I.
IF a frontier man be seized by wild Indians, and carried far and deep into the wilderness1, and there held a captive, with no slightest probability of eventual2 deliverance; then the wisest thing for that man is to exclude from his memory by every possible method, the least images of those beloved objects now forever reft from him. For the more delicious they were to him in the now departed possession, so much the more agonizing3 shall they be in the present recalling. And though a strong man may sometimes succeed in strangling such tormenting4 memories; yet, if in the beginning permitted to encroach upon him unchecked, the same man shall, in the end, become as an idiot. With a continent and an ocean between him and his wife—thus sundered5 from her, by whatever imperative6 cause, for a term of long years;—the husband, if passionately7 devoted8 to her, and by nature broodingly sensitive of soul, is wise to forget her till he embrace her again;—is wise never to remember her if he hear of her death. And though such complete suicidal forgettings prove practically impossible, yet is it the shallow and ostentatious affections alone which are bustling9 in the offices of obituarian memories. The love deep as death—what mean those five words, but that such love can not live, and be continually remembering that the loved one is no more? If it be thus then in cases where entire unremorsefulness as regards the beloved absent objects is presumed, how much more intolerable, when the knowledge of their hopeless wretchedness occurs, attended by the visitations of before latent upbraidings in the rememberer as having been any way—even unwillingly—the producers of their sufferings. There seems no other sane10 recourse for some moody11 organizations on whom such things, under such circumstances intrude12, but right and left to flee them, whatever betide.
If little or nothing hitherto has been said of Lucy Tartan in reference to the condition of Pierre after his departure from the Meadows, it has only been because her image did not willingly occupy his soul. He had striven his utmost to banish13 it thence; and only once—on receiving the tidings of Glen's renewed attentions—did he remit15 the intensity16 of those strivings, or rather feel them, as impotent in him in that hour of his manifold and overwhelming prostration17.
Not that the pale form of Lucy, swooning on her snow-white bed; not that the inexpressible anguish18 of the shriek—"My heart! my heart!" would not now at times force themselves upon him, and cause his whole being to thrill with a nameless horror and terror. But the very thrillingness of the phantom19 made him to shun20 it, with all remaining might of his spirit.
Nor were there wanting still other, and far more wonderful, though but dimly conscious influences in the breast of Pierre, to meet as repellants the imploring21 form. Not to speak of his being devoured22 by the all-exacting theme of his book, there were sinister23 preoccupations in him of a still subtler and more fearful sort, of which some inklings have already been given.
It was while seated solitary24 in his room one morning; his flagging faculties25 seeking a momentary26 respite27; his head sideways turned toward the naked floor, following the seams in it, which, as wires, led straight from where he sat to the connecting door, and disappeared beneath it into the chamber29 of Isabel; that he started at a tap at that very door, followed by the wonted, low, sweet voice,—
"Pierre! a letter for thee—dost thou hear? a letter,—may I come in?"
At once he felt a dart30 of surprise and apprehension31; for he was precisely32 in that general condition with respect to the outer world, that he could not reasonably look for any tidings but disastrous33, or at least, unwelcome ones. He assented34; and Isabel entered, holding out the billet in her hand.
"'Tis from some lady, Pierre; who can it be?—not thy mother though, of that I am certain;—the expression of her face, as seen by me, not at all answering to the expression of this handwriting here."
"My mother? from my mother?" muttered Pierre, in wild vacancy35—"no! no! it can scarce be from her.—Oh, she writes no more, even in her own private tablets now! Death hath stolen the last leaf, and rubbed all out, to scribble36 his own ineffaceable hic jacet there!"
"Pierre!" cried Isabel, in affright.
"Give it me!" he shouted, vehemently37, extending his hand. "Forgive me, sweet, sweet Isabel, I have wandered in my mind; this book makes me mad. There; I have it now"—in a tone of indifference—"now, leave me again. It is from some pretty aunt, or cousin, I suppose," carelessly balancing the letter in his hand.
Isabel quitted the room; the moment the door closed upon her, Pierre eagerly split open the letter, and read:—
II.
"This morning I vowed38 it, my own dearest, dearest Pierre I feel stronger to-day; for to-day I have still more thought of thine own superhuman, angelical strength; which so, has a very little been transferred to me. Oh, Pierre, Pierre, with what words shall I write thee now;—now, when still knowing nothing, yet something of thy secret I, as a seer, suspect. Grief,—deep, unspeakable grief, hath made me this seer. I could murder myself, Pierre, when I think of my previous blindness; but that only came from my swoon. It was horrible and most murdersome; but now I see thou wert right in being so instantaneous with me, and in never afterward40 writing to me, Pierre; yes, now I see it, and adore thee the more.
"Ah! thou too noble and angelical Pierre, now I feel that a being like thee, can possibly have no love as other men love; but thou lovest as angels do; not for thyself, but wholly for others. But still are we one, Pierre; thou art sacrificing thyself, and I hasten to re-tie myself to thee, that so I may catch thy fire, and all the ardent41 multitudinous arms of our common flames may embrace. I will ask of thee nothing, Pierre; thou shalt tell me no secret. Very right wert thou, Pierre, when, in that ride to the hills, thou wouldst not swear the fond, foolish oath I demanded. Very right, very right; now I see it.
"If then I solemnly vow39, never to seek from thee any slightest thing which thou wouldst not willingly have me know; if ever I, in all outward actions, shall recognize, just as thou dost, the peculiar42 position of that mysterious, and ever-sacred being;—then, may I not come and live with thee? I will be no encumbrance43 to thee. I know just where thou art, and how thou art living; and only just there, Pierre, and only just so, is any further life endurable, or possible for me. She will never know—for thus far I am sure thou thyself hast never disclosed it to her what I once was to thee. Let it seem, as though I were some nun44-like cousin immovably vowed to dwell with thee in thy strange exile. Show not to me,—never show more any visible conscious token of love. I will never to thee. Our mortal lives, oh, my heavenly Pierre, shall henceforth be one mute wooing of each other; with no declaration; no bridal; till we meet in the pure realms of God's final blessedness for us;—till we meet where the ever-interrupting and ever-marring world can not and shall not come; where all thy hidden, glorious unselfishness shall be gloriously revealed in the full splendor46 of that heavenly light; where, no more forced to these cruelest disguises, she, she too shall assume her own glorious place, nor take it hard, but rather feel the more blessed, when, there, thy sweet heart, shall be openly and unreservedly mine. Pierre, Pierre, my Pierre!—only this thought, this hope, this sublime47 faith now supports me. Well was it, that the swoon, in which thou didst leave me, that long eternity48 ago—well was it, dear Pierre, that though I came out of it to stare and grope, yet it was only to stare and grope, and then I swooned again, and then groped again, and then again swooned. But all this was vacancy; little I clutched; nothing I knew; 'twas less than a dream, my Pierre, I had no conscious thought of thee, love; but felt an utter blank, a vacancy;—for wert thou not then utterly49 gone from me? and what could there then be left of poor Lucy?—But now, this long, long swoon is past; I come out again into life and light; but how could I come out, how could I any way be, my Pierre, if not in thee? So the moment I came out of the long, long swoon, straightway came to me the immortal50 faith in thee, which though it could offer no one slightest possible argument of mere51 sense in thy behalf, yet was it only the more mysteriously imperative for that, my Pierre. Know then, dearest Pierre, that with every most glaring earthly reason to disbelieve in thy love; I do yet wholly give myself up to the unshakable belief in it. For I feel, that always is love love, and can not know change, Pierre; I feel that heaven hath called me to a wonderful office toward thee. By throwing me into that long, long swoon,—during which, Martha tells me, I hardly ate altogether, three ordinary meals,—by that, heaven, I feel now, was preparing me for the superhuman office I speak of; was wholly estranging52 me from this earth, even while I yet lingered in it; was fitting me for a celestial53 mission in terrestrial elements. Oh, give to me of thine own dear strength! I am but a poor weak girl, dear Pierre; one that didst once love thee but too fondly, and with earthly frailty54. But now I shall be wafted55 far upward from that; shall soar up to thee, where thou sittest in thine own calm, sublime heaven of heroism56.
"Oh seek not to dissuade57 me, Pierre. Wouldst thou slay58 me, and slay me a million times more? and never have done with murdering me? I must come! I must come! God himself can not stay me, for it is He that commands me.—I know all that will follow my flight to thee;—my amazed mother, my enraged59 brothers, the whole taunting60 and despising world.—But thou art my mother and my brothers, and all the world, and all heaven, and all the universe to me—thou art my Pierre. One only being does this soul in me serve—and that is thee, Pierre.—So I am coming to thee, Pierre, and quickly;—to-morrow it shall be, and never more will I quit thee, Pierre. Speak thou immediately to her about me; thou shalt know best what to say. Is there not some connection between our families, Pierre? I have heard my mother sometimes trace such a thing out,—some indirect cousinship. If thou approvest then, thou shalt say to her, I am thy cousin, Pierre;—thy resolved and immovable nun-like cousin; vowed to dwell with thee forever; to serve thee and her, to guard thee and her without end. Prepare some little corner for me somewhere; but let it be very near. Ere I come, I shall send a few little things,—the tools I shall work by, Pierre, and so contribute to the welfare of all. Look for me then. I am coming! I am coming, my Pierre; for a deep, deep voice assures me, that all noble as thou art, Pierre, some terrible jeopardy61 involves thee, which my continual presence only can drive away. I am coming! I am coming!"
LUCY.
III.
WHEN surrounded by the base and mercenary crew, man, too long wonted to eye his race with a suspicious disdain62, suddenly is brushed by some angelical plume63 of humanity, and the human accents of superhuman love, and the human eyes of superhuman beauty and glory, suddenly burst on his being; then how wonderful and fearful the shock! It is as if the sky-cope were rent, and from the black valley of Jehoshaphat, he caught upper glimpses of the seraphim64 in the visible act of adoring.
He held the artless, angelical letter in his unrealizing hand; he started, and gazed round his room, and out at the window, commanding the bare, desolate65, all-forbidding quadrangle, and then asked himself whether this was the place that an angel should choose for its visit to earth. Then he felt a vast, out-swelling triumphantness, that the girl whose rare merits his intuitive soul had once so clearly and passionately discerned, should indeed, in this most tremendous of all trials, have acquitted66 herself with such infinite majesty67. Then again, he sunk utterly down from her, as in a bottomless gulf68, and ran shuddering69 through hideous70 galleries of despair, in pursuit of some vague, white shape, and lo! two unfathomable dark eyes met his, and Isabel stood mutely and mournfully, yet all-ravishingly before him.
He started up from his plank71; cast off his manifold wrappings, and crossed the floor to remove himself from the spot, where such sweet, such sublime, such terrific revelations had been made him.
Then a timid little rap was heard at the door.
"Pierre, Pierre; now that thou art risen, may I not come in—just for a moment, Pierre."
"Come in, Isabel."
She was approaching him in her wonted most strange and sweetly mournful manner, when he retreated a step from her, and held out his arm, not seemingly to invite, but rather as if to warn.
"Isabel, another is coming to me. Thou dost not speak, Isabel. She is coming to dwell with us so long as we live, Isabel. Wilt74 thou not speak?"
The girl still stood rooted; the eyes, which she had first fixed72 on him, still remained wide-openly riveted75.
"Wilt thou not speak, Isabel?" said Pierre, terrified at her frozen, immovable aspect, yet too terrified to manifest his own terror to her; and still coming slowly near her. She slightly raised one arm, as if to grasp some support; then turned her head slowly sideways toward the door by which she had entered; then her dry lips slowly parted—"My bed; lay me; lay me!"
The verbal effort broke her stiffening76 enchantment77 of frost; her thawed78 form sloped sidelong into the air; but Pierre caught her, and bore her into her own chamber, and laid her there on the bed.
"Fan me; fan me!"
He fanned the fainting flame of her life; by-and-by she turned slowly toward him.
"Oh! that feminine word from thy mouth, dear Pierre:—that she, that she!"
Pierre sat silent, fanning her.
"Oh, I want none in the world but thee, my brother—but thee, but thee! and, oh God! am I not enough for thee? Bare earth with my brother were all heaven for me; but all my life, all my full soul, contents not my brother."
Pierre spoke80 not; he but listened; a terrible, burning curiosity was in him, that made him as heartless. But still all that she had said thus far was ambiguous.
"Had I known—had I but known it before! Oh bitterly cruel to reveal it now. That she! That she!"
She raised herself suddenly, and almost fiercely confronted him.
"Either thou hast told thy secret, or she is not worthy81 the commonest love of man! Speak Pierre,—which?"
"The secret is still a secret, Isabel."
"Then is she worthless, Pierre, whoever she be—foolishly, madly fond!—Doth not the world know me for thy wife?—She shall not come! 'Twere a foul82 blot83 on thee and me. She shall not come! One look from me shall murder her, Pierre!"
"This is madness, Isabel. Look: now reason with me. Did I not before opening the letter, say to thee, that doubtless it was from some pretty young aunt or cousin?"
"Speak quick!—a cousin?"
"A cousin, Isabel."
"Yet, yet, that is not wholly out of the degree, I have heard. Tell me more, and quicker! more! more!"
"A very strange cousin, Isabel; almost a nun in her notions. Hearing of our mysterious exile, she, without knowing the cause, hath yet as mysteriously vowed herself ours—not so much mine, Isabel, as ours, ours—to serve us; and by some sweet heavenly fancying, to guide us and guard us here."
"Then, possibly, it may be all very well, Pierre, my brother—my brother—I can say that now?"
"Any,—all words are thine, Isabel; words and worlds with all their containings, shall be slaves to thee, Isabel."
She looked eagerly and inquiringly at him; then dropped her eyes, and touched his hand; then gazed again. "Speak so more to me, Pierre! Thou art my brother; art thou not my brother?—But tell me now more of—her; it is all newness, and utter strangeness to me, Pierre."
"I have said, my sweetest sister, that she has this wild, nun-like notion in her. She is willful in it; in this letter she vows84 she must and will come, and nothing on earth shall stay her. Do not have any sisterly jealousy85, then, my sister. Thou wilt find her a most gentle, unobtrusive, ministering girl, Isabel. She will never name the not-to-be-named things to thee; nor hint of them; because she knows them not. Still, without knowing the secret, she yet hath the vague, unspecializing sensation of the secret—the mystical presentiment86, somehow, of the secret. And her divineness hath drowned all womanly curiosity in her; so that she desires not, in any way, to verify the presentiment; content with the vague presentiment only; for in that, she thinks, the heavenly summons to come to us, lies;—even there, in that, Isabel. Dost thou now comprehend me?"
"I comprehend nothing, Pierre; there is nothing these eyes have ever looked upon, Pierre, that this soul comprehended. Ever, as now, do I go all a-grope amid the wide mysteriousness of things. Yes, she shall come; it is only one mystery the more. Doth she talk in her sleep, Pierre? Would it be well, if I slept with her, my brother?"
"On thy account; wishful for thy sake; to leave thee incommoded; and—and—not knowing precisely how things really are;—she probably anticipates and desires otherwise, my sister."
She gazed steadfastly87 at his outwardly firm, but not interiorly unfaltering aspect; and then dropped her glance in silence.
"Yes, she shall come, my brother; she shall come. But it weaves its thread into the general riddle88, my brother.—Hath she that which they call the memory, Pierre; the memory? Hath she that?"
"We all have the memory, my sister."
"Not all! not all!—poor Bell hath but very little. Pierre! I have seen her in some dream. She is fair-haired—blue eyes—she is not quite so tall as I, yet a very little slighter."
Pierre started. "Thou hast seen Lucy Tartan, at Saddle Meadows?"
"Is Lucy Tartan the name?—Perhaps, perhaps;—but also, in the dream, Pierre; she came, with her blue eyes turned beseechingly89 on me; she seemed as if persuading me from thee;—methought she was then more than thy cousin;—methought she was that good angel, which some say, hovers90 over every human soul; and methought—oh, methought that I was thy other,—thy other angel, Pierre. Look: see these eyes,—this hair—nay91, this cheek;—all dark, dark, dark,—and she—the blue-eyed—the fair-haired—oh, once the red-cheeked!"
She tossed her ebon tresses over her; she fixed her ebon eyes on him.
"Say, Pierre; doth not a funerealness invest me? Was ever hearse so plumed92?—Oh, God! that I had been born with blue eyes, and fair hair! Those make the livery of heaven! Heard ye ever yet of a good angel with dark eyes, Pierre?—no, no, no—all blue, blue, blue—heaven's own blue—the clear, vivid, unspeakable blue, which we see in June skies, when all clouds are swept by.—But the good angel shall come to thee, Pierre. Then both will be close by thee, my brother; and thou mayest perhaps elect,—elect!—She shall come; she shall come.—When is it to be, dear Pierre?"
"To-morrow, Isabel. So it is here written."
She fixed her eye on the crumpled93 billet in his hand. "It were vile94 to ask, but not wrong to suppose the asking.—Pierre,—no, I need not say it,—wouldst thou?"
"No; I would not let thee read it, my sister; I would not; because I have no right to—no right—no right;—that is it; no: I have no right. I will burn it this instant, Isabel."
He stepped from her into the adjoining room; threw the billet into the stove, and watching its last ashes, returned to Isabel.
She looked with endless intimations upon him.
"It is burnt, but not consumed; it is gone, but not lost. Through stove, pipe, and flue, it hath mounted in flame, and gone as a scroll95 to heaven! It shall appear again, my brother.—Woe96 is me—woe, woe!—woe is me, oh, woe! Do not speak to me, Pierre; leave me now. She shall come. The Bad angel shall tend the Good; she shall dwell with us, Pierre. Mistrust me not; her considerateness to me, shall be outdone by mine to her.—Let me be alone now, my brother."
IV.
THOUGH by the unexpected petition to enter his privacy—a petition he could scarce ever deny to Isabel, since she so religiously abstained97 from preferring it, unless for some very reasonable cause, Pierre, in the midst of those conflicting, secondary emotions, immediately following the first wonderful effect of Lucy's strange letter, had been forced to put on, toward Isabel, some air of assurance and understanding concerning its contents; yet at bottom, he was still a prey99 to all manner of devouring100 mysteries.
Soon, now, as he left the chamber of Isabel, these mysteriousnesses re-mastered him completely; and as he mechanically sat down in the dining-room chair, gently offered him by Delly—for the silent girl saw that some strangeness that sought stillness was in him;—Pierre's mind was revolving101 how it was possible, or any way conceivable, that Lucy should have been inspired with such seemingly wonderful presentiments102 of something assumed, or disguising, or non-substantial, somewhere and somehow, in his present most singular apparent position in the eye of world. The wild words of Isabel yet rang in his ears. It were an outrage103 upon all womanhood to imagine that Lucy, however yet devoted to him in her hidden heart, should be willing to come to him, so long as she supposed, with the rest of the world, that Pierre was an ordinarily married man. But how—what possible reason—what possible intimation could she have had to suspect the contrary, or to suspect any thing unsound? For neither at this present time, nor at any subsequent period, did Pierre, or could Pierre, possibly imagine that in her marvelous presentiments of Love she had any definite conceit104 of the precise nature of the secret which so unrevealingly and enchantedly105 wrapt him. But a peculiar thought passingly recurred106 to him here.
Within his social recollections there was a very remarkable107 case of a youth, who, while all but affianced to a beautiful girl—one returning his own throbbings with incipient108 passion—became somehow casually109 and momentarily betrayed into an imprudent manifested tenderness toward a second lady; or else, that second lady's deeply-concerned friends caused it to be made known to the poor youth, that such committal tenderness toward her he had displayed, nor had it failed to exert its natural effect upon her; certain it is, this second lady drooped110 and drooped, and came nigh to dying, all the while raving111 of the cruel infidelity of her supposed lover; so that those agonizing appeals, from so really lovely a girl, that seemed dying of grief for him, at last so moved the youth, that—morbidly disregardful of the fact, that inasmuch as two ladies claimed him, the prior lady had the best title to his hand—his conscience insanely upbraided112 him concerning the second lady; he thought that eternal woe would surely overtake him both here and hereafter if he did not renounce113 his first love—terrible as the effort would be both to him and her—and wed14 with the second lady; which he accordingly did; while, through his whole subsequent life, delicacy114 and honor toward his thus wedded115 wife, forbade that by explaining to his first love how it was with him in this matter, he should tranquilize her heart; and, therefore, in her complete ignorance, she believed that he was willfully and heartlessly false to her; and so came to a lunatic's death on his account.
This strange story of real life, Pierre knew to be also familiar to Lucy; for they had several times conversed116 upon it; and the first love of the demented youth had been a school-mate of Lucy's, and Lucy had counted upon standing98 up with her as bridesmaid. Now, the passing idea was self-suggested to Pierre, whether into Lucy's mind some such conceit as this, concerning himself and Isabel, might not possibly have stolen. But then again such a supposition proved wholly untenable in the end; for it did by no means suffice for a satisfactory solution of the absolute motive117 of the extraordinary proposed step of Lucy; nor indeed by any ordinary law of propriety118, did it at all seem to justify119 that step. Therefore, he know not what to think; hardly what to dream. Wonders, nay, downright miracles and no less were sung about Love; but here was the absolute miracle itself—the out-acted miracle. For infallibly certain he inwardly felt, that whatever her strange conceit; whatever her enigmatical delusion120; whatever her most secret and inexplicable121 motive; still Lucy in her own virgin122 heart remained transparently123 immaculate, without shadow of flaw or vein124. Nevertheless, what inconceivable conduct this was in her, which she in her letter so passionately proposed! Altogether, it amazed him; it confounded him.
Now, that vague, fearful feeling stole into him, that, rail as all atheists will, there is a mysterious, inscrutable divineness in the world—a God—a Being positively125 present everywhere;—nay, He is now in this room; the air did part when I here sat down. I displaced the Spirit then—condensed it a little off from this spot. He looked apprehensively126 around him; he felt overjoyed at the sight of the humanness of Delly.
Delly hesitatingly rose—"Shall I let any one in, sir?—I think it is Mr. Millthorpe's knock."
"Go and see—go and see"—said Pierre, vacantly.
The moment the door was opened, Millthorpe—for it was he—catching a glimpse of Pierre's seated form, brushed past Delly, and loudly entered the room.
"Ha, ha! well, my boy, how comes on the Inferno128? That is it you are writing; one is apt to look black while writing Infernoes; you always loved Dante. My lad! I have finished ten metaphysical treatises129; argued five cases before the court; attended all our society's meetings; accompanied our great Professor, Monsieur Volvoon, the lecturer, through his circuit in the philosophical130 saloons, sharing all the honors of his illustrious triumph; and by the way, let me tell you, Volvoon secretly gives me even more credit than is my due; for 'pon my soul, I did not help write more than one half, at most, of his Lectures; edited—anonymously, though—a learned, scientific work on 'The Precise Cause of the Modifications131 in the Undulatory Motion in Waves,' a posthumous132 work of a poor fellow—fine lad he was, too—a friend of mine. Yes, here I have been doing all this, while you still are hammering away at that one poor plaguy Inferno! Oh, there's a secret in dispatching these things; patience! patience! you will yet learn the secret. Time! time! I can't teach it to you, my boy, but Time can: I wish I could, but I can't."
There was another knock at the door.
"Oh!" cried Millthorpe, suddenly turning round to it, "I forgot, my boy. I came to tell you that there is a porter, with some queer things, inquiring for you. I happened to meet him down stairs in the corridors, and I told him to follow me up—I would show him the road; here he is; let him in, let him in, good Delly, my girl."
Thus far, the rattlings of Millthorpe, if producing any effect at all, had but stunned133 the averted134 Pierre. But now he started to his feet. A man with his hat on, stood in the door, holding an easel before him.
"Is this Mr. Glendinning's room, gentlemen?"
"Oh, come in, come in," cried Millthorpe, "all right."
"Oh! is that you, sir? well, well, then;" and the man set down the easel.
"Well, my boy," exclaimed Millthorpe to Pierre; "you are in the Inferno dream yet. Look; that's what people call an easel, my boy. An easel, an easel—not a weasel; you look at it as though you thought it a weasel. Come; wake up, wake up! You ordered it, I suppose, and here it is. Going to paint and illustrate135 the Inferno, as you go along, I suppose. Well, my friends tell me it is a great pity my own things aint illustrated136. But I can't afford it. There now is that Hymn137 to the Niger, which I threw into a pigeon-hole, a year or two ago—that would be fine for illustrations."
"Is it for Mr. Glendinning you inquire?" said Pierre now, in a slow, icy tone, to the porter.
"Mr. Glendinning, sir; all right, aint it?"
"Perfectly," said Pierre mechanically, and casting another strange, rapt, bewildered glance at the easel. "But something seems strangely wanting here. Ay, now I see, I see it:—Villain!—the vines! Thou hast torn the green heart-strings! Thou hast but left the cold skeleton of the sweet arbor138 wherein she once nestled! Thou besotted, heartless hind139 and fiend, dost thou so much as dream in thy shriveled liver of the eternal mischief140 thou hast done? Restore thou the green vines! untrample them, thou accursed!—Oh my God, my God, trampled141 vines pounded and crushed in all fibers142, how can they live over again, even though they be replanted! Curse thee, thou!—Nay, nay," he added moodily—"I was but wandering to myself." Then rapidly and mockingly—"Pardon, pardon!—porter; I most humbly143 crave144 thy most haughty145 pardon." Then imperiously—"Come, stir thyself, man; thou hast more below: bring all up."
"Oh certainly," smiled Millthorpe: "I'll look out for him; he's never really dangerous when I'm present; there, go!"
Two trunks now followed, with "L. T." blurredly marked upon the ends.
"Is that all, my man?" said Pierre, as the trunks were being put down before him; "well, how much?"—that moment his eyes first caught the blurred147 letters.
"Prepaid, sir; but no objection to more."
Pierre stood mute and unmindful, still fixedly eying the blurred letters; his body contorted, and one side drooping148, as though that moment half-way down-stricken with a paralysis149, and yet unconscious of the stroke.
His two companions, momentarily stood motionless in those respective attitudes, in which they had first caught sight of the remarkable change that had come over him. But, as if ashamed of having been thus affected150, Millthorpe summoning a loud, merry voice, advanced toward Pierre, and, tapping his shoulder, cried, "Wake up, wake up, my boy!—He says he is prepaid, but no objection to more."
"A curious young gentleman, is he not?" said Millthorpe lightly to the porter;—"Look you, my boy, I'll repeat:—He says he's prepaid, but no objection to more."
"Ah?—take that then," said Pierre, vacantly putting something into the porter's hand.
"And what shall I do with this, sir?" said the porter, staring.
"Drink a health; but not mine; that were mockery!"
"With a key, sir? This is a key you gave me."
"Ah!—well, you at least shall not have the thing that unlocks me. Give me the key, and take this."
"Ay, ay!—here's the chink! Thank'ee sir, thank'ee. This'll drink. I aint called a porter for nothing; Stout's the word; 2151 is my number; any jobs, call on me."
"'Pon my soul!" cried Millthorpe, gayly laughing, "if you aint writing an Inferno, then—but never mind. Porter! this gentleman is under medical treatment at present. You had better—ab'—you understand—'squatulate, porter! There, my boy, he is gone; I understand how to manage these fellows; there's a trick in it, my boy—an off-handed sort of what d'ye call it?—you understand—the trick! the trick!—the whole world's a trick. Know the trick of it, all's right; don't know, all's wrong. Ha! ha!"
"The porter is gone then?" said Pierre, calmly. "Well, Mr. Millthorpe, you will have the goodness to follow him."
"Rare joke! admirable!—Good morning, sir. Ha, ha!"
And with his unruffleable hilariousness, Millthorpe quitted the room.
But hardly had the door closed upon him, nor had he yet removed his hand from its outer knob, when suddenly it swung half open again, and thrusting his fair curly head within, Millthorpe cried: "By the way, my boy, I have a word for you. You know that greasy153 fellow who has been dunning you so of late. Well, be at rest there; he's paid. I was suddenly made flush yesterday:—regular flood-tide. You can return it any day, you know—no hurry; that's all.—But, by the way,—as you look as though you were going to have company here—just send for me in case you want to use me—any bedstead to put up, or heavy things to be lifted about. Don't you and the women do it, now, mind! That's all again. Addios, my boy. Take care of yourself!"
"Stay!" cried Pierre, reaching forth45 one hand, but moving neither foot—"Stay!"—in the midst of all his prior emotions struck by these singular traits in Millthorpe. But the door was abruptly154 closed; and singing Fa, la, la: Millthorpe in his seedy coat went tripping down the corridor.
"Plus heart, minus head," muttered Pierre, his eyes fixed on the door. "Now, by heaven! the god that made Millthorpe was both a better and a greater than the god that made Napoleon or Byron.—Plus head, minus heart—Pah! the brains grow maggoty without a heart; but the heart's the preserving salt itself, and can keep sweet without the head.—Delly!"
"Sir?"
"My cousin Miss Tartan is coming here to live with us, Delly. That easel,—those trunks are hers."
"Good heavens!—coming here?—your cousin?—Miss Tartan?"
"Yes, I thought you must have heard of her and me;—but it was broken off; Delly."
"Sir? Sir?"
"I have no explanation, Delly; and from you, I must have no amazement155. My cousin,—mind, my cousin, Miss Tartan, is coming to live with us. The next room to this, on the other side there, is unoccupied. That room shall be hers. You must wait upon her, too, Delly."
"Certainly sir, certainly; I will do any thing;" said Delly trembling; "but,—but—does Mrs. Glendin-din—does my mistress know this?"
"My wife knows all"—said Pierre sternly. "I will go down and get the key of the room; and you must sweep it out."
"What is to be put into it, sir?" said Delly. "Miss Tartan—why, she is used to all sorts of fine things,—rich carpets—wardrobes—mirrors—curtains;—why, why, why!"
"Look," said Pierre, touching156 an old rug with his foot;—"here is a bit of carpet; drag that into her room; here is a chair, put that in; and for a bed,—ay, ay," he muttered to himself; "I have made it for her, and she ignorantly lies on it now!—as made—so lie. Oh God!"
"Hark! my mistress is calling"—cried Delly, moving toward the opposite room.
"Stay!"—cried Pierre, grasping her shoulder; "if both called at one time from these opposite chambers157, and both were swooning, which door would you first fly to?"
The girl gazed at him uncomprehendingly and affrighted a moment; and then said,—"This one, sir"—out of mere confusion perhaps, putting her hand on Isabel's latch158.
"It is well. Now go."
He stood in an intent unchanged attitude till Delly returned.
"How is my wife, now?"
Again startled by the peculiar emphasis placed on the magical word wife, Delly, who had long before this, been occasionally struck with the infrequency of his using that term; she looked at him perplexedly, and said half-unconsciously—
"Your wife, sir?"
"Ay, is she not?"
"God grant that she be—Oh, 'tis most cruel to ask that of poor, poor Delly, sir!"
"Tut for thy tears! Never deny it again then!—I swear to heaven, she is!"
With these wild words, Pierre seized his hat, and departed the room, muttering something about bringing the key of the additional chamber.
As the door closed on him, Delly dropped on her knees. She lifted her head toward the ceiling, but dropped it again, as if tyrannically awed79 downward, and bent159 it low over, till her whole form tremulously cringed to the floor.
"God that made me, and that wast not so hard to me as wicked Delly deserved,—God that made me, I pray to thee! ward28 it off from me, if it be coming to me. Be not deaf to me; these stony160 walls—Thou canst hear through them. Pity! pity!—mercy, my God!—If they are not married; if I, penitentially seeking to be pure, am now but the servant to a greater sin, than I myself committed: then, pity! pity! pity! pity! pity! Oh God that made me,—See me, see me here—what can Delly do? If I go hence, none will take me in but villains161. If I stay, then—for stay I must—and they be not married,—then pity, pity, pity, pity, pity!"
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
eventual
|
|
| adj.最后的，结局的，最终的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
agonizing
|
|
| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
tormenting
|
|
| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
sundered
|
|
| v.隔开，分开( sunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
imperative
|
|
| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
passionately
|
|
| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
bustling
|
|
| adj.喧闹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
sane
|
|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
moody
|
|
| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
intrude
|
|
| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
banish
|
|
| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
wed
|
|
| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
remit
|
|
| v.汇款，汇寄；豁免（债务），免除（处罚等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
intensity
|
|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
prostration
|
|
| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
phantom
|
|
| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
shun
|
|
| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
imploring
|
|
| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
devoured
|
|
| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
sinister
|
|
| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
faculties
|
|
| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
respite
|
|
| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
ward
|
|
| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
dart
|
|
| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
disastrous
|
|
| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
assented
|
|
| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
vacancy
|
|
| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
scribble
|
|
| v.潦草地书写，乱写，滥写；n.潦草的写法，潦草写成的东西，杂文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
vehemently
|
|
| adv. 热烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
vowed
|
|
| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
vow
|
|
| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
encumbrance
|
|
| n.妨碍物，累赘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
nun
|
|
| n.修女，尼姑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
splendor
|
|
| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
eternity
|
|
| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
immortal
|
|
| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
estranging
|
|
| v.使疏远（尤指家庭成员之间）( estrange的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
celestial
|
|
| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
frailty
|
|
| n.脆弱；意志薄弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
wafted
|
|
| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
heroism
|
|
| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
dissuade
|
|
| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
slay
|
|
| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
enraged
|
|
| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
taunting
|
|
| 嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
jeopardy
|
|
| n.危险；危难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
disdain
|
|
| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
plume
|
|
| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
seraphim
|
|
| n.六翼天使(seraph的复数)；六翼天使( seraph的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
acquitted
|
|
| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
gulf
|
|
| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
shuddering
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
plank
|
|
| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
fixedly
|
|
| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
wilt
|
|
| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
riveted
|
|
| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
stiffening
|
|
| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
enchantment
|
|
| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
thawed
|
|
| 解冻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
awed
|
|
| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
blot
|
|
| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
vows
|
|
| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
presentiment
|
|
| n.预感，预觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
steadfastly
|
|
| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
riddle
|
|
| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
beseechingly
|
|
| adv. 恳求地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
hovers
|
|
| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
plumed
|
|
| 饰有羽毛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
crumpled
|
|
| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
vile
|
|
| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
scroll
|
|
| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
woe
|
|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
abstained
|
|
| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
devouring
|
|
| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
revolving
|
|
| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
presentiments
|
|
| n.（对不祥事物的）预感( presentiment的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
outrage
|
|
| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
conceit
|
|
| n.自负，自高自大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
enchantedly
|
|
| 使欣喜，使心醉( enchant的过去式和过去分词 )； 用魔法迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
recurred
|
|
| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
incipient
|
|
| adj.起初的，发端的，初期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
casually
|
|
| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
drooped
|
|
| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
raving
|
|
| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
upbraided
|
|
| v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
renounce
|
|
| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
wedded
|
|
| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
conversed
|
|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
propriety
|
|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
transparently
|
|
| 明亮地，显然地，易觉察地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
vein
|
|
| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
apprehensively
|
|
| adv.担心地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
inferno
|
|
| n.火海；地狱般的场所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
treatises
|
|
| n.专题著作，专题论文，专著( treatise的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
philosophical
|
|
| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
modifications
|
|
| n.缓和( modification的名词复数 )；限制；更改；改变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
posthumous
|
|
| adj.遗腹的；父亡后出生的；死后的，身后的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
stunned
|
|
| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
illustrate
|
|
| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
illustrated
|
|
| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
hymn
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
arbor
|
|
| n.凉亭；树木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
hind
|
|
| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
trampled
|
|
| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
fibers
|
|
| 光纤( fiber的名词复数 )； （织物的）质地； 纤维，纤维物质 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
crave
|
|
| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
haughty
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
astounded
|
|
| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
blurred
|
|
| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
drooping
|
|
| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
paralysis
|
|
| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
jabber
|
|
| v.快而不清楚地说；n.吱吱喳喳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
coffin
|
|
| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
greasy
|
|
| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
chambers
|
|
| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
latch
|
|
| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
stony
|
|
| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
villains
|
|
| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |