Again through the heavy door came the knocking and the soft reassurance6 of a girl's voice. Arlee sprang from the couch where she had lain down that night, not undressed, but with her white frock exchanged for the negligée she had found laid out for her among other things, and hurried toward the door where she had piled two chairs to supplement the lock—a foolish-looking barricade7 in the shining light of day, she thought, her lips lifting whimsically.
The young Turkish maid entered with a huge jar of water which she emptied into the bath, returning to the door to take in another and yet another and another from some unseen porter, and pouring these into the bath, she added a spray of perfume and laid out powders and towels, smiling the while at Arlee, with the fascinated interest of a child.
"Do you speak English?" said Arlee eagerly.
But the girl laughed and shook her head at the question, and at the French and German with which Arlee next addressed her, and answered in soft Turkish, at which it was Arlee's turn to laugh and shake her head. But she felt a little rueful behind her pleasant smiling. She wished she could talk with the girl. She wondered about her. She had very handsome dark eyes, though perhaps overbold at times, but her lips were thick and her nose was flattened8 as if generations of yashmak-wearing women had crushed every hope of contour.
The cool freshness of the water was grateful to her senses. It was a plunge9 back into sanity10 and normal life again, drowning those ghosts of vague foreboding and anxieties which had kept such unpleasant vigil with her, and when the Turkish girl returned with a tray, Arlee was able to sit and eat breakfast with a trace of amusement at the oddity of the affair—sipping coffee in this Parisian boudoir overlooking an Egyptian garden.
As she was buttering a last crumb12 of toast the girl re-entered with a box from the florist13. Her white teeth flashing at Arlee in a smile of admiring interest, she broke the cord with thick fingers and Arlee found the box full of roses, creamy pink and dewy fresh. The Captain's card was enclosed, and across the back of it he had written a message:
I am sending out for some flowers for our guest and I hope that they will convey to her my greeting. If there is anything that you would have, it is yours if it is in my power to give. My sister is indisposed, but will visit you when her indisposition will permit. This afternoon I will see you and report the result of our protests to the authorities. Until then, be tranquil14, and accommodate yourself here.
A tacit apology, thought Arlee, pondering the dull letter a moment, then dropping it to touch the roses with light fingers. The young man's wits had evidently returned with the sun. He had utterly15 lost them last night with the starshine and the shadows and his Oriental conception of the intimacy16 of the situation—but, after all, he had too much good sense not to be aware of the folly17 of annoying her. Her cheeks flushed a little warmer at the memory of the bold words and the lordly hand on her arm, and her heart quickened in its beating. She had certainly been playing with fire, and the sparks she had so ignorantly struck had lighted for her an unforgettable glimpse of the Oriental nature beneath all its English polish, but she imagined, very fearlessly, that the spark was out. She was not a nature that was easily alarmed or daunted18; beneath her look of delicate fragility was a very sturdy confidence, and she had the implicit19 sense of security instinct in the kitten whose blithe20 days have known nothing but kindness. Yet she felt herself tremendously experienced and initiated21....
She wrote back a word of thanks for the flowers and a request for writing paper and ink, and when they were brought she wrote three most urgent letters, and after an instant's hesitation22 a fourth—to the Viceroy himself. Feeling that his mail might be bulky, she marked it "Immediate23" in large characters and gave them to the maid, who nodded intelligently and shuffled24 away.
It was very odd, she thought then, that she had no letters. By now the Evershams must surely have written—she had begged them to.... But she was not going to be silly and panicky, she determinedly25 informed that queer little catch in her side which came at the thought of her isolation26, and humming defiantly28 she sat down at the white piano and opened the score of a light opera which she knew:
Say not love is a dream,
Say not that hope is vain ...
She had danced to that tune29 last night—no, the night before last—danced to it with that extraordinarily30 impulsive31 young man from home—for all America was now home to her spirit. And she had promised to see him last night. She wondered what he had thought of her absence.... She could imagine the Evershams dolefully deploring32 her rashness, yet not without a totally unconscious tinge33 of proper relish34 at its prompt punishment. They were such dismal35 old dears! They would complain—they must have made her the talk of the hotel by now. Robert Falconer would enjoy that! And his sister and Lady Claire would ask about her, and Lady Claire would say, "How odd—fancy!" in that rather clipped and high-bred voice of hers.... But she was not going to think about it!
She opened more music, stared wonderingly at the unfamiliar36 pages, read the English translation beneath the German lines, then pushed them away, her cheeks the pinker. They were as bad as French postcards, she thought, aghast. Whose room was this, anyway? Whose piano was this? Whose was the lacy negligée she had worn and the gossamer37 lingerie the maid had placed in the chiffonier for her? Was she usurping38 her hostess's boudoir?
She began to walk restlessly up and down the room, feeling time interminable, hating each lagging second of delay.
Then came a tray of luncheon39, and lying upon it a yellow envelope. With an eagerness that hurt in its keenness she snatched it up and tore out the folded sheet. Her eyes leaped down the lines. Then slowly they followed them again:
I think it very strange of you to leave us like that, but of course you are your own mistress. We are sorry and hope it will soon be over and you will join us again, unless you prefer your other friends, the Maynards. We have packed your clothes and sent them to Cook's for your orders, and we have paid your hotel bill. Let us know when you can join us.
Mrs. Eversham.
That was all. No word of real sympathy—no declaration of help. Passive acceptance of her predicament—perhaps indeed a retributive feeling of its fitness for her folly. They were annoyed.... Packing her clothes must have been a bother—so was paying her hotel bill.
She crumpled40 the telegram with an angry little hand. Evidently they had done none of the telephoning she had begged of them. Surely there would have been time for that, if only they had hurried a little! She remembered with a sort of hopeless rage their maddening deliberateness.... Well, they were gone off to the Nile—the telegram, she saw, had been sent as they were on their way to the boat—and she had nothing more to hope from them! But surely the other people, the consul41, the ambassador, the mysterious medical authorities, would understand when they had read her letters.
She sent another note to the Captain, asking to be called when the doctor came, and then she sat down at the little white table and began again to write.
But not to Falconer. Never would she beg of him, never, she resolved, with a tightening42 of her soft lips. She would never let him know how miserable43 she was over this stupid scrape; when she returned to the hotel she would carry affairs with a high hand and hold forth44 upon the interesting quaintness45 of her experience and the old-world charm of her hostess. She laughed, in angry mockery. Never to him, after their quarrel, would she confess herself.
The letter was to a young man whose gray eyes she remembered as very kind and whose chin as very vigorous. He would do things, she thought. And he would understand—he was an American. And dimly she felt that she didn't want him to think she had utterly forgotten her promise of the evening before last, and she didn't want him to be filled with whatever dismal impression the Evershams were giving out. So she dwelt very lightly upon her annoyance46 at being detained, and asked him please to see the consul or the English Ambassador or somebody in power and hurry matters up a little, as her rightful caretakers had taken themselves off to the Nile. And she said nothing stupid about the strangeness of her writing to him after only speaking to him twice and never being really presented. She merely added, "Please hurry things—I hate being a prisoner," and sealed and addressed it with a flourish to William B. Hill, and sent it off by the maid, and felt oddly comforted by the memory of Billy's vigorous chin.
The heat of the rose-and-white room was stifling47 now as the slant48 sun of afternoon burned through the closed blinds and drawn49 hangings. Languidly she curled up upon the sofa and pillowed her heavy head on the scented50 silk, and so, drowsing with fitful dreams, she lost the sense of the lagging hours.
She roused to find the maid at hand with more water jars, and, when she had bathed, the girl reappeared and beckoned51 her to follow. Perhaps the doctor was below, thought Arlee; perhaps the consulate52 had sent for her! With flying feet she followed down the dark old stairs and across the anteroom into the dim salon53, only to find a candle-lighted table set for dinner in the middle of the room and Captain Kerissen bowing ceremoniously beside it.
In the blankness of her disappointment she scarcely grasped what he was saying about the dinner hour being early and his sister being indisposed. She interrupted with a breathless demand for news:
"And my letters—surely there has been time for answers!"
"Answers, yes," he replied, "but not such as I could wish for your sake."
"You mean——?"
"The English have written to me and request that I cease to trouble the department with my importunities. For I myself had written to them again, that I might find grace in your eyes by accomplishing your desires. They say to me that it is useless. The plague is more serious than the convenience of my visitors, and all must be done according to rule. When there is no danger you may depart."
The crash of hopes went echoing to the farthest reaches of her consciousness. But pride stiffened54 her to dissemble, and she tried to smile as she mechanically accepted the Captain's invitation to be seated at the little candle-lighted table.
"There was no word to me personally?" she asked.
"None, but the telegram which came this morning. I judged that it was not of a significance, for you did not send me a report."
"No—it was not of a significance," she repeated, with a ghost of a little smile. "It was from the Evershams."
"Ah! Their condolences, I think?... And is it that they still make the Nile trip?"
"Yes.... They went this morning." She spoke55 hesitantly, averse56 to having this eager-eyed young host perceive how truly deserted57 she was. "They expect me to take the express train later and join them."
"It is only a night's ride to Assouan." He spoke soothingly58. "But you are not eating, Miss Beecher. I recommend this consommé."
It was worth the recommending. Miss Beecher spooned it slowly, then demanded, "Why was I not called when the doctor came?"
"But he does not come! Perhaps he is afraid"—the young man's brows and shoulders rose expressively—"but certainly he does not risk himself. If a servant is ill we are to tell a soldier and the sick one will be taken away to the house of plague—bien simple. It is so hard that I am helpless for you," he said, with sympathetic concern, then added, with an air of boyish confession59, "although I do not deny that it is happiness for me to see you here."
The look in his eyes forced itself upon her. And the secret sense of discomfort60 intruded61 like a third presence at the little table.
In a clear voice of dry indifference62: "That's very polite of you," she remarked, "but I imagine you are pretty furious, too, to be kept pent up in somebody else's house like this."
"But this is not somebody else's house," he smiled, his eyes observant of her quick glance and look of confusion. "I am chez moi."
"Oh! I thought—I was visiting your sister."
"My sister lives with me. She is a widow—and we are both alone."
"She does not seem to care for company."
"She is indisposed. She regrets it exceedingly." The young man looked grave and solicitous63. "But I trust your comfort is not being neglected?"
"Oh, my comfort is being beautifully attended to, thank you, but my patience is wearing itself out!" Arlee spoke with a blithe assumption of humor.
"I wish that I could extend the resources of my palace for you."
"You must tell me about the palace. I shall want to picture it to my friends when I tell them about it. It's very old, isn't it? It must have seen a great deal of life."
"Ah, yes, it has seen life—and what life! Quelle vie!" A flash of real enthusiasm dispelled64 the suave65 indolence of his handsome features.
"Have you seen those old rooms? Those rooms that were built by the Mamelukes? There is nothing now in Cairo like them."
"I thought them very beautiful," said the girl. "Tell me about those Mamelukes who lived here."
"They were men," he said with pride, his eyes kindling66, "men who lived as kings dare not live to-day!" The subject of those old days and those old ancestors of his was evidently dear to the young modern, and he launched into an animated67 sketch68 of those times, trying to picture for Arlee something of the glowing pageant69 of the past. And as she listened she found her own high spirit stirring in sympathy with the barbaric strength of those old nobles, riding to battle on their fiery70 Arab steeds, waging their private wars, brooking71 no affront72, no command, working no other man's will.
"They knew both power and beauty," he declared, "like the Medici of Florence. There are no leaders like that in the modern world. To-day beauty is beggared, and power is lusterless.... And taste? Taste is a hundred-headed Hydra73, roaring with a hundred tongues!"
"While in the old days in Cairo it only roared with the tongues of Mamelukes?" Arlee suggested, a glint of mischief74 in her smile.
He nodded. "It should be the concern of nobles—not of the rabble75. That is why I should hate your America—where the rabble prevail."
"It's not nice of you to call me a rabble," said Arlee, busy with her plate of chicken. "But I want to hear more about your old Mamelukes. Is the story true about the Sultan's being so afraid of them that he had them taken by surprise and killed?"
"He did well to fear them," said Kerissen. "And he, too, was a strong man who had the power to clear his own path. Those nobles were in the path of Mohammed Ali. They were too strong for him, he knew it—and they knew it and were not afraid. On one day they were all assembled at the Citadel76, at the ceremony which Mohammed Ali was giving in honor of his son, Toussoum. It was the first of March, in 1811, and my ancestor, the father of my father's father, rode out from this palace, through the gate by the court, which is the old gate, in his most splendid attire77 to greet his sovereign's son. The emerald upon his turban was as large as a man's eye, and his sword hilt was studded with turquoise78 and pearls and the hilt was a blazon79 of gold. His robes were of silk, gold threaded, and his horse was trapped with gold and silver and a diamond hung between her eyes.... The Mamelukes were fêted and courted, and then, as they were leaving the Citadel—you have been up there?" he broke off to question, and Arlee nodded, her eyes wide and intent like a listening child's, "and you recall that deep, crooked80 way between the high walls, between the fortified81 doors? Imagine to yourself that deep way filled with men on horseback, quitting the Citadel, having taken leave of their Sultan—they were a picture of such pride and pomp as Egypt has never seen again. And then the treachery—the great gates closed before them and behind them, the terrible fire upon them from all sides, the bullets of the hidden Albanians pouring down like the hosts of death—the uproar82, the cries of horses, the shouts of the trapped men, and then all the tumult83 dying, dying, down to the last moan and hiccough of blood."
"But one escaped?" questioned the girl, breaking the silence which had followed the cessation of his voice. "Is it true that one really escaped?"
"Anym-bey—yes, he was the only one that escaped that massacre84. He had a fierce horse which gave him pain to mount, and he was still in the courtyard of the palace when he heard the outburst of shots and then the cries. He comprehended. Stripping his turban from his head he bound it over the eyes of his stallion and, spurring to a gallop85, he dashed out over the parapet of the Citadel and down—down—down! Magnificent! He did not die of it, but alas86! he did not escape. Wounded as he was he managed to reach the house of a relative, but the soldiers of the Sultan tracked him there and seized him.... He was killed."
"Oh, the pity—after that splendid dash!" Arlee stopped and looked around her, at the strange shadowy room hung with its old embroideries87 and latticed with its ancient screening. "This room makes it all so real, somehow," she murmured. "I didn't believe it all when the dragoman told me—probably because he showed me the mark of the horse's hoof88 in the stone of the parapet! I thought it was all a legend—like the mark."
"Did he show you, too, the bulrush where Moses was found and the indentures89 in the stones in the crypt of the Coptic Church where Saint Joseph and Mary sat to rest after the flight into Egypt?" laughed the Captain. And, with a teasing smile, "Ah, what imbeciles they think you tourists!"
But Arlee merely laughed with him, while the old woman changed the plates for dessert. Her spirits had brightened mercurially90. This was really interesting.... Uneasiness had vanished.
"Is that an old Mameluke throne?" she asked, pointing to the raised chair upon the dais, with its heavy, dusty draperies.
The Captain glanced at it and shook his head, smiling faintly. "No, that is the throne of marriage." He pushed away his sweet and lighted a cigarette. "That is where sits the bride when she has been brought to the home of her husband—there she holds her reception. Those are the fêtes to which the English ladies come in such curiosity." His smile was not quite pleasant.
"You cannot blame them for feeling a real—interest," said Arlee hesitantly.
"Their interest—pah!" he flung back excitably and made a violent gesture with his cigarette. "They peer at the bride with their haggard eyes, and they say, 'What! You have not seen your husband till to-day! How strange—how strange! Has he not written to you? Suppose you do not like him,' and they laugh and add, 'Fancy a girl among us being married like that!'... The imbeciles—whose own marriages are abominations!"
For a moment Arlee was silent, instinct and impulse warring within her. The man was a maniac91 upon those subjects, and it was madness to exchange a word with him—but her young anger darted92 through her discretion93.
"They are not abominations!" she gave back proudly.
"But I know—I know—have I not been at marriages in England?" he declared, with startling fierceness. "Men and women crowd about the bride; they press in line and kiss her; bearded mouths and shaven lips, young and old, they brush off that exquisite94 bloom of innocence95 which a husband delights to discover. Her lips are soiled, fanée.... And then the man and woman go away together into a public hotel or a train, and the people laugh and shout after them, and hurl96 shoes and rice, with a great din11 of noise. I have heard!" He stopped, looked a moment at the flushed curve of Arlee's averted97 face, the droop98 of her shadowy lashes99 which veiled the confusion and anger of her spirit, and then, leaning forward, his eyes still upon her, he spoke in a lower, softer tone, caressing100 in its inflections.
"With us it is not so," he said. "We have dignity in our rejoicing, and delicacy101 in our love. The bride is brought in state to the home of her husband, no eyes in the street resting upon her, and there, in his home, her husband welcomes her and retires with his friends, while she holds a reception with hers. Later the husband will come home and greet her, and he wooes her to him as tenderly as he would gather a flower that he would wear. He is no rude master, no tyrant102, as you have been taught to think! He wins her heart and mind to him; it is the conquest of the spirit!... I tell you that our men alone understand the secret of women! Is not the life he gives her better than what you call the world? The woman blooms like a flower for her husband alone; his eyes only may dwell upon the beauty of her face; for him alone, her lips—her lips——"
The young man's voice, grown husky, died away. A dreadful stillness followed, a stillness vibrating with unspoken thought. Her eyes lifted toward him, then fled away, so full of strange, dark, desirous things was the look she encountered. Abruptly103 he rose—he was coming toward her, and she struggled suddenly to her feet, battling against the cold terror which held her dumb and unready. She flung one arm out before her and found it grasped by hands that were hot and burning. The touch shot her with a fierce rage that cleared her brain and unlocked her lips.
"Is that—the conquest of the spirit?" she gasped104, and for an instant the white-hot scorn in her eyes, flashing into his, hid any hint of the fear in her.
Involuntarily his grasp relaxed, and violently she wrenched105 her arm away and stood facing him, a little white-clad image of war, her eyes blazing, her breast heaving, a defiant27 child in her intrepidity106 who gave him back look for look.
In his eyes there glowed and battled a conflict of desires. For one moment they seemed flaming at her from the dark, like some wild creature ready to spring; the next moment they were human, recognizable. She read there grudging107 admiration108, arrested ardor109, irresolution110, dubiety, and secret calculation.
Then he put both hands behind him and bowed with ceremony.
"The spirit," he remarked dryly, "is worth the conquest."
She said proudly, "You would not like your English friends to know how you treat a guest!"
At that she saw his lip curl in irony111—at the mention of the English, perhaps, or in disdain112 at the appearance of fearing a threat, however powerful that threat might be. He answered with calmness, "It is not the English I am considering.... Nor have I treated my guest so ill, chère petite mademoiselle.... If for the moment I mistook my cue—that look within your face—I ask grace for my stupidity."
Suddenly she was frightened. He did not look like a man who wholly surrenders his desires. His eyes seemed to say to her, "Wait—the last word has not been spoken!" She felt her knees trembling.
With an effort she got out, "It is granted—but never again—must you misunderstand. An American girl——"
She stopped. There was a lump in her throat. Across a bright, familiar veranda113 she could hear a clear, sharp voice answer, "American goose!" She saw a lean tanned face burn red with anger. A wave of loneliness went through her. The irony of it was pitiless. How right Robert Falconer had been!
He was staring down at the table beside him, frowning, considering. She saw with peculiar114 distinctness how the cigarette he had dropped had burned a hole in the fine linen115. One of the candles was dripping lopsidedly. She thought some one ought to right it. She wondered if that soft step, hesitating, behind the curtains, was the serving woman's, and she turned toward that doorway116.
"I don't think I care for any coffee," she said, with an air of careless finality. "I think I will go back to my room. Good evening."
He followed her to the doorway, drawing aside the curtains as she passed into the anteroom, and opening the door at the foot of the steps, with an answering, "Good evening," and an added, "Till to-morrow, Mademoiselle." And then, as the door closed below her, she paused on the dark stairs and huddled117 against the wall, listening to the faint footfalls from below, crossing and recrossing. Then, when the silence seemed continual, she tiptoed down the stairs again, softly pushed open the unlatched door, stole across the anteroom to the curtained doorway and peered in.
The salon was empty, and in its center the supper table stood stripped of its cloth and candles. Only the pale light from the windows dispelled the growing dark. Like a little white wraith118 Arlee fled through the room and turned the handle of the door at the head of the haremlik stairs. The door was locked.
She shook the handle, first cautiously, then with increasing violence, then she ran back into the room to the nearest window, staring down through the screen. It would have been a steep jump down into the street, but her tense nerves would have dared it instantly. Her hands tore at the mashrubiyeh, but the tiny spindles and delicate curves held sound and firm. She beat against it with fierce little fists; she leaped against it with all her trifling119 weight. It did not yield an inch. Was there iron in all that delicacy? Or was that old wood impregnable in its grim trust?
Wildly she glanced back into the room. Suppose she took a chair and beat at this carving—could she clear a way before the servants came? Could she take the jump successfully? She gazed down into the street, estimating the fall, trying to calculate the hurt.
As she gazed, her eyes grew fixed120 and filled with utter amazement121. Down the street, on a black horse that arched his curving neck and danced on light, fleet feet, rode a man in a uniform of green and gold. He sat erect122, his clear-cut profile toward her. The next instant his horse, side-stepping at a blowing paper, turned his face into view. It was Captain Kerissen.
Some one was stirring in the anteroom, and Arlee darted to the left of the throne-chair and through the door there which stood ajar. She was in a dim salon, like the one that she had left, but smaller, and across from her was another door. She flew toward it, wild with the hope of escape, and it opened before her eager hands.
From the shadows of the room it disclosed came a figure with a quick cry. So suddenly it came, so tumultuously it threw itself toward her that Arlee had a startled vision of bare arms, glittering with jeweled bands, arrested outstretched before her as the low gladness of the cry broke in an angry guttural. Slowly the arms dropped in a gesture of despair. She saw a face, distorted, passionate123, grow haggard beneath its paint in the reversal of hope.
"Madame!" stammered124 Arlee to that strange figure of her hostess. "Madame—Oh, pardon me," she cried, snatching at her French, "but tell me how I can go away from here. Tell me——"
"C'est toi—va-t-en!" the woman answered in a voice of smothered125 fury. She made a menacing gesture toward the door. "Va-t-en." Suddenly her voice rose in a passion of angry phrases that were indistinguishable to the girl, and then she broke off as suddenly and flung herself down upon a couch. From behind her the old woman came shuffling126 forth and put a hand on Arlee's arm, and Arlee felt the muscles of that hand as strong and rigid127 as a man's. Utterly confused and bewildered, the girl suffered herself to be led back through the rooms to the foot of her stairs.
"Mariayah!" screamed the old woman, and after a moment the voice of waiting-maid answered from above, and then as Arlee dumbly ascended128 the stairs, the voice of the old woman rose with her in shrill129 admonition.
It was the voice of a jailer, thought the white-lipped girl, and that little, dark-skinned maid who waited upon her so eagerly, with such sidelong glances of strange interest, was the tool of a jailer. And though the turning of the key in her own hand gave her a momentary130 sense of refuge from them, it was but a false illusion of the moment. There was neither refuge nor safety here. She was being deceived ...
The quarantine was lifted.
How else could the Captain be cantering down the street? He did not look like a man escaping.... Perhaps he had bribed131 the doorkeeper—that which he had declared impossible for Arlee.... But certainly he was deceiving her.
Like a swollen132 river bursting its banks, her racing133 mind, wild with suspicion, surged out of its simple channels and swirled134 in every direction.... What did he mean? What was he trying to do? Keep her in ignorance of the outside world, detain her as long as he dared while the Evershams' absence left her friendless, and inflict135 his dreadful love-making upon her? Perhaps he thought that he could fascinate her!
She laughed aloud, but it was such a ghostly little laugh that it set her nerves jumping. She stopped in her feverish136 pacing of the floor; she tried to control her racing mind, she tried to be very calm and to plan.
Had he sent all those letters she had written? Steadily137 she stared at the possibility that he had not. But at least the Evershams knew where she was. Even the meager138 warmth of their telegram was like an outstretched hand through the dark. She clung tight to it.
It was absurd to be frightened. He would never dare to annoy her—never, in his sober senses. When they were alone together he had lost his head, but that was accident—impulse...
She rolled the divan139 against the locked door. She piled two chairs upon it.
No, of course, she had nothing really to fear from him. He was too wise not to understand the gulf140 between them. To-morrow she would confront him flatly with his deceit; she would array the power of the authorities behind her race. She would sweep instantly from that ill-omened palace. There would be no more philandering141.
Her lips moved as she silently rehearsed the mighty142 speeches that she would make, and all the while as she leaned there against a window, staring strangely through the candle-light at the barricade before the door, she could think of nothing but how mad and unreal it all seemed—like some bad dream from which she would wake in an instant.
But she did not wake. The dream persisted, and the iron bars across her window were very tangible143. Down below her in the garden the old lebbek tree rustled144 stealthily in the stillness. Gusty145 clouds hid the stars. In the distance the interminable tom-tom beat.
She cast herself into the bed and cried convulsively, like a desperately146 frightened child, while the awful sense of terror and utter loneliness seemed to be rolling over and over her, like an unending sea. Her sobbing147 racked her from head to foot. She cried until she was spent with weakness. Then, her wet face still pressed against the pillow and her tangled148 hair flung out in disordered curls, she fell at last into the deep sleep of exhausted149 youth.
She woke with a smothered cry. In the darkness a hand had touched her.
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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tardy
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| adj.缓慢的，迟缓的 | |
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enameled
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| 涂瓷釉于，给…上瓷漆，给…上彩饰( enamel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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11
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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12
crumb
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| n.饼屑，面包屑，小量 | |
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13
florist
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| n.花商；种花者 | |
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14
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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15
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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16
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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17
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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18
daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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20
blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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21
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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22
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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23
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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24
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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25
determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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26
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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27
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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28
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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29
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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30
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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31
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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32
deploring
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的现在分词 ) | |
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33
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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34
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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35
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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36
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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37
gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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38
usurping
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的现在分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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39
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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40
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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41
consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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42
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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43
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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44
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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45
quaintness
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| n.离奇有趣，古怪的事物 | |
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46
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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47
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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48
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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49
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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50
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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51
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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52
consulate
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| n.领事馆 | |
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53
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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54
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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55
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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56
averse
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|
| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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57
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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58
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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59
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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60
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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61
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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62
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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63
solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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64
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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66
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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67
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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68
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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69
pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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70
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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71
brooking
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| 容忍，忍受（brook的现在分词形式） | |
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72
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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73
hydra
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| n.水螅；难于根除的祸患 | |
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74
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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75
rabble
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|
| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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76
citadel
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|
| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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77
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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78
turquoise
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|
| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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79
blazon
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|
| n.纹章，装饰；精确描绘；v.广布；宣布 | |
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80
crooked
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|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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81
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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82
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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83
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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84
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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85
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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86
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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87
embroideries
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| 刺绣( embroidery的名词复数 )； 刺绣品； 刺绣法 | |
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88
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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89
indentures
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| vt.以契约束缚（indenture的第三人称单数形式） | |
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90
mercurially
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|
| adj.（指人）反复无常的；水银的；（指人或性质）灵活的；易变的 | |
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91
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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92
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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93
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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94
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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95
innocence
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|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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96
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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97
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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98
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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99
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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100
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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101
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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102
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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103
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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104
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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105
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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106
intrepidity
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| n.大胆，刚勇；大胆的行为 | |
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107
grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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108
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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109
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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110
irresolution
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| n.不决断，优柔寡断，犹豫不定 | |
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111
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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112
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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113
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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114
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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115
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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116
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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117
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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118
wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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119
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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120
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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121
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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122
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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123
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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124
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
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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126
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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127
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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128
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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130
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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131
bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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132
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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133
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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134
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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136
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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137
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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138
meager
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| adj.缺乏的，不足的，瘦的 | |
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139
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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140
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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141
philandering
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| v.调戏，玩弄女性( philander的现在分词 ) | |
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142
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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143
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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144
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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146
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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147
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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148
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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149
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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