Nothing in this world is hidden forever. The gold which has lain for centuries unsuspected in the ground, reveals itself one day on the surface. Sand turns traitor5, and betrays the footstep that has passed over it; water gives back to the tell-tale surface the body that has been drowned. Fire itself leaves the confession6, in ashes, of the substance consumed in it. Hate breaks its prison-secrecy in the thoughts, through the doorway7 of the eyes; and Love finds the Judas who betrays it by a kiss. Look where we will, the inevitable8 law of revelation is one of the laws of nature: the lasting9 preservation10 of a secret is a miracle which the world has never yet seen.
How was the secret now hidden in the household at Combe-Raven doomed11 to disclose itself? Through what coming event in the daily lives of the father, the mother, and the daughters, was the law of revelation destined12 to break the fatal way to discovery? The way opened (unseen by the parents, and unsuspected by the children) through the first event that happened after Mr. and Mrs. Vanstone’s return—an event which presented, on the surface of it, no interest of greater importance than the trivial social ceremony of a morning call.
Three days after the master and mistress of Combe-Raven had come back, the female members of the family happened to be assembled together in the morning-room. The view from the windows looked over the flower-garden and shrubbery; this last being protected at its outward extremity13 by a fence, and approached from the lane beyond by a wicket-gate. During an interval14 in the conversation, the attention of the ladies was suddenly attracted to this gate, by the sharp sound of the iron latch15 falling in its socket16. Some one had entered the shrubbery from the lane; and Magdalen at once placed herself at the window to catch the first sight of the visitor through the trees.
After a few minutes, the figure of a gentleman became visible, at the point where the shrubbery path joined the winding17 garden-walk which led to the house. Magdalen looked at him attentively18, without appearing, at first, to know who he was. As he came nearer, however, she started in astonishment19; and, turning quickly to her mother and sister, proclaimed the gentleman in the garden to be no other than “Mr. Francis Clare.”
The visitor thus announced was the son of Mr. Vanstone’s oldest associate and nearest neighbor.
Mr. Clare the elder inhabited an unpretending little cottage, situated20 just outside the shrubbery fence which marked the limit of the Combe-Raven grounds. Belonging to the younger branch of a family of great antiquity21, the one inheritance of importance that he had derived22 from his ancestors was the possession of a magnificent library, which not only filled all the rooms in his modest little dwelling24, but lined the staircases and passages as well. Mr. Clare’s books represented the one important interest of Mr. Clare’s life. He had been a widower25 for many years past, and made no secret of his philosophical26 resignation to the loss of his wife. As a father, he regarded his family of three sons in the light of a necessary domestic evil, which perpetually threatened the sanctity of his study and the safety of his books. When the boys went to school, Mr. Clare said “good-by” to them—and “thank God” to himself. As for his small income, and his still smaller domestic establishment, he looked at them both from the same satirically indifferent point of view. He called himself a pauper27 with a pedigree. He abandoned the entire direction of his household to the slatternly old woman who was his only servant, on the condition that she was never to venture near his books, with a duster in her hand, from one year’s end to the other. His favorite poets were Horace and Pope; his chosen philosophers, Hobbes and Voltaire. He took his exercise and his fresh air under protest; and always walked the same distance to a yard, on the ugliest high-road in the neighborhood. He was crooked28 of back, and quick of temper. He could digest radishes, and sleep after green tea. His views of human nature were the views of Diogenes, tempered by Rochefoucauld; his personal habits were slovenly29 in the last degree; and his favorite boast was that he had outlived all human prejudices.
Such was this singular man, in his more superficial aspects. What nobler qualities he might possess below the surface, no one had ever discovered. Mr. Vanstone, it is true, stoutly30 asserted that “Mr. Clare’s worst side was his outside”—but in this expression of opinion he stood alone among his neighbors. The association between these two widely-dissimilar men had lasted for many years, and was almost close enough to be called a friendship. They had acquired a habit of meeting to smoke together on certain evenings in the week, in the cynic-philosopher’s study, and of there disputing on every imaginable subject—Mr. Vanstone flourishing the stout31 cudgels of assertion, and Mr. Clare meeting him with the keen edged-tools of sophistry32. They generally quarreled at night, and met on the neutral ground of the shrubbery to be reconciled together the next morning. The bond of intercourse33 thus curiously34 established between them was strengthened on Mr. Vanstone’s side by a hearty35 interest in his neighbor’s three sons—an interest by which those sons benefited all the more importantly, seeing that one of the prejudices which their father had outlived was a prejudice in favor of his own children.
“I look at those boys,” the philosopher was accustomed to say, “with a perfectly36 impartial37 eye; I dismiss the unimportant accident of their birth from all consideration; and I find them below the average in every respect. The only excuse which a poor gentleman has for presuming to exist in the nineteenth century, is the excuse of extraordinary ability. My boys have been addle-headed from infancy38. If I had any capital to give them, I should make Frank a butcher, Cecil a baker39, and Arthur a grocer—those being the only human vocations41 I know of which are certain to be always in request. As it is, I have no money to help them with; and they have no brains to help themselves. They appear to me to be three human superfluities in dirty jackets and noisy boots; and, unless they clear themselves off the community by running away, I don’t myself profess42 to see what is to be done with them.”
Fortunately for the boys, Mr. Vanstone’s views were still fast imprisoned43 in the ordinary prejudices. At his intercession, and through his influence, Frank, Cecil, and Arthur were received on the foundation of a well-reputed grammar-school. In holiday-time they were mercifully allowed the run of Mr. Vanstone’s paddock; and were humanized and refined by association, indoors, with Mrs. Vanstone and her daughters. On these occasions, Mr. Clare used sometimes to walk across from his cottage (in his dressing-gown and slippers), and look at the boys disparagingly44, through the window or over the fence, as if they were three wild animals whom his neighbor was attempting to tame. “You and your wife are excellent people,” he used to say to Mr. Vanstone. “I respect your honest prejudices in favor of those boys of mine with all my heart. But you are so wrong about them—you are indeed! I wish to give no offense45; I speak quite impartially—but mark my words, Vanstone: they’ll all three turn out ill, in spite of everything you can do to prevent it.”
In later years, when Frank had reached the age of seventeen, the same curious shifting of the relative positions of parent and friend between the two neighbors was exemplified more absurdly than ever. A civil engineer in the north of England, who owed certain obligations to Mr. Vanstone, expressed his willingness to take Frank under superintendence, on terms of the most favorable kind. When this proposal was received, Mr. Clare, as usual, first shifted his own character as Frank’s father on Mr. Vanstone’s shoulders—and then moderated his neighbor’s parental47 enthusiasm from the point of view of an impartial spectator.
“It’s the finest chance for Frank that could possibly have happened,” cried Mr. Vanstone, in a glow of fatherly enthusiasm.
“My good fellow, he won’t take it,” retorted Mr. Clare, with the icy composure of a disinterested48 friend.
“But he shall take it,” persisted Mr. Vanstone.
“Say he shall have a mathematical head,” rejoined Mr. Clare; “say he shall possess industry, ambition, and firmness of purpose. Pooh! pooh! you don’t look at him with my impartial eyes. I say, No mathematics, no industry, no ambition, no firmness of purpose. Frank is a compound of negatives—and there they are.”
“Hang your negatives!” shouted Mr. Vanstone. “I don’t care a rush for negatives, or affirmatives either. Frank shall have this splendid chance; and I’ll lay you any wager49 you like he makes the best of it.”
“I am not rich enough to lay wagers50, usually,” replied Mr. Clare; “but I think I have got a guinea about the house somewhere; and I’ll lay you that guinea Frank comes back on our hands like a bad shilling.”
“Done!” said Mr. Vanstone. “No: stop a minute! I won’t do the lad’s character the injustice51 of backing it at even money. I’ll lay you five to one Frank turns up trumps52 in this business! You ought to be ashamed of yourself for talking of him as you do. What sort of hocus-pocus you bring it about by, I don’t pretend to know; but you always end in making me take his part, as if I was his father instead of you. Ah yes! give you time, and you’ll defend yourself. I won’t give you time; I won’t have any of your special pleading. Black’s white according to you. I don’t care: it’s black for all that. You may talk nineteen to the dozen—I shall write to my friend and say Yes, in Frank’s interests, by to-day’s post.”
Such were the circumstances under which Mr. Francis Clare departed for the north of England, at the age of seventeen, to start in life as a civil engineer.
From time to time, Mr. Vanstone’s friend communicated with him on the subject of the new pupil. Frank was praised, as a quiet, gentleman-like, interesting lad—but he was also reported to be rather slow at acquiring the rudiments53 of engineering science. Other letters, later in date, described him as a little too ready to despond about himself; as having been sent away, on that account, to some new railway works, to see if change of scene would rouse him; and as having benefited in every respect by the experiment—except perhaps in regard to his professional studies, which still advanced but slowly. Subsequent communications announced his departure, under care of a trustworthy foreman, for some public works in Belgium; touched on the general benefit he appeared to derive23 from this new change; praised his excellent manners and address, which were of great assistance in facilitating business communications with the foreigners—and passed over in ominous54 silence the main question of his actual progress in the acquirement of knowledge. These reports, and many others which resembled them, were all conscientiously55 presented by Frank’s friend to the attention of Frank’s father. On each occasion, Mr. Clare exulted56 over Mr. Vanstone, and Mr. Vanstone quarreled with Mr. Clare. “One of these days you’ll wish you hadn’t laid that wager,” said the cynic philosopher. “One of these days I shall have the blessed satisfaction of pocketing your guinea,” cried the sanguine57 friend. Two years had then passed since Frank’s departure. In one year more results asserted themselves, and settled the question.
Two days after Mr. Vanstone’s return from London, he was called away from the breakfast-table before he had found time enough to look over his letters, delivered by the morning’s post. Thrusting them into one of the pockets of his shooting-jacket, he took the letters out again, at one grasp, to read them when occasion served, later in the day. The grasp included the whole correspondence, with one exception—that exception being a final report from the civil engineer, which notified the termination of the connection between his pupil and himself, and the immediate58 return of Frank to his father’s house.
While this important announcement lay unsuspected in Mr. Vanstone’s pocket, the object of it was traveling home, as fast as railways could take him. At half-past ten at night, while Mr. Clare was sitting in studious solitude59 over his books and his green tea, with his favorite black cat to keep him company, he heard footsteps in the passage—the door opened—and Frank stood before him.
Ordinary men would have been astonished. But the philosopher’s composure was not to be shaken by any such trifle as the unexpected return of his eldest60 son. He could not have looked up more calmly from his learned volume if Frank had been absent for three minutes instead of three years.
“Exactly what I predicted,” said Mr. Clare. “Don’t interrupt me by making explanations; and don’t frighten the cat. If there is anything to eat in the kitchen, get it and go to bed. You can walk over to Combe-Raven tomorrow and give this message from me to Mr. Vanstone: ‘Father’s compliments, sir, and I have come back upon your hands like a bad shilling, as he always said I should. He keeps his own guinea, and takes your five; and he hopes you’ll mind what he says to you another time.’ That is the message. Shut the door after you. Good-night.”
Under these unfavorable auspices61, Mr. Francis Clare made his appearance the next morning in the grounds at Combe-Raven; and, something doubtful of the reception that might await him, slowly approached the precincts of the house.
It was not wonderful that Magdalen should have failed to recognize him when he first appeared in view. He had gone away a backward lad of seventeen; he returned a young man of twenty. His slim figure had now acquired strength and grace, and had increased in stature62 to the medium height. The small regular features, which he was supposed to have inherited from his mother, were rounded and filled out, without having lost their remarkable63 delicacy64 of form. His beard was still in its infancy; and nascent65 lines of whisker traced their modest way sparely down his cheeks. His gentle, wandering brown eyes would have looked to better advantage in a woman’s face—they wanted spirit and firmness to fit them for the face of a man. His hands had the same wandering habit as his eyes; they were constantly changing from one position to another, constantly twisting and turning any little stray thing they could pick up. He was undeniably handsome, graceful66, well-bred—but no close observer could look at him without suspecting that the stout old family stock had begun to wear out in the later generations, and that Mr. Francis Clare had more in him of the shadow of his ancestors than of the substance.
When the astonishment caused by his appearance had partially46 subsided, a search was instituted for the missing report. It was found in the remotest recesses67 of Mr. Vanstone’s capacious pocket, and was read by that gentleman on the spot.
The plain facts, as stated by the engineer, were briefly68 these: Frank was not possessed69 of the necessary abilities to fit him for his new calling; and it was useless to waste time by keeping him any longer in an employment for which he had no vocation40. This, after three years’ trial, being the conviction on both sides, the master had thought it the most straightforward70 course for the pupil to go home and candidly71 place results before his father and his friends. In some other pursuit, for which he was more fit, and in which he could feel an interest, he would no doubt display the industry and perseverance72 which he had been too much discouraged to practice in the profession that he had now abandoned. Personally, he was liked by all who knew him; and his future prosperity was heartily73 desired by the many friends whom he had made in the North. Such was the substance of the report, and so it came to an end.
Many men would have thought the engineer’s statement rather too carefully worded; and, suspecting him of trying to make the best of a bad case, would have entertained serious doubts on the subject of Frank’s future. Mr. Vanstone was too easy-tempered and sanguine—and too anxious, as well, not to yield his old antagonist74 an inch more ground than he could help—to look at the letter from any such unfavorable point of view. Was it Frank’s fault if he had not got the stuff in him that engineers were made of? Did no other young men ever begin life with a false start? Plenty began in that way, and got over it, and did wonders afterward75. With these commentaries on the letter, the kind-hearted gentleman patted Frank on the shoulder. “Cheer up, my lad!” said Mr. Vanstone. “We will be even with your father one of these days, though he has won the wager this time!”
The example thus set by the master of the house was followed at once by the family—with the solitary76 exception of Norah, whose incurable77 formality and reserve expressed themselves, not too graciously, in her distant manner toward the visitor. The rest, led by Magdalen (who had been Frank’s favorite playfellow in past times) glided78 back into their old easy habits with him without an effort. He was “Frank” with all of them but Norah, who persisted in addressing him as “Mr. Clare.” Even the account he was now encouraged to give of the reception accorded to him by his father, on the previous night, failed to disturb Norah’s gravity. She sat with her dark, handsome face steadily79 averted80, her eyes cast down, and the rich color in her cheeks warmer and deeper than usual. All the rest, Miss Garth included, found old Mr. Clare’s speech of welcome to his son quite irresistible81. The noise and merriment were at their height when the servant came in, and struck the whole party dumb by the announcement of visitors in the drawing-room. “Mr. Marrable, Mrs. Marrable, and Miss Marrable; Evergreen82 Lodge83, Clifton.”
Norah rose as readily as if the new arrivals had been a relief to her mind. Mrs. Vanstone was the next to leave her chair. These two went away first, to receive the visitors. Magdalen, who preferred the society of her father and Frank, pleaded hard to be left behind; but Miss Garth, after granting five minutes’ grace, took her into custody84 and marched her out of the room. Frank rose to take his leave.
“No, no,” said Mr. Vanstone, detaining him. “Don’t go. These people won’t stop long. Mr. Marrable’s a merchant at Bristol. I’ve met him once or twice, when the girls forced me to take them to parties at Clifton. Mere85 acquaintances, nothing more. Come and smoke a cigar in the greenhouse. Hang all visitors—they worry one’s life out. I’ll appear at the last moment with an apology; and you shall follow me at a safe distance, and be a proof that I was really engaged.”
Proposing this ingenious stratagem86 in a confidential87 whisper, Mr. Vanstone took Frank’s arm and led him round the house by the back way. The first ten minutes of seclusion88 in the conservatory89 passed without events of any kind. At the end of that time, a flying figure in bright garments flashed upon the two gentlemen through the glass—the door was flung open—flower-pots fell in homage90 to passing petticoats—and Mr. Vanstone’s youngest daughter ran up to him at headlong speed, with every external appearance of having suddenly taken leave of her senses.
“Papa! the dream of my whole life is realized,” she said, as soon as she could speak. “I shall fly through the roof of the greenhouse if somebody doesn’t hold me down. The Marrables have come here with an invitation. Guess, you darling—guess what they’re going to give at Evergreen Lodge!”
“A ball!” said Mr. Vanstone, without a moment’s hesitation91.
“Private Theatricals92!!!” cried Magdalen, her clear young voice ringing through the conservatory like a bell; her loose sleeves falling back and showing her round white arms to the dimpled elbows, as she clapped her hands ecstatically in the air. “‘The Rivals’ is the play, papa—‘The Rivals,’ by the famous what’s-his-name—and they want ME to act! The one thing in the whole universe that I long to do most. It all depends on you. Mamma shakes her head; and Miss Garth looks daggers93; and Norah’s as sulky as usual—but if you say Yes, they must all three give way and let me do as I like. Say Yes,” she pleaded, nestling softly up to her father, and pressing her lips with a fond gentleness to his ear, as she whispered the next words. “Say Yes, and I’ll be a good girl for the rest of my life.”
“A good girl?” repeated Mr. Vanstone—“a mad girl, I think you must mean. Hang these people and their theatricals! I shall have to go indoors and see about this matter. You needn’t throw away your cigar, Frank. You’re well out of the business, and you can stop here.”
“No, he can’t,” said Magdalen. “He’s in the business, too.”
Mr. Francis Clare had hitherto remained modestly in the background. He now came forward with a face expressive94 of speechless amazement95.
“Yes,” continued Magdalen, answering his blank look of inquiry96 with perfect composure. “You are to act. Miss Marrable and I have a turn for business, and we settled it all in five minutes. There are two parts in the play left to be filled. One is Lucy, the waiting-maid; which is the character I have undertaken—with papa’s permission,” she added, slyly pinching her father’s arm; “and he won’t say No, will he? First, because he’s a darling; secondly97, because I love him, and he loves me; thirdly, because there is never any difference of opinion between us (is there?); fourthly, because I give him a kiss, which naturally stops his mouth and settles the whole question. Dear me, I’m wandering. Where was I just now? Oh yes! explaining myself to Frank—”
“I beg your pardon,” began Frank, attempting, at this point, to enter his protest.
“The second character in the play,” pursued Magdalen, without taking the smallest notice of the protest, “is Falkland—a jealous lover, with a fine flow of language. Miss Marrable and I discussed Falkland privately98 on the window-seat while the rest were talking. She is a delightful99 girl—so impulsive100, so sensible, so entirely101 unaffected. She confided102 in me. She said: ‘One of our miseries103 is that we can’t find a gentleman who will grapple with the hideous104 difficulties of Falkland.’ Of course I soothed105 her. Of course I said: ‘I’ve got the gentleman, and he shall grapple immediately.’—‘Oh heavens! who is he?’—‘Mr. Francis Clare.’—‘And where is he?’—‘In the house at this moment.’—‘Will you be so very charming, Miss Vanstone, as to fetch him?’—‘I’ll fetch him, Miss Marrable, with the greatest pleasure.’ I left the window-seat—I rushed into the morning-room—I smelled cigars—I followed the smell—and here I am.”
“It’s a compliment, I know, to be asked to act,” said Frank, in great embarrassment106. “But I hope you and Miss Marrable will excuse me—”
“Certainly not. Miss Marrable and I are both remarkable for the firmness of our characters. When we say Mr. So-and-So is positively107 to act the part of Falkland, we positively mean it. Come in and be introduced.”
“But I never tried to act. I don’t know how.”
“Not of the slightest consequence. If you don’t know how, come to me and I’ll teach you.”
“You!” exclaimed Mr. Vanstone. “What do you know about it?”
“Pray, papa, be serious! I have the strongest internal conviction that I could act every character in the play—Falkland included. Don’t let me have to speak a second time, Frank. Come and be introduced.”
She took her father’s arm, and moved on with him to the door of the greenhouse. At the steps, she turned and looked round to see if Frank was following her. It was only the action of a moment; but in that moment her natural firmness of will rallied all its resources—strengthened itself with the influence of her beauty —commanded—and conquered. She looked lovely: the flush was tenderly bright in her cheeks; the radiant pleasure shone and sparkled in her eyes; the position of her figure, turned suddenly from the waist upward, disclosed its delicate strength, its supple108 firmness, its seductive, serpentine109 grace. “Come!” she said, with a coquettish beckoning110 action of her head. “Come, Frank!”
Few men of forty would have resisted her at that moment. Frank was twenty last birthday. In other words, he threw aside his cigar, and followed her out of the greenhouse.
As he turned and closed the door—in the instant when he lost sight of her—his disinclination to be associated with the private theatricals revived. At the foot of the house-steps he stopped again; plucked a twig111 from a plant near him; broke it in his hand; and looked about him uneasily, on this side and on that. The path to the left led back to his father’s cottage—the way of escape lay open. Why not take it?
While he still hesitated, Mr. Vanstone and his daughter reached the top of the steps. Once more, Magdalen looked round—looked with her resistless beauty, with her all-conquering smile. She beckoned112 again; and again he followed her—up the steps, and over the threshold. The door closed on them.
So, with a trifling113 gesture of invitation on one side, with a trifling act of compliance114 on the other: so—with no knowledge in his mind, with no thought in hers, of the secret still hidden under the journey to London—they took the way which led to that secret’s discovery, through many a darker winding that was yet to come.
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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sophistry
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| n.诡辩 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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36
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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37
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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38
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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39
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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40
vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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41
vocations
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| n.（认为特别适合自己的）职业( vocation的名词复数 )；使命；神召；（认为某种工作或生活方式特别适合自己的）信心 | |
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42
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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43
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
disparagingly
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| adv.以贬抑的口吻，以轻视的态度 | |
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45
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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46
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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47
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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48
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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49
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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50
wagers
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| n.赌注，用钱打赌( wager的名词复数 )v.在（某物）上赌钱，打赌( wager的第三人称单数 )；保证，担保 | |
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51
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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52
trumps
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| abbr.trumpets 喇叭；小号；喇叭形状的东西；喇叭筒v.（牌戏）出王牌赢（一牌或一墩）( trump的过去式 )；吹号公告，吹号庆祝；吹喇叭；捏造 | |
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53
rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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54
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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56
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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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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59
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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61
auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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62
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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nascent
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| adj.初生的，发生中的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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67
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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68
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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69
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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72
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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73
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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76
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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80
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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81
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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82
evergreen
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| n.常青树；adj.四季常青的 | |
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83
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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84
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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85
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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86
stratagem
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| n.诡计，计谋 | |
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87
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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88
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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89
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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90
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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91
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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92
theatricals
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| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
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93
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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94
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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95
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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96
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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97
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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98
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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99
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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100
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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101
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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102
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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103
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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104
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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105
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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106
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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107
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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108
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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109
serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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110
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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111
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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112
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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114
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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