"Here, in secret?" exclaimed Septimius.
"Yes; there is no consecration4 in your Puritan burial-grounds," said the dying youth, some of that queer narrowness of English Churchism coming into his mind. "So bury me here, in my soldier's dress. Ah! and my watch! I have done with time, and you, perhaps, have a long lease of it; so take it, not as spoil, but as my parting gift. And that reminds me of one other thing. Open that pocket-book which you have in your hand."
Septimius did so, and by the officer's direction took from one of its compartments5 a folded paper, closely written in a crabbed6 hand; it was considerably7 worn in the outer folds, but not within. There was also a small silver key in the pocket-book.
"I leave it with you," said the officer; "it was given me by an uncle, a learned man of science, who intended me great good by what he there wrote. Reap the profit, if you can. Sooth to say, I never read beyond the first lines of the paper."
Septimius was surprised, or deeply impressed, to see that through this paper, as well as through the miniature, had gone his fatal bullet,–straight through the midst; and some of the young man's blood, saturating8 his dress, had wet the paper all over. He hardly thought himself likely to derive9 any good from what it had cost a human life, taken (however uncriminally) by his own hands, to obtain.
"Is there anything more that I can do for you?" asked he, with genuine sympathy and sorrow, as he knelt by his fallen foe's side.
"Nothing, nothing, I believe," said he. "There was one thing I might have confessed; if there were a holy man here, I might have confessed, and asked his prayers; for though I have lived few years, it has been long enough to do a great wrong! But I will try to pray in my secret soul. Turn my face towards the trunk of the tree, for I have taken my last look at the world. There, let me be now."
Septimius did as the young man requested, and then stood leaning against one of the neighboring pines, watching his victim with a tender concern that made him feel as if the convulsive throes that passed through his frame were felt equally in his own. There was a murmuring from the youth's lips which seemed to Septimius swift, soft, and melancholy10, like the voice of a child when it has some naughtiness to confess to its mother at bedtime; contrite11, pleading, yet trusting. So it continued for a few minutes; then there was a sudden start and struggle, as if he were striving to rise; his eyes met those of Septimius with a wild, troubled gaze, but as the latter caught him in his arms, he was dead. Septimius laid the body softly down on the leaf-strewn earth, and tried, as he had heard was the custom with the dead, to compose the features distorted by the dying agony. He then flung himself on the ground at a little distance, and gave himself up to the reflections suggested by the strange occurrences of the last hour.
He had taken a human life; and, however the circumstances might excuse him,–might make the thing even something praiseworthy, and that would be called patriotic,–still, it was not at once that a fresh country youth could see anything but horror in the blood with which his hand was stained. It seemed so dreadful to have reduced this gay, animated14, beautiful being to a lump of dead flesh for the flies to settle upon, and which in a few hours would begin to decay; which must be put forthwith into the earth, lest it should be a horror to men's eyes; that delicious beauty for woman to love; that strength and courage to make him famous among men,–all come to nothing; all probabilities of life in one so gifted; the renown16, the position, the pleasures, the profits, the keen ecstatic joy,–this never could be made up,–all ended quite; for the dark doubt descended17 upon Septimius, that, because of the very fitness that was in this youth to enjoy this world, so much the less chance was thereof his being fit for any other world. What could it do for him there,–this beautiful grace and elegance18 of feature,–where there was no form, nothing tangible19 nor visible? what good that readiness and aptness for associating with all created things, doing his part, acting20, enjoying, when, under the changed conditions of another state of being, all this adaptedness would fail? Had he been gifted with permanence on earth, there could not have been a more admirable creature than this young man; but as his fate had turned out, he was a mere21 grub, an illusion, something that nature had held out in mockery, and then withdrawn22. A weed might grow from his dust now; that little spot on the barren hill-top, where he had desired to be buried, would be greener for some years to come, and that was all the difference. Septimius could not get beyond the earthiness; his feeling was as if, by an act of violence, he had forever cut off a happy human existence. And such was his own love of life and clinging to it, peculiar24 to dark, sombre natures, and which lighter25 and gayer ones can never know, that he shuddered26 at his deed, and at himself, and could with difficulty bear to be alone with the corpse27 of his victim,–trembled at the thought of turning his face towards him.
Yet he did so, because he could not endure the imagination that the dead youth was turning his eyes towards him as he lay; so he came and stood beside him, looking down into his white, upturned face. But it was wonderful! What a change had come over it since, only a few moments ago, he looked at that death-contorted countenance28! Now there was a high and sweet expression upon it, of great joy and surprise, and yet a quietude diffused29 throughout, as if the peace being so very great was what had surprised him. The expression was like a light gleaming and glowing within him. Septimius had often, at a certain space of time after sunset, looking westward30, seen a living radiance in the sky,–the last light of the dead day that seemed just the counterpart of this death-light in the young man's face. It was as if the youth were just at the gate of heaven, which, swinging softly open, let the inconceivable glory of the blessed city shine upon his face, and kindle31 it up with gentle, undisturbing astonishment32 and purest joy. It was an expression contrived33 by God's providence34 to comfort; to overcome all the dark auguries35 that the physical ugliness of death inevitably36 creates, and to prove by the divine glory on the face, that the ugliness is a delusion37. It was as if the dead man himself showed his face out of the sky, with heaven's blessing38 on it, and bade the afflicted39 be of good cheer, and believe in immortality40.
Septimius remembered the young man's injunctions to bury him there, on the hill, without uncovering the body; and though it seemed a sin and shame to cover up that beautiful body with earth of the grave, and give it to the worm, yet he resolved to obey.
Be it confessed that, beautiful as the dead form looked, and guiltless as Septimius must be held in causing his death, still he felt as if he should be eased when it was under the ground. He hastened down to the house, and brought up a shovel41 and a pickaxe, and began his unwonted task of grave-digging, delving43 earnestly a deep pit, sometimes pausing in his toil44, while the sweat-drops poured from him, to look at the beautiful clay that was to occupy it. Sometimes he paused, too, to listen to the shots that pealed45 in the far distance, towards the east, whither the battle had long since rolled out of reach and almost out of hearing. It seemed to have gathered about itself the whole life of the land, attending it along its bloody46 course in a struggling throng47 of shouting, shooting men, so still and solitary48 was everything left behind it. It seemed the very midland solitude49 of the world where Septimius was delving at the grave. He and his dead were alone together, and he was going to put the body under the sod, and be quite alone.
The grave was now deep, and Septimius was stooping down into its depths among dirt and pebbles50, levelling off the bottom, which he considered to be profound enough to hide the young man's mystery forever, when a voice spoke51 above him; a solemn, quiet voice, which he knew well.
"Septimius! what are you doing here?"
He looked up and saw the minister.
"I have slain52 a man in fair fight," answered he, "and am about to bury him as he requested. I am glad you are come. You, reverend sir, can fitly say a prayer at his obsequies. I am glad for my own sake; for it is very lonely and terrible to be here."
He climbed out of the grave, and, in reply to the minister's inquiries53, communicated to him the events of the morning, and the youth's strange wish to be buried here, without having his remains54 subjected to the hands of those who would prepare it for the grave. The minister hesitated.
"At an ordinary time," said he, "such a singular request would of course have to be refused. Your own safety, the good and wise rules that make it necessary that all things relating to death and burial should be done publicly and in order, would forbid it."
"Yes," replied Septimius; "but, it may be, scores of men will fall to-day, and be flung into hasty graves without funeral rites55; without its ever being known, perhaps, what mother has lost her son. I cannot but think that I ought to perform the dying request of the youth whom I have slain. He trusted in me not to uncover his body myself, nor to betray it to the hands of others."
"A singular request," said the good minister, gazing with deep interest at the beautiful dead face, and graceful56, slender, manly57 figure. "What could have been its motive58? But no matter. I think, Septimius, that you are bound to obey his request; indeed, having promised him, nothing short of an impossibility should prevent your keeping your faith. Let us lose no time, then."
With few but deeply solemn rites the young stranger was laid by the minister and the youth who slew59 him in his grave. A prayer was made, and then Septimius, gathering60 some branches and twigs61, spread them over the face that was turned upward from the bottom of the pit, into which the sun gleamed downward, throwing its rays so as almost to touch it. The twigs partially62 hid it, but still its white shone through. Then the minister threw a handful of earth upon it, and, accustomed as he was to burials, tears fell from his eyes along with the mould.
"It is sad," said he, "this poor young man, coming from opulence63, no doubt, a dear English home, to die here for no end, one of the first-fruits of a bloody war,–so much privately64 sacrificed. But let him rest, Septimius. I am sorry that he fell by your hand, though it involves no shadow of a crime. But death is a thing too serious not to melt into the nature of a man like you."
"It does not weigh upon my conscience, I think," said Septimius; "though I cannot but feel sorrow, and wish my hand were as clean as yesterday. It is, indeed, a dreadful thing to take human life."
"It is a most serious thing," replied the minister; "but perhaps we are apt to over-estimate the importance of death at any particular moment. If the question were whether to die or to live forever, then, indeed, scarcely anything should justify65 the putting a fellow-creature to death. But since it only shortens his earthly life, and brings a little forward a change which, since God permits it, is, we may conclude, as fit to take place then as at any other time, it alters the case. I often think that there are many things that occur to us in our daily life, many unknown crises, that are more important to us than this mysterious circumstance of death, which we deem the most important of all. All we understand of it is, that it takes the dead person away from our knowledge of him, which, while we live with him, is so very scanty66."
"You estimate at nothing, it seems, his earthly life, which might have been so happy."
"At next to nothing," said the minister; "since, as I have observed, it must, at any rate, have closed so soon."
Septimius thought of what the young man, in his last moments, had said of his prospect67 or opportunity of living a life of interminable length, and which prospect he had bequeathed to himself. But of this he did not speak to the minister, being, indeed, ashamed to have it supposed that he would put any serious weight on such a bequest68, although it might be that the dark enterprise of his nature had secretly seized upon this idea, and, though yet sane69 enough to be influenced by a fear of ridicule70, was busy incorporating it with his thoughts.
So Septimius smoothed down the young stranger's earthy bed, and returned to his home, where he hung up the sword over the mantel-piece in his study, and hung the gold watch, too, on a nail,–the first time he had ever had possession of such a thing. Nor did he now feel altogether at ease in his mind about keeping it,–the time-measurer of one whose mortal life he had cut off. A splendid watch it was, round as a turnip71. There seems to be a natural right in one who has slain a man to step into his vacant place in all respects; and from the beginning of man's dealings with man this right has been practically recognized, whether among warriors72 or robbers, as paramount73 to every other. Yet Septimius could not feel easy in availing himself of this right. He therefore resolved to keep the watch, and even the sword and fusil,–which were less questionable74 spoils of war,–only till he should be able to restore them to some representative of the young officer. The contents of the purse, in accordance with the request of the dying youth, he would expend75 in relieving the necessities of those whom the war (now broken out, and of which no one could see the limit) might put in need of it. The miniature, with its broken and shattered face, that had so vainly interposed itself between its wearer and death, had been sent to its address.
But as to the mysterious document, the written paper, that he had laid aside without unfolding it, but with a care that betokened76 more interest in it than in either gold or weapon, or even in the golden representative of that earthly time on which he set so high a value. There was something tremulous in his touch of it; it seemed as if he were afraid of it by the mode in which he hid it away, and secured himself from it, as it were.
This done, the air of the room, the low-ceilinged eastern room where he studied and thought, became too close for him, and he hastened out; for he was full of the unshaped sense of all that had befallen, and the perception of the great public event of a broken-out war was intermixed with that of what he had done personally in the great struggle that was beginning. He longed, too, to know what was the news of the battle that had gone rolling onward77 along the hitherto peaceful country road, converting everywhere (this demon78 of war, we mean), with one blast of its red sulphurous breath, the peaceful husbandman to a soldier thirsting for blood. He turned his steps, therefore, towards the village, thinking it probable that news must have arrived either of defeat or victory, from messengers or fliers, to cheer or sadden the old men, the women, and the children, who alone perhaps remained there.
But Septimius did not get to the village. As he passed along by the cottage that has been already described, Rose Garfield was standing79 at the door, peering anxiously forth15 to know what was the issue of the conflict,–as it has been woman's fate to do from the beginning of the world, and is so still. Seeing Septimius, she forgot the restraint that she had hitherto kept herself under, and, flying at him like a bird, she cried out, "Septimius, dear Septimius, where have you been? What news do you bring? You look as if you had seen some strange and dreadful thing."
"Ah, is it so? Does my face tell such stories?" exclaimed the young man. "I did not mean it should. Yes, Rose, I have seen and done such things as change a man in a moment."
"Then you have been in this terrible fight," said Rose.
"Yes, Rose, I have had my part in it," answered Septimius.
He was on the point of relieving his overburdened mind by telling her what had happened no farther off than on the hill above them; but, seeing her excitement, and recollecting80 her own momentary81 interview with the young officer, and the forced intimacy82 and link that had been established between them by the kiss, he feared to agitate83 her further by telling her that that gay and beautiful young man had since been slain, and deposited in a bloody grave by his hands. And yet the recollection of that kiss caused a thrill of vengeful joy at the thought that the perpetrator had since expiated84 his offence with his life, and that it was himself that did it, so deeply was Septimius's Indian nature of revenge and blood incorporated with that of more peaceful forefathers85, although Septimius had grace enough to chide86 down that bloody spirit, feeling that it made him, not a patriot12, but a murderer.
"Ah," said Rose, shuddering87, "it is awful when we must kill one another! And who knows where it will end?"
"With me it will end here, Rose," said Septimius. "It may be lawful88 for any man, even if he have devoted89 himself to God, or however peaceful his pursuits, to fight to the death when the enemy's step is on the soil of his home; but only for that perilous90 juncture91, which passed, he should return to his own way of peace. I have done a terrible thing for once, dear Rose, one that might well trace a dark line through all my future life; but henceforth I cannot think it my duty to pursue any further a work for which my studies and my nature unfit me."
"Oh no! Oh no!" said Rose; "never! and you a minister, or soon to be one. There must be some peacemakers left in the world, or everything will turn to blood and confusion; for even women grow dreadfully fierce in these times. My old grandmother laments92 her bedriddenness, because, she says, she cannot go to cheer on the people against the enemy. But she remembers the old times of the Indian wars, when the women were as much in danger of death as the men, and so were almost as fierce as they, and killed men sometimes with their own hands. But women, nowadays, ought to be gentler; let the men be fierce, if they must, except you, and such as you, Septimius."
"Ah, dear Rose," said Septimius, "I have not the kind and sweet impulses that you speak of. I need something to soften93 and warm my cold, hard life; something to make me feel how dreadful this time of warfare94 is. I need you, dear Rose, who are all kindness of heart and mercy."
And here Septimius, hurried away by I know not what excitement of the time,–the disturbed state of the country, his own ebullition of passion, the deed he had done, the desire to press one human being close to his life, because he had shed the blood of another, his half-formed purposes, his shapeless impulses; in short, being affected95 by the whole stir of his nature,–spoke to Rose of love, and with an energy that, indeed, there was no resisting when once it broke bounds. And Rose, whose maiden96 thoughts, to say the truth, had long dwelt upon this young man,–admiring him for a certain dark beauty, knowing him familiarly from childhood, and yet having the sense, that is so bewitching, of remoteness, intermixed with intimacy, because he was so unlike herself; having a woman's respect for scholarship, her imagination the more impressed by all in him that she could not comprehend,–Rose yielded to his impetuous suit, and gave him the troth that he requested. And yet it was with a sort of reluctance97 and drawing back; her whole nature, her secretest heart, her deepest womanhood, perhaps, did not consent. There was something in Septimius, in his wild, mixed nature, the monstrousness98 that had grown out of his hybrid99 race, the black infusions100, too, which melancholic101 men had left there, the devilishness that had been symbolized102 in the popular regard about his family, that made her shiver, even while she came the closer to him for that very dread13. And when he gave her the kiss of betrothment her lips grew white. If it had not been in the day of turmoil104, if he had asked her in any quiet time, when Rose's heart was in its natural mood, it may well be that, with tears and pity for him, and half-pity for herself, Rose would have told Septimius that she did not think she could love him well enough to be his wife.
And how was it with Septimius? Well; there was a singular correspondence in his feelings to those of Rose Garfield. At first, carried away by a passion that seized him all unawares, and seemed to develop itself all in a moment, he felt, and so spoke to Rose, so pleaded his suit, as if his whole earthly happiness depended on her consent to be his bride. It seemed to him that her love would be the sunshine in the gloomy dungeon105 of his life. But when her bashful, downcast, tremulous consent was given, then immediately came a strange misgiving106 into his mind. He felt as if he had taken to himself something good and beautiful doubtless in itself, but which might be the exchange for one more suited to him, that he must now give up. The intellect, which was the prominent point in Septimius, stirred and heaved, crying out vaguely107 that its own claims, perhaps, were ignored in this contract. Septimius had perhaps no right to love at all; if he did, it should have been a woman of another make, who could be his intellectual companion and helper. And then, perchance,–perchance,–there was destined108 for him some high, lonely path, in which, to make any progress, to come to any end, he must walk unburdened by the affections. Such thoughts as these depressed109 and chilled (as many men have found them, or similar ones, to do) the moment of success that should have been the most exulting110 in the world. And so, in the kiss which these two lovers had exchanged there was, after all, something that repelled111; and when they parted they wondered at their strange states of mind, but would not acknowledge that they had done a thing that ought not to have been done. Nothing is surer, however, than that, if we suffer ourselves to be drawn23 into too close proximity112 with people, if we over-estimate the degree of our proper tendency towards them, or theirs towards us, a reaction is sure to follow.
Septimius quitted Rose, and resumed his walk towards the village. But now it was near sunset, and there began to be straggling passengers along the road, some of whom came slowly, as if they had received hurts; all seemed wearied. Among them one form appeared which Rose soon found that she recognized. It was Robert Hagburn, with a shattered firelock in his hand, broken at the butt113, and his left arm bound with a fragment of his shirt, and suspended in a handkerchief; and he walked weariedly, but brightened up at sight of Rose, as if ashamed to let her see how exhausted114 and dispirited he was. Perhaps he expected a smile, at least a more earnest reception than he met; for Rose, with the restraint of what had recently passed drawing her back, merely went gravely a few steps to meet him, and said, "Robert, how tired and pale you look! Are you hurt?"
"It is of no consequence," replied Robert Hagburn; "a scratch on my left arm from an officer's sword, with whose head my gunstock made instant acquaintance. It is no matter, Rose; you do not care for it, nor do I either."
"How can you say so, Robert?" she replied. But without more greeting he passed her, and went into his own house, where, flinging himself into a chair, he remained in that despondency that men generally feel after a fight, even if a successful one.
Septimius, the next day, lost no time in writing a letter to the direction given him by the young officer, conveying a brief account of the latter's death and burial, and a signification that he held in readiness to give up certain articles of property, at any future time, to his representatives, mentioning also the amount of money contained in the purse, and his intention, in compliance115 with the verbal will of the deceased, to expend it in alleviating116 the wants of prisoners. Having so done, he went up on the hill to look at the grave, and satisfy himself that the scene there had not been a dream; a point which he was inclined to question, in spite of the tangible evidence of the sword and watch, which still hung over the mantel-piece. There was the little mound117, however, looking so incontrovertibly a grave, that it seemed to him as if all the world must see it, and wonder at the fact of its being there, and spend their wits in conjecturing118 who slept within; and, indeed, it seemed to give the affair a questionable character, this secret burial, and he wondered and wondered why the young man had been so earnest about it. Well; there was the grave; and, moreover, on the leafy earth, where the dying youth had lain, there were traces of blood, which no rain had yet washed away. Septimius wondered at the easiness with which he acquiesced119 in this deed; in fact, he felt in a slight degree the effects of that taste of blood, which makes the slaying120 of men, like any other abuse, sometimes become a passion. Perhaps it was his Indian trait stirring in him again; at any rate, it is not delightful121 to observe how readily man becomes a blood-shedding animal.
Looking down from the hill-top, he saw the little dwelling122 of Rose Garfield, and caught a glimpse of the girl herself, passing the windows or the door, about her household duties, and listened to hear the singing which usually broke out of her. But Rose, for some reason or other, did not warble as usual this morning. She trod about silently, and somehow or other she was translated out of the ideality in which Septimius usually enveloped123 her, and looked little more than a New England girl, very pretty indeed, but not enough so perhaps to engross124 a man's life and higher purposes into her own narrow circle; so, at least, Septimius thought. Looking a little farther,–down into the green recess125 where stood Robert Hagburn's house,–he saw that young man, looking very pale, with his arm in a sling126 sitting listlessly on a half-chopped log of wood which was not likely soon to be severed127 by Robert's axe42. Like other lovers, Septimius had not failed to be aware that Robert Hagburn was sensible to Rose Garfield's attractions; and now, as he looked down on them both from his elevated position, he wondered if it would not have been better for Rose's happiness if her thoughts and virgin128 fancies had settled on that frank, cheerful, able, wholesome129 young man, instead of on himself, who met her on so few points; and, in relation to whom, there was perhaps a plant that had its root in the grave, that would entwine itself around his whole life, overshadowing it with dark, rich foliage130 and fruit that he alone could feast upon.
For the sombre imagination of Septimius, though he kept it as much as possible away from the subject, still kept hinting and whispering, still coming back to the point, still secretly suggesting that the event of yesterday was to have momentous131 consequences upon his fate.
He had not yet looked at the paper which the young man bequeathed to him; he had laid it away unopened; not that he felt little interest in it, but, on the contrary, because he looked for some blaze of light which had been reserved for him alone. The young officer had been only the bearer of it to him, and he had come hither to die by his hand, because that was the readiest way by which he could deliver his message. How else, in the infinite chances of human affairs, could the document have found its way to its destined possessor? Thus mused132 Septimius, pacing to and fro on the level edge of his hill-top, apart from the world, looking down occasionally into it, and seeing its love and interest away from him; while Rose, it might be looking upward, saw occasionally his passing figure, and trembled at the nearness and remoteness that existed between them; and Robert Hagburn looked too, and wondered what manner of man it was who, having won Rose Garfield (for his instinct told him this was so), could keep that distance between her and him, thinking remote thoughts.
Yes; there was Septimius treading a path of his own on the hill-top; his feet began only that morning to wear it in his walking to and fro, sheltered from the lower world, except in occasional glimpses, by the birches and locusts133 that threw up their foliage from the hill-side. But many a year thereafter he continued to tread that path, till it was worn deep with his footsteps and trodden down hard; and it was believed by some of his superstitious134 neighbors that the grass and little shrubs135 shrank away from his path, and made it wider on that account; because there was something in the broodings that urged him to and fro along the path alien to nature and its productions. There was another opinion, too, that an invisible fiend, one of his relatives by blood, walked side by side with him, and so made the pathway wider than his single footsteps could have made it. But all this was idle, and was, indeed, only the foolish babble136 that hovers137 like a mist about men who withdraw themselves from the throng, and involve themselves in unintelligible138 pursuits and interests of their own. For the present, the small world, which alone knew of him, considered Septimius as a studious young man, who was fitting for the ministry139, and was likely enough to do credit to the ministerial blood that he drew from his ancestors, in spite of the wild stream that the Indian priest had contributed; and perhaps none the worse, as a clergyman, for having an instinctive140 sense of the nature of the Devil from his traditionary claims to partake of his blood. But what strange interest there is in tracing out the first steps by which we enter on a career that influences our life; and this deep-worn pathway on the hill-top, passing and repassing by a grave, seemed to symbolize103 it in Septimius's case.
I suppose the morbidness141 of Septimius's disposition142 was excited by the circumstances which had put the paper into his possession. Had he received it by post, it might not have impressed him; he might possibly have looked over it with ridicule, and tossed it aside. But he had taken it from a dying man, and he felt that his fate was in it; and truly it turned out to be so. He waited for a fit opportunity to open it and read it; he put it off as if he cared nothing about it; perhaps it was because he cared so much. Whenever he had a happy time with Rose (and, moody143 as Septimius was, such happy moments came), he felt that then was not the time to look into the paper,–it was not to be read in a happy mood.
Once he asked Rose to walk with him on the hilltop.
"Why, what a path you have worn here, Septimius!" said the girl. "You walk miles and miles on this one spot, and get no farther on than when you started. That is strange walking!"
"I don't know, Rose; I sometimes think I get a little onward. But it is sweeter–yes, much sweeter, I find–to have you walking on this path here than to be treading it alone."
"I am glad of that," said Rose; "for sometimes, when I look up here, and see you through the branches, with your head bent144 down, and your hands clasped behind you, treading, treading, treading, always in one way, I wonder whether I am at all in your mind. I don't think, Septimius," added she, looking up in his face and smiling, "that ever a girl had just such a young man for a lover."
"No young man ever had such a girl, I am sure," said Septimius; "so sweet, so good for him, so prolific145 of good influences!"
"Ah, it makes me think well of myself to bring such a smile into your face! But, Septimius, what is this little hillock here so close to our path? Have you heaped it up here for a seat? Shall we sit down upon it for an instant?–for it makes me more tired to walk backward and forward on one path than to go straight forward a much longer distance."
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
loath
|
|
| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
graveyards
|
|
| 墓地( graveyard的名词复数 )； 垃圾场； 废物堆积处； 收容所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
slayer
|
|
| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
consecration
|
|
| n.供献，奉献，献祭仪式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
compartments
|
|
| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
crabbed
|
|
| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
saturating
|
|
| 浸湿，浸透( saturate的现在分词 )； 使…大量吸收或充满某物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
derive
|
|
| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
contrite
|
|
| adj.悔悟了的，后悔的，痛悔的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
patriot
|
|
| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
renown
|
|
| n.声誉，名望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
elegance
|
|
| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
tangible
|
|
| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
withdrawn
|
|
| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
lighter
|
|
| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
diffused
|
|
| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
westward
|
|
| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
kindle
|
|
| v.点燃，着火 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
auguries
|
|
| n.（古罗马）占卜术，占卜仪式( augury的名词复数 )；预兆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
inevitably
|
|
| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
afflicted
|
|
| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
immortality
|
|
| n.不死，不朽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
shovel
|
|
| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
axe
|
|
| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
delving
|
|
| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
toil
|
|
| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
pealed
|
|
| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
bloody
|
|
| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
throng
|
|
| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
pebbles
|
|
| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
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： |
|
|
|
|
52
slain
|
|
| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
inquiries
|
|
| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
rites
|
|
| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
slew
|
|
| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
twigs
|
|
| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
opulence
|
|
| n.财富，富裕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
privately
|
|
| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
scanty
|
|
| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
bequest
|
|
| n.遗赠；遗产，遗物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
sane
|
|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
ridicule
|
|
| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
turnip
|
|
| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
warriors
|
|
| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
paramount
|
|
| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
questionable
|
|
| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
expend
|
|
| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
betokened
|
|
| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
onward
|
|
| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
demon
|
|
| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
recollecting
|
|
| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
agitate
|
|
| vi.(for,against)煽动，鼓动；vt.搅动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
expiated
|
|
| v.为（所犯罪过）接受惩罚，赎（罪）( expiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
forefathers
|
|
| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
chide
|
|
| v.叱责；谴责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
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： |
|
|
|
|
88
lawful
|
|
| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
perilous
|
|
| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
juncture
|
|
| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
laments
|
|
| n.悲恸，哀歌，挽歌( lament的名词复数 )v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
soften
|
|
| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
warfare
|
|
| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
reluctance
|
|
| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
monstrousness
|
|
| 怪异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
99
hybrid
|
|
| n.(动，植）杂种，混合物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
infusions
|
|
| n.沏或泡成的浸液（如茶等）( infusion的名词复数 )；注入，注入物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
melancholic
|
|
| 忧郁症患者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
symbolized
|
|
| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
symbolize
|
|
| vt.作为...的象征，用符号代表 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
turmoil
|
|
| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
dungeon
|
|
| n.地牢，土牢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
misgiving
|
|
| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
destined
|
|
| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
depressed
|
|
| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
exulting
|
|
| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
repelled
|
|
| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
proximity
|
|
| n.接近，邻近 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
butt
|
|
| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
compliance
|
|
| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
alleviating
|
|
| 减轻，缓解，缓和( alleviate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
mound
|
|
| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
conjecturing
|
|
| v. & n. 推测，臆测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
acquiesced
|
|
| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
slaying
|
|
| 杀戮。 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
enveloped
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
engross
|
|
| v.使全神贯注 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
recess
|
|
| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
sling
|
|
| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
severed
|
|
| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
wholesome
|
|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
foliage
|
|
| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
momentous
|
|
| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
mused
|
|
| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
locusts
|
|
| n.蝗虫( locust的名词复数 )；贪吃的人；破坏者；槐树 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
superstitious
|
|
| adj.迷信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
shrubs
|
|
| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
babble
|
|
| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
hovers
|
|
| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
unintelligible
|
|
| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
ministry
|
|
| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
instinctive
|
|
| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
morbidness
|
|
| （精神的）病态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
moody
|
|
| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
prolific
|
|
| adj.丰富的，大量的；多产的，富有创造力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |