his utmost speed. His landlord’s wife happened to be in the passage when he opened the door. Without the ceremony of a single preliminary word, he astonished her by taking her candle out of her hand, and instantly disappearing up-stairs with it. Zack had not come from the theater—he had the lodgings76 to himself—he could examine the hair Bracelet in perfect freedom.
His first look was at the clasp. By holding it close to the flame of the candle, he succeeded in reading the letters engraved on it.
“M. G. In memory of S. G.”
“Mary Grice. In memory of Susan Grice.” Mat’s hand closed fast on the Bracelet—and dropped heavily on his knee, as he uttered those words.
* * * * * *
The pantomime which Zack had gone to see, was so lengthened77 out by encores of incidental songs and dances, that it was not over till close on midnight. When he left the theater, the physical consequences of breathing a vitiated atmosphere made themselves felt immediately in the regions of his mouth, throat, and stomach. Those ardent78 aspirations79 in the direction of shell-fish and malt liquor, which it is especially the mission of the English drama to create, overcame him as he issued into the fresh air, and took him to the local oyster80 shop for refreshment81 and change of scene.
Having the immediate29 prospect82 of the private Drawing Academy vividly83 and menacingly present before his eyes, Zack thought of the future for once in his life, and astonished the ministering vassals84 of the oyster shop (with all of whom he was on terms of intimate friendship), by enjoying himself with exemplary moderation at the festive85 board. When he had done supper, and was on his way to bed at the tobacconist’s across the road, it is actually not too much to say that he was sober and subdued86 enough to have borne inspection87 by the President and Council of the Royal Academy, as a model student of the Fine Arts.
It was rather a surprise to him not to hear his friend snoring when he let himself into the passage, but his surprise rose to blank astonishment88 when he entered the front room, and saw the employment on which his fellow lodger89 was engaged.
Mat was sitting by the table, with his rifle laid across his knees, and was scouring90 the barrel bright with a piece of sand paper. By his side was an unsnuffed candle, an empty bottle, and a tumbler with a little raw brandy left in the bottom of it. His face, when he looked up, showed that he had been drinking hard. There was a stare in his eyes that was at once fierce and vacant, and a hard, fixed91, unnatural92 smile on his lips which Zack did not at all like to see.
“Why, Mat, old boy!” he said soothingly93, “you look a little out of sorts. What’s wrong?”
Mat scoured94 away at the barrel of the gun harder than ever, and gave no answer.
“What, in the name of wonder, can you be scouring your rifle for to-night?” continued young Thorpe. “You have never yet touched it since you brought it into the house. What can you possibly want with it now? We don’t shoot birds in England with rifle bullets.”
“A rifle bullet will do for my game, if I put it up,” said Mat, suddenly and fiercely fixing his eyes on Zack.
“What game does he mean?” thought young Thorpe. “He’s been drinking himself pretty nearly drunk. Can anything have happened to him since we parted company at the theater?—I should like to find out; but he’s such an old savage95 when the brandy’s in his head, that I don’t half like to question him—”
Here Zack’s reflections were interrupted by the voice of his eccentric friend.
“Did you ever meet with a man of the name of Carr?” asked Mat. He looked away from young Thorpe, keeping his eyes steadily96 on the rifle, and rubbing hard at the barrel, as he put this question.
“No,” said Zack. “Not that I can remember.”
Mat left off cleaning the gun, and began to fumble97 awkwardly in one of his pockets. After some little time, he produced what appeared to Zack to be an inordinately98 long letter, written in a cramped99 hand, and superscribed apparently100 with two long lines of inscription101, instead of an ordinary address. Opening this strange-looking document, Mat guided himself a little way down the lines on the first page with a very unsteady forefinger—stopped, and read somewhat anxiously and with evident difficulty—then put the letter back in his pocket, dropped his eyes once more on the gun in his lap, and said with a strong emphasis on the Christian102 name:—
“Arthur Carr?”
“No,” returned Zack. “I never met with a man of that name. Is he a friend of yours?”
Mat went on scouring the rifle barrel.
Young Thorpe said nothing more. He had been a little puzzled early in the evening, when his friend had exhibited the fan and tobacco pouch (neither of which had been produced before), and had mentioned to Mr. Blyth that they were once intended for “a woman” who was now dead. Zack had thought this conduct rather odd at the time; but now, when it was followed by these strangely abrupt103 references to the name of Carr, by this mysterious scouring of the rifle and desperate brandy drinking in solitude, he began to feel perplexed104 in the last degree about Mat’s behavior. “Is this about Arthur Carr a secret of the old boy’s?” Zack asked himself with a sort of bewildered curiosity. “Is he letting out more than he ought, I wonder, now he’s a little in liquor?”
While young Thorpe was pondering thus, Mat was still industriously105 scouring the barrel of his rifle. After the silence in the room had lasted some minutes, he suddenly threw away his morsel3 of sand-paper, and spoke106 again.
“Zack,” he said, familiarly smacking107 the stock of his rifle, “me and you had some talk once about going away to the wild country over the waters together. I’m ready to sail when you are, if—” He had glanced up at young Thorpe with his vacant bloodshot eyes, as he spoke the last words. But he checked himself almost at the same moment, and looked away again quickly at the gun.
“If what?” asked Zack.
“If I can lay my hands first on Arthur Carr,” answered Mat, with very unusual lowness of tone. “Only let me do that, and I shall be game to tramp it at an hour’s notice. He may be dead and buried for anything I know—”
“Then what’s the use of looking after him?” interposed Zack.
“The use is, I’ve got it into my head that he’s alive, and that I shall find him,” returned Mat.
“‘Well?” said young Thorpe eagerly.
Mat became silent again. His head drooped108 slowly forward, and his body followed it till he rested his elbows on the gun. Sitting in this crouched-up position, he abstractedly began to amuse himself by snapping the lock of the rifle. Zack, suspecting that the brandy he had swallowed was beginning to stupefy him, determined, with characteristic recklessness, to rouse him into talking at any hazard.
“What the devil is all this mystery about?” he cried boldly. “Ever since you pulled out that feather-fan and tobacco-pouch at Blyth’s—”
“Well, what of them?” interrupted Mat, looking up instantly with a fierce, suspicious stare.
“Nothing particular,” pursued Zack, undauntedly, “except that it’s odd you never brought them out before; and odder still that you should tell Blyth, and never say a word here to me, about getting them for a woman—”
“What of her?” broke out Mat, rising to his feet with flushed face and threatening eyes, and making the room ring again as he grounded his rifle on the floor.
“Nothing but what a friend ought to say,” replied Zack, feeling that, in Mat’s present condition, he had ventured a little too far. “I’m sorry, for your sake, that she never lived to have the presents you meant for her. There’s no offense109, I hope, in saying that much, or in asking (after what you yourself told Blyth) whether her death happened lately, or—”
“It happened afore ever you was born.”
He gave this answer, which amazed Zack, in a curiously110 smothered111, abstracted tone, as if he were talking to himself; laying aside the rifle suddenly as he spoke, sitting down by the table again, and resting his head on his hand, Young Thorpe took a chair near him, but wisely refrained from saying anything just at that moment. Silence seemed to favor the change that was taking place for the better in Mat’s temper. He looked up, after awhile, and regarded Zack with a rough wistfulness and anxiety working in his swarthy face.
“I like you, Zack,” he said, laying one hand on the lad’s arm and mechanically stroking down the cloth of his sleeve. “I like you. Don’t let us two part company. Let’s always pull together as brotherly and pleasant as we can.” He paused. His hand tightened112 round young Thorpe’s arm; and the hot, dry, tearless look in his eyes began to soften113 as he added, “I take it kind in you, Zack, saying you were sorry for her just now. She died afore ever you was born.” His hand relaxed its grasp: and when he had repeated those last words, he turned a little away, and said no more.
Astonishment and curiosity impelled114 young Thorpe to hazard another question.
“Was she a sweetheart of yours?” he asked, unconsciously sinking his voice to a whisper, “or a relation, or—”
“Kin2 to me. Kin to me,” said Mat quickly, yet not impatiently; reaching out his hand again to Zack’s arm, but without looking up.
“Was she your mother?”
“No.”
“Sister?”
“Yes.”
For a minute or two Zack was silent after this answer. As soon as he began to speak again, his companion shook his arm—a little impatiently, this time—and stopped him.
“drop it,” said Mat peremptorily115. “Don’t let’s talk no more, my head—”
“Anything wrong with your head?” asked Zack.
Mat rose to his feet again. A change began to appear in his face. The flash that had tinged116 it from the first, deepened palpably, and spread up to the very rim23 of his black skull-cap. A confusion and dimness seemed to be stealing over his eyes, a thickness and heaviness to be impeding117 his articulation118 when he spoke again.
“I’ve overdone119 it with the brandy,” he said, “my head’s getting hot under the place where they scalped me. Give me holt of my hat, and show me a light, Zack. I can’t stop indoors no longer. Don’t talk! Let me out of the house at once.”
Young Thorpe took up the candle directly; and leading the way down-stairs, let him out into the street by the private door, not venturing to irritate him by saying anything, but waiting on the door-step, and watching him with great curiosity as he started for his walk. He was just getting out of sight, when Zack heard him stop, and strike his stick on the pavement. In less than a minute he had turned, and was back again at the door of the tobacconist’s shop.
“Zack,” he whispered, “you ask about among your friends if any of ‘em ever knowed a man with that name I told you of.”
“Do you mean the ‘Arthur Carr’ you were talking about just now?” inquired young Thorpe.
“Yes; Arthur Carr,” said Mat, very earnestly. Then, turning away before Zack could ask him any more questions, he disappeared rapidly this time in the darkness of the street.
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1
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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6
lamentably
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| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
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7
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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8
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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13
deferring
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| v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的现在分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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14
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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15
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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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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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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innovating
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| v.改革，创新( innovate的现在分词 )；引入（新事物、思想或方法）， | |
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vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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30
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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31
bracelet
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| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
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32
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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33
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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34
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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35
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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36
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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37
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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38
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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40
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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41
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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42
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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43
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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44
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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45
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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46
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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47
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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48
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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49
maneuver
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| n.策略[pl.]演习；v.(巧妙)控制；用策略 | |
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50
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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51
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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52
stratagem
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| n.诡计，计谋 | |
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53
portfolios
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| n.投资组合( portfolio的名词复数 )；（保险）业务量；（公司或机构提供的）系列产品；纸夹 | |
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54
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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55
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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56
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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57
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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58
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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wildernesses
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| 荒野( wilderness的名词复数 )； 沙漠； （政治家）在野； 不再当政（或掌权） | |
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61
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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62
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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68
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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69
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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71
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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72
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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73
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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74
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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75
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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76
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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79
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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80
oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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81
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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82
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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83
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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84
vassals
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| n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 )；（封建时代）诸侯；从属者；下属 | |
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85
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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86
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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87
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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88
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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89
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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90
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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91
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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92
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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93
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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94
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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95
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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96
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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97
fumble
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| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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98
inordinately
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| adv.无度地，非常地 | |
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99
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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100
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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101
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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102
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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103
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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104
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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105
industriously
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106
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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107
smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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108
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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110
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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111
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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112
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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113
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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114
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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116
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
impeding
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| a.(尤指坏事)即将发生的，临近的 | |
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118
articulation
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| n.（清楚的）发音；清晰度，咬合 | |
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119
overdone
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| v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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