When the Markam family arrived at the Red House after their thirty-six hours of pitching on the Aberdeen steamer Ban Righ from Blackwall, with the subsequent train to Yellon and drive of a dozen miles, they all agreed that they had never seen a more delightful15 spot. The general satisfaction was more marked as at that very time none of the family were, for several reasons, inclined to find favourable16 anything or any place over the Scottish border. Though the family was a large one, the prosperity of the business allowed them all sorts of personal luxuries, amongst which was a wide latitude17 in the way of dress. The frequency of the Markam girls' new frocks was a source of envy to their bosom18 friends and of joy to themselves.
Arthur Fernlee Markam had not taken his family into his confidence regarding his new costume. He was not quite certain that he should be free from ridicule19, or at least from sarcasm20, and as he was sensitive on the subject, he thought it better to be actually in the suitable environment before he allowed the full splendour to burst upon them. He had taken some pains, to insure the completeness of the Highland costume. For the purpose he had paid many visits to 'The Scotch All-Wool Tartan Clothing Mart' which had been lately established in Copthall-court by the Messrs. MacCallum More and Roderick MacDhu. He had anxious consultations21 with the head of the firm—MacCallum as he called himself, resenting any such additions as 'Mr.' or 'Esquire.' The known stock of buckles22, buttons, straps24, brooches and ornaments25 of all kinds were examined in critical detail; and at last an eagle's feather of sufficiently26 magnificent proportions was discovered, and the equipment was complete. It was only when he saw the finished costume, with the vivid hues27 of the tartan seemingly modified into comparative sobriety by the multitude of silver fittings, the cairngorm brooches, the philibeg, dirk and sporran that he was fully28 and absolutely satisfied with his choice. At first he had thought of the Royal Stuart dress tartan, but abandoned it on the MacCallum pointing out that if he should happen to be in the neighbourhood of Balmoral it might lead to complications. The MacCallum, who, by the way, spoke29 with a remarkable30 cockney accent, suggested other plaids in turn; but now that the other question of accuracy had been raised, Mr. Markam foresaw difficulties if he should by chance find himself in the locality of the clan31 whose colours he had usurped32. The MacCallum at last undertook to have, at Markam's expense, a special pattern woven which would not be exactly the same as any existing tartan, though partaking of the characteristics of many. It was based on the Royal Stuart, but contained suggestions as to simplicity33 of pattern from the Macalister and Ogilvie clans34, and as to neutrality of colour from the clans of Buchanan, Macbeth, Chief of Macintosh and Macleod. When the specimen35 had been shown to Markam he had feared somewhat lest it should strike the eye of his domestic circle as gaudy36; but as Roderick MacDhu fell into perfect ecstasies37 over its beauty he did not make any objection to the completion of the piece. He thought, and wisely, that if a genuine Scotchman like MacDhu liked it, it must be right—especially as the junior partner was a man very much of his own build and appearance. When the MacCallum was receiving his cheque—which, by the way, was a pretty stiff one—he remarked:
'I've taken the liberty of having some more of the stuff woven in case you or any of your friends should want it.' Markam was gratified, and told him that he should be only too happy if the beautiful stuff which they had originated between them should become a favourite, as he had no doubt it would in time. He might make and sell as much as he would.
Markam tried the dress on in his office one evening after the clerks had all gone home. He was pleased, though a little frightened, at the result. The MacCallum had done his work thoroughly38, and there was nothing omitted that could add to the martial39 dignity of the wearer.
'I shall not, of course, take the claymore and the pistols with me on ordinary occasions,' said Markam to himself as he began to undress. He determined40 that he would wear the dress for the first time on landing in Scotland, and accordingly on the morning when the Ban Righ was hanging off the Girdle Ness lighthouse, waiting for the tide to enter the port of Aberdeen, he emerged from his cabin in all the gaudy splendour of his new costume. The first comment he heard was from one of his own sons, who did not recognise him at first.
'Here's a guy! Great Scott! It's the governor!' And the boy fled forthwith and tried to bury his laughter under a cushion in the saloon. Markam was a good sailor and had not suffered from the pitching of the boat, so that his naturally rubicund44 face was even more rosy45 by the conscious blush which suffused46 his cheeks when he had found himself at once the cynosure47 of all eyes. He could have wished that he had not been so bold for he knew from the cold that there was a big bare spot under one side of his jauntily48 worn Glengarry cap. However, he faced the group of strangers boldly. He was not, outwardly, upset even when some of the comments reached his ears.
'He's off his bloomin' chump,' said a cockney in a suit of exaggerated plaid.
'There's flies on him,' said a tall thin Yankee, pale with sea-sickness, who was on his way to take up his residence for a time as close as he could get to the gates of Balmoral.
'Happy thought! Let us fill our mulls; now's the chance!' said a young Oxford49 man on his way home to Inverness. But presently Mr. Markam heard the voice of his eldest50 daughter.
'Where is he? Where is he?' and she came tearing along the deck with her hat blowing behind her. Her face showed signs of agitation51, for her mother had just been telling her of her father's condition; but when she saw him she instantly burst into laughter so violent that it ended in a fit of hysterics. Something of the same kind happened to each of the other children. When they had all had their turn Mr. Markam went to his cabin and sent his wife's maid to tell each member of the family that he wanted to see them at once. They all made their appearance, suppressing their feelings as well as they could. He said to them very quietly:
'My dears, don't I provide you all with ample allowances?'
'Yes, father!' they all answered gravely, 'no one could be more generous!'
'Don't I let you dress as you please?'
'Yes, father!'—this a little sheepishly.
'Then, my dears, don't you think it would be nicer and kinder of you not to try and make me feel uncomfortable, even if I do assume a dress which is ridiculous in your eyes, though quite common enough in the country where we are about to sojourn52?' There was no answer except that which appeared in their hanging heads. He was a good father and they all knew it. He was quite satisfied and went on:
'There, now, run away and enjoy yourselves! We shan't have another word about it.' Then he went on deck again and stood bravely the fire of ridicule which he recognised around him, though nothing more was said within his hearing.
The astonishment53 and the amusement which his get-up occasioned on the Ban Righ was, however, nothing to that which it created in Aberdeen. The boys and loafers, and women with babies, who waited at the landing shed, followed en masse as the Markam party took their way to the railway station; even the porters with their old-fashioned knots and their new-fashioned barrows, who await the traveller at the foot of the gang-plank, followed in wondering delight. Fortunately the Peterhead train was just about to start, so that the martyrdom was not unnecessarily prolonged. In the carriage the glorious Highland costume was unseen, and as there were but few persons at the station at Yellon, all went well there. When, however, the carriage drew near the Mains of Crooken and the fisher folk had run to their doors to see who it was that was passing, the excitement exceeded all bounds. The children with one impulse waved their bonnets54 and ran shouting behind the carriage; the men forsook55 their nets and their baiting and followed; the women clutched their babies, and followed also. The horses were tired after their long journey to Yellon and back, and the hill was steep, so that there was ample time for the crowd to gather and even to pass on ahead.
Mrs. Markam and the elder girls would have liked to make some protest or to do something to relieve their feelings of chagrin56 at the ridicule which they saw on all faces, but there was a look of fixed57 determination on the face of the seeming Highlander58 which awed59 them a little, and they were silent. It might have been that the eagle's feather, even when arising above the bald head, the cairngorm brooch even on the fat shoulder, and the claymore, dirk and pistols, even when belted round the extensive paunch and protruding61 from the stocking on the sturdy calf62, fulfilled their existence as symbols of martial and terrifying import! When the party arrived at the gate of the Red House there awaited them a crowd of Crooken inhabitants, hatless and respectfully silent; the remainder of the population was painfully toiling64 up the hill. The silence was broken by only one sound, that of a man with a deep voice.
'Man! but he's forgotten the pipes!'
The servants had arrived some days before, and all things were in readiness. In the glow consequent on a good lunch after a hard journey all the disagreeables of travel and all the chagrin consequent on the adoption65 of the obnoxious66 costume were forgotten.
That afternoon Markam, still clad in full array, walked through the Mains of Crooken. He was all alone, for, strange to say, his wife and both daughters had sick headaches, and were, as he was told, lying down to rest after the fatigue67 of the journey. His eldest son, who claimed to be a young man, had gone out by himself to explore the surroundings of the place, and one of the boys could not be found. The other boy, on being told that his father had sent for him to come for a walk, had managed—by accident, of course—to fall into the water butt23, and had to be dried and rigged out afresh. His clothes not having been as yet unpacked68 this was of course impossible without delay.
Mr. Markam was not quite satisfied with his walk. He could not meet any of his neighbours. It was not that there were not enough people about, for every house and cottage seemed to be full; but the people when in the open were either in their doorways69 some distance behind him, or on the roadway a long distance in front. As he passed he could see the tops of heads and the whites of eyes in the windows or round the corners of doors. The only interview which he had was anything but a pleasant one. This was with an odd sort of old man who was hardly ever heard to speak except to join in the 'Amens' in the meeting-house. His sole occupation seemed to be to wait at the window of the post-office from eight o'clock in the morning till the arrival of the mail at one, when he carried the letter-bag to a neighbouring baronial castle. The remainder of his day was spent on a seat in a draughty part of the port, where the offal of the fish, the refuse of the bait, and the house rubbish was thrown, and where the ducks were accustomed to hold high revel70.
When Saft Tammie beheld71 him coming he raised his eyes, which were generally fixed on the nothing which lay on the roadway opposite his seat, and, seeming dazzled as if by a burst of sunshine, rubbed them and shaded them with his hand. Then he started up and raised his hand aloft in a denunciatory manner as he spoke:—
'"Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher. All is vanity." Mon, be warned in time! "Behold72 the lilies of the field, they toil63 not, neither do they spin, yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." Mon! Mon! Thy vanity is as the quicksand which swallows up all which comes within its spell. Beware vanity! Beware the quicksand, which yawneth for thee, and which will swallow thee up! See thyself! Learn thine own vanity! Meet thyself face to face, and then in that moment thou shalt learn the fatal force of thy vanity. Learn it, know it, and repent73 ere the quicksand swallow thee!' Then without another word he went back to his seat and sat there immovable and expressionless as before.
Markam could not but feel a little upset by this tirade74. Only that it was spoken by a seeming madman, he would have put it down to some eccentric exhibition of Scottish humour or impudence75; but the gravity of the message—for it seemed nothing else—made such a reading impossible. He was, however, determined not to give in to ridicule, and although he had not yet seen anything in Scotland to remind him even of a kilt, he determined to wear his Highland dress. When he returned home, in less than half-an-hour, he found that every member of the family was, despite the headaches, out taking a walk. He took the opportunity afforded by their absence of locking himself in his dressing76-room, took off the Highland dress, and, putting on a suit of flannels77, lit a cigar and had a snooze. He was awakened78 by the noise of the family coming in, and at once donning his dress made his appearance in the drawing-room for tea.
He did not go out again that afternoon; but after dinner he put on his dress again—he had, of course dressed for dinner as usual—and went by himself for a walk on the sea-shore. He had by this time come to the conclusion that he would get by degrees accustomed to the Highland dress before making it his ordinary wear. The moon was up and he easily followed the path through the sand-hills, and shortly struck the shore. The tide was out and the beach firm as a rock, so he strolled southwards to nearly the end of the bay. Here he was attracted by two isolated79 rocks some little way out from the edge of the dunes, so he strolled towards them. When he reached the nearest one he climbed it, and, sitting there elevated some fifteen or twenty feet over the waste of sand, enjoyed the lovely, peaceful prospect80. The moon was rising behind the headland of Pennyfold, and its light was just touching81 the top of the furthermost rock of the Spurs some three-quarters of a mile out; the rest of the rocks were in dark shadow. As the moon rose over the headland, the rocks of the Spurs and then the beach by degrees became flooded with light.
For a good while Mr. Markam sat and looked at the rising moon and the growing area of light which followed its rise. Then he turned and faced eastwards82 and sat with his chin in his hand looking seawards, and revelling83 in the peace and beauty and freedom of the scene. The roar of London—the darkness and the strife84 and weariness of London life—seemed to have passed quite away, and he lived at the moment a freer and higher life. He looked at the glistening85 water as it stole its way over the flat waste of sand, coming closer and closer insensibly—the tide had turned. Presently he heard a distant shouting along the beach very far off.
'The fishermen calling to each other,' he said to himself and looked around. As he did so he got a horrible shock, for though just then a cloud sailed across the moon he saw, in spite of the sudden darkness around him, his own image. For an instant, on the top of the opposite rock he could see the bald back of the head and the Glengarry cap with the immense eagle's feather. As he staggered back his foot slipped, and he began to slide down towards the sand between the two rocks. He took no concern as to falling, for the sand was really only a few feet below him, and his mind was occupied with the figure or simulacrum of himself, which had already disappeared. As the easiest way of reaching terra firma he prepared to jump the remainder of the distance. All this had taken but a second, but the brain works quickly, and even as he gathered himself for the spring he saw the sand below him lying so marbly level shake and shiver in an odd way. A sudden fear overcame him; his knees failed, and instead of jumping he slid miserably86 down the rock, scratching his bare legs as he went. His feet touched the sand—went through it like water—and he was down below his knees before he realised that he was in a quicksand. Wildly he grasped at the rock to keep himself from sinking further, and fortunately there was a jutting87 spur or edge which he was able to grasp instinctively88. To this he clung in grim desperation. He tried to shout, but his breath would not come, till after a great effort his voice rang out. Again he shouted, and it seemed as if the sound of his own voice gave him new courage, for he was able to hold on to the rock for a longer time than he thought possible—though he held on only in blind desperation. He was, however, beginning to find his grasp weakening, when, joy of joys! his shout was answered by a rough voice from just above him.
'God be thankit, I'm nae too late!' and a fisherman with great thigh-boots came hurriedly climbing over the rock. In an instant he recognised the gravity of the danger, and with a cheering 'Haud fast, mon! I'm comin'!' scrambled89 down till he found a firm foothold. Then with one strong hand holding the rock above, he leaned down, and catching90 Markam's wrist, called out to him, 'Haud to me, mon! Haud to me wi' ither hond!'
Then he lent his great strength, and with a steady, sturdy pull, dragged him out of the hungry quicksand and placed him safe upon the rock. Hardly giving him time to draw breath, he pulled and pushed him—never letting him go for an instant—over the rock into the firm sand beyond it, and finally deposited him, still shaking from the magnitude of his danger, high upon the beach. Then he began to speak:
'Mon! but I was just in time. If I had no laucht at yon foolish lads and begun to rin at the first you'd a bin42 sinkin' doon to the bowels91 o' the airth be the noo! Wully Beagrie thocht you was a ghaist, and Tom MacPhail swore ye was only like a goblin on a puddick-steel! "Na!" said I. "Yon's but the daft Englishman—the loony that had escapit frae the waxwarks." I was thinkin' that bein' strange and silly—if not a whole-made feel—ye'd no ken1 the ways o' the quicksan'! I shouted till warn ye, and then ran to drag ye aff, if need be. But God be thankit, be ye fule or only half-daft wi' yer vanity, that I was no that late!' and he reverently92 lifted his cap as he spoke.
Mr. Markam was deeply touched and thankful for his escape from a horrible death; but the sting of the charge of vanity thus made once more against him came through his humility93. He was about to reply angrily, when suddenly a great awe60 fell upon him as he remembered the warning words of the half-crazy letter-carrier: 'Meet thyself face to face, and repent ere the quicksand shall swallow thee!'
Here, too, he remembered the image of himself that he had seen and the sudden danger from the deadly quicksand that had followed. He was silent a full minute, and then said:
'My good fellow, I owe you my life!'
The answer came with reverence94 from the hardy95 fisherman, 'Na! Na! Ye owe that to God; but, as for me, I'm only too glad till be the humble96 instrument o' His mercy.'
'But you will let me thank you,' said Mr. Markam, taking both the great hands of his deliverer in his and holding them tight. 'My heart is too full as yet, and my nerves are too much shaken to let me say much; but, believe me, I am very, very grateful!' It was quite evident that the poor old fellow was deeply touched, for the tears were running down his cheeks.
The fisherman said, with a rough but true courtesy:
'Ay, sir! thank me and ye will—if it'll do yer poor heart good. An' I'm thinking that if it were me I'd be thankful too. But, sir, as for me I need no thanks. I am glad, so I am!'
That Arthur Fernlee Markam was really thankful and grateful was shown practically later on. Within a week's time there sailed into Port Crooken the finest fishing smack97 that had ever been seen in the harbour of Peterhead. She was fully found with sails and gear of all kinds, and with nets of the best. Her master and men went away by the coach, after having left with the salmon-fisher's wife the papers which made her over to him.
As Mr. Markam and the salmon-fisher walked together along the shore the former asked his companion not to mention the fact that he had been in such imminent98 danger, for that it would only distress99 his dear wife and children. He said that he would warn them all of the quicksand, and for that purpose he, then and there, asked questions about it till he felt that his information on the subject was complete. Before they parted he asked his companion if he had happened to see a second figure, dressed like himself on the other rock as he had approached to succour him.
'Na! Na!' came the answer, 'there is nae sic another fule in these parts. Nor has there been since the time o' Jamie Fleeman—him that was fule to the Laird o' Udny. Why, mon! sic a heathenish dress as ye have on till ye has nae been seen in these pairts within the memory o' mon. An' I'm thinkin' that sic a dress never was for sittin' on the cauld rock, as ye done beyont. Mon! but do ye no fear the rheumatism100 or the lumbagy wi' floppin' doon on to the cauld stanes wi' yer bare flesh? I was thinking that it was daft ye waur when I see ye the mornin' doon be the port, but it's fule or eediot ye maun be for the like o' thot!' Mr. Markam did not care to argue the point, and as they were now close to his own home he asked the salmon-fisher to have a glass of whisky—which he did—and they parted for the night. He took good care to warn all his family of the quicksand, telling them that he had himself been in some danger from it.
All that night he never slept. He heard the hours strike one after the other; but try how he would he could not get to sleep. Over and over again he went through the horrible episode of the quicksand, from the time that Saft Tammie had broken his habitual101 silence to preach to him of the sin of vanity and to warn him. The question kept ever arising in his mind: 'Am I then so vain as to be in the ranks of the foolish?' and the answer ever came in the words of the crazy prophet: '"Vanity of vanities! All is vanity." Meet thyself face to face, and repent ere the quicksand shall swallow thee!' Somehow a feeling of doom102 began to shape itself in his mind that he would yet perish in that same quicksand, for there he had already met himself face to face.
In the grey of the morning he dozed103 off, but it was evident that he continued the subject in his dreams, for he was fully awakened by his wife, who said:
'Do sleep quietly! That blessed Highland suit has got on your brain. Don't talk in your sleep, if you can help it!' He was somehow conscious of a glad feeling, as if some terrible weight had been lifted from him, but he did not know any cause of it. He asked his wife what he had said in his sleep, and she answered:
'You said it often enough, goodness knows, for one to remember it—"Not face to face! I saw the eagle plume104 over the bald head! There is hope yet! Not face to face!" Go to sleep! Do!' And then he did go to sleep, for he seemed to realise that the prophecy of the crazy man had not yet been fulfilled. He had not met himself face to face—as yet at all events.
He was awakened early by a maid who came to tell him that there was a fisherman at the door who wanted to see him. He dressed himself as quickly as he could—for he was not yet expert with the Highland dress—and hurried down, not wishing to keep the salmon-fisher waiting. He was surprised and not altogether pleased to find that his visitor was none other than Saft Tammie, who at once opened fire on him:
'I maun gang awa' t' the post; but I thocht that I would waste an hour on ye, and ca' roond just to see if ye waur still that fou wi' vanity as on the nicht gane by. An I see that ye've no learned the lesson. Well! the time is comin', sure eneucht! However I have all the time i' the marnins to my ain sel', so I'll aye look roond jist till see how ye gang yer ain gait to the quicksan', and then to the de'il! I'm aff till ma wark the noo!' And he went straightway, leaving Mr. Markam considerably106 vexed107, for the maids within earshot were vainly trying to conceal108 their giggles109. He had fairly made up his mind to wear on that day ordinary clothes, but the visit of Saft Tammie reversed his decision. He would show them all that he was not a coward, and he would go on as he had begun—come what might. When he came to breakfast in full martial panoply110 the children, one and all, held down their heads and the backs of their necks became very red indeed. As, however, none of them laughed—except Titus, the youngest boy, who was seized with a fit of hysterical111 choking and was promptly112 banished113 from the room—he could not reprove them, but began to break his egg with a sternly determined air. It was unfortunate that as his wife was handing him a cup of tea one of the buttons of his sleeve caught in the lace of her morning wrapper, with the result that the hot tea was spilt over his bare knees. Not unnaturally114, he made use of a swear word, whereupon his wife, somewhat nettled115, spoke out:
'Well, Arthur, if you will make such an idiot of yourself with that ridiculous costume what else can you expect? You are not accustomed to it—and you never will be!' In answer he began an indignant speech with: 'Madam!' but he got no further, for now that the subject was broached116, Mrs. Markam intended to have her say out. It was not a pleasant say, and, truth to tell, it was not said in a pleasant manner. A wife's manner seldom is pleasant when she undertakes to tell what she considers 'truths' to her husband. The result was that Arthur Fernlee Markam undertook, then and there, that during his stay in Scotland he would wear no other costume than the one she abused. Woman-like his wife had the last word—given in this case with tears:
'Very well, Arthur! Of course you will do as you choose. Make me as ridiculous as you can, and spoil the poor girls' chances in life. Young men don't seem to care, as a general rule, for an idiot father-in-law! But I must warn you that your vanity will some day get a rude shock—if indeed you are not before then in an asylum117 or dead!'
It was manifest after a few days that Mr. Markam would have to take the major part of his outdoor exercise by himself. The girls now and again took a walk with him, chiefly in the early morning or late at night, or on a wet day when there would be no one about; they professed118 to be willing to go out at all times, but somehow something always seemed to occur to prevent it. The boys could never be found at all on such occasions, and as to Mrs. Markam she sternly refused to go out with him on any consideration so long as he should continue to make a fool of himself. On the Sunday he dressed himself in his habitual broadcloth, for he rightly felt that church was not a place for angry feelings; but on Monday morning he resumed his Highland garb119. By this time he would have given a good deal if he had never thought of the dress, but his British obstinacy120 was strong, and he would not give in. Saft Tammie called at his house every morning, and, not being able to see him nor to have any message taken to him, used to call back in the afternoon when the letter-bag had been delivered and watched for his going out. On such occasions he never failed to warn him against his vanity in the same words which he had used at the first. Before many days were over Mr. Markam had come to look upon him as little short of a scourge121.
By the time the week was out the enforced partial solitude122, the constant chagrin, and the never-ending brooding which was thus engendered123, began to make Mr. Markam quite ill. He was too proud to take any of his family into his confidence since they had in his view treated him very badly. Then he did not sleep well at night, and when he did sleep he had constantly bad dreams. Merely to assure himself that his pluck was not failing him he made it a practice to visit the quicksand at least once every day; he hardly ever failed to go there the last thing at night. It was perhaps this habit that wrought124 the quicksand with its terrible experience so perpetually into his dreams. More and more vivid these became, till on waking at times he could hardly realise that he had not been actually in the flesh to visit the fatal spot. He sometimes thought that he might have been walking in his sleep.
One night his dream was so vivid that when he awoke he could not believe that it had only been a dream. He shut his eyes again and again, but each time the vision, if it was a vision, or the reality, if it was a reality, would rise before him. The moon was shining full and yellow over the quicksand as he approached it; he could see the expanse of light shaken and disturbed and full of black shadows as the liquid sand quivered and trembled and wrinkled and eddied125 as was its wont126 between its pauses of marble calm. As he drew close to it another figure came towards it from the opposite side with equal footsteps. He saw that it was his own figure, his very self, and in silent terror, compelled by what force he knew not, he advanced—charmed as the bird is by the snake, mesmerised or hypnotised—to meet this other self. As he felt the yielding sand closing over him he awoke in the agony of death, trembling with fear, and, strange to say, with the silly man's prophecy seeming to sound in his ears: '"Vanity of vanities! All is vanity!" See thyself and repent ere the quicksand swallow thee!'
So convinced was he that this was no dream that he arose, early as it was, and dressing himself without disturbing his wife took his way to the shore. His heart fell when he came across a series of footsteps on the sands, which he at once recognised as his own. There was the same wide heel, the same square toe; he had no doubt now that he had actually been there, and half horrified127, and half in a state of dreamy stupor128, he followed the footsteps, and found them lost in the edge of the yielding quicksand. This gave him a terrible shock, for there were no return steps marked on the sand, and he felt that there was some dread129 mystery which he could not penetrate130, and the penetration131 of which would, he feared, undo132 him.
In this state of affairs he took two wrong courses. Firstly he kept his trouble to himself, and, as none of his family had any clue to it, every innocent word or expression which they used supplied fuel to the consuming fire of his imagination. Secondly133 he began to read books professing134 to bear upon the mysteries of dreaming and of mental phenomena135 generally, with the result that every wild imagination of every crank or half-crazy philosopher became a living germ of unrest in the fertilising soil of his disordered brain. Thus negatively and positively136 all things began to work to a common end. Not the least of his disturbing causes was Saft Tammie, who had now become at certain times of the day a fixture137 at his gate. After a while, being interested in the previous state of this individual, he made inquiries138 regarding his past with the following result.
Saft Tammie was popularly believed to be the son of a laird in one of the counties round the Firth of Forth43. He had been partially139 educated for the ministry140, but for some cause which no one ever knew threw up his prospects141 suddenly, and, going to Peterhead in its days of whaling prosperity, had there taken service on a whaler. Here off and on he had remained for some years, getting gradually more and more silent in his habits, till finally his shipmates protested against so taciturn a mate, and he had found service amongst the fishing smacks142 of the northern fleet. He had worked for many years at the fishing with always the reputation of being 'a wee bit daft,' till at length he had gradually settled down at Crooken, where the laird, doubtless knowing something of his family history, had given him a job which practically made him a pensioner143. The minister who gave the information finished thus:—
'It is a very strange thing, but the man seems to have some odd kind of gift. Whether it be that "second sight" which we Scotch people are so prone144 to believe in, or some other occult form of knowledge, I know not, but nothing of a disastrous145 tendency ever occurs in this place but the men with whom he lives are able to quote after the event some saying of his which certainly appears to have foretold146 it. He gets uneasy or excited—wakes up, in fact—when death is in the air!'
This did not in any way tend to lessen147 Mr. Markam's concern, but on the contrary seemed to impress the prophecy more deeply on his mind. Of all the books which he had read on his new subject of study none interested him so much as a German one Die D?ppleganger, by Dr. Heinrich von Aschenberg, formerly148 of Bonn. Here he learned for the first time of cases where men had led a double existence—each nature being quite apart from the other—the body being always a reality with one spirit, and a simulacrum with the other. Needless to say that Mr. Markam realised this theory as exactly suiting his own case. The glimpse which he had of his own back the night of his escape from the quicksand—his own footmarks disappearing into the quicksand with no return steps visible—the prophecy of Saft Tammie about his meeting himself and perishing in the quicksand—all lent aid to the conviction that he was in his own person an instance of the d?ppleganger. Being then conscious of a double life he took steps to prove its existence to his own satisfaction. To this end on one night before going to bed he wrote his name in chalk on the soles of his shoes. That night he dreamed of the quicksand, and of his visiting it—dreamed so vividly149 that on walking in the grey of the dawn he could not believe that he had not been there. Arising, without disturbing his wife, he sought his shoes.
The chalk signatures were undisturbed! He dressed himself and stole out softly. This time the tide was in, so he crossed the dunes and struck the shore on the further side of the quicksand. There, oh, horror of horrors! he saw his own footprints dying into the abyss!
He went home a desperately150 sad man. It seemed incredible that he, an elderly commercial man, who had passed a long and uneventful life in the pursuit of business in the midst of roaring, practical London, should thus find himself enmeshed in mystery and horror, and that he should discover that he had two existences. He could not speak of his trouble even to his own wife, for well he knew that she would at once require the fullest particulars of that other life—the one which she did not know; and that she would at the start not only imagine but charge him with all manner of infidelities on the head of it. And so his brooding grew deeper and deeper still. One evening—the tide then going out and the moon being at the full—he was sitting waiting for dinner when the maid announced that Saft Tammie was making a disturbance151 outside because he would not be let in to see him. He was very indignant, but did not like the maid to think that he had any fear on the subject, and so told her to bring him in. Tammie entered, walking more briskly than ever with his head up and a look of vigorous decision in the eyes that were so generally cast down. As soon as he entered he said:
'I have come to see ye once again—once again; and there ye sit, still just like a cockatoo on a pairch. Weel, mon, I forgie ye! Mind ye that, I forgie ye!' And without a word more he turned and walked out of the house, leaving the master in speechless indignation.
After dinner he determined to pay another visit to the quicksand—he would not allow even to himself that he was afraid to go. And so, about nine o'clock, in full array, he marched to the beach, and passing over the sands sat on the skirt of the nearer rock. The full moon was behind him and its light lit up the bay so that its fringe of foam152, the dark outline of the headland, and the stakes of the salmon-nets were all emphasised. In the brilliant yellow glow the lights in the windows of Port Crooken and in those of the distant castle of the laird trembled like stars through the sky. For a long time he sat and drank in the beauty of the scene, and his soul seemed to feel a peace that it had not known for many days. All the pettiness and annoyance153 and silly fears of the past weeks seemed blotted154 out, and a new holy calm took the vacant place. In this sweet and solemn mood he reviewed his late action calmly, and felt ashamed of himself for his vanity and for the obstinacy which had followed it. And then and there he made up his mind that the present would be the last time he would wear the costume which had estranged155 him from those whom he loved, and which had caused him so many hours and days of chagrin, vexation, and pain.
But almost as soon as he arrived at this conclusion another voice seemed to speak within him and mockingly to ask him if he should ever get the chance to wear the suit again—that it was too late—he had chosen his course and must now abide156 the issue.
'It is not too late,' came the quick answer of his better self; and full of the thought, he rose up to go home and divest157 himself of the now hateful costume right away. He paused for one look at the beautiful scene. The light lay pale and mellow158, softening159 every outline of rock and tree and house-top, and deepening the shadows into velvety-black, and lighting160, as with a pale flame, the incoming tide, that now crept fringe-like across the flat waste of sand. Then he left the rock and stepped out for the shore.
But as he did so a frightful161 spasm162 of horror shook him, and for an instant the blood rushing to his head shut out all the light of the full moon. Once more he saw that fatal image of himself moving beyond the quicksand from the opposite rock to the shore. The shock was all the greater for the contrast with the spell of peace which he had just enjoyed; and, almost paralysed in every sense, he stood and watched the fatal vision and the wrinkly, crawling quicksand that seemed to writhe163 and yearn164 for something that lay between. There could be no mistake this time, for though the moon behind threw the face into shadow he could see there the same shaven cheeks as his own, and the small stubby moustache of a few weeks' growth. The light shone on the brilliant tartan, and on the eagle's plume. Even the bald space at one side of the Glengarry cap glistened165, as did the cairngorm brooch on the shoulder and the tops of the silver buttons. As he looked he felt his feet slightly sinking, for he was still near the edge of the belt of quicksand, and he stepped back. As he did so the other figure stepped forward, so that the space between them was preserved.
So the two stood facing each other, as though in some weird166 fascination167; and in the rushing of the blood through his brain Markam seemed to hear the words of the prophecy: 'See thyself face to face, and repent ere the quicksand swallow thee.' He did stand face to face with himself, he had repented—and now he was sinking in the quicksand! The warning and prophecy were coming true.
Above him the seagulls screamed, circling round the fringe of the incoming tide, and the sound being entirely168 mortal recalled him to himself. On the instant he stepped back a few quick steps, for as yet only his feet were merged41 in the soft sand. As he did so the other figure stepped forward, and coming within the deadly grip of the quicksand began to sink. It seemed to Markam that he was looking at himself going down to his doom, and on the instant the anguish169 of his soul found vent105 in a terrible cry. There was at the same instant a terrible cry from the other figure, and as Markam threw up his hands the figure did the same. With horror-struck eyes he saw him sink deeper into the quicksand; and then, impelled170 by what power he knew not, he advanced again towards the sand to meet his fate. But as his more forward foot began to sink he heard again the cries of the seagulls which seemed to restore his benumbed faculties171. With a mighty172 effort he drew his foot out of the sand which seemed to clutch it, leaving his shoe behind, and then in sheer terror he turned and ran from the place, never stopping till his breath and strength failed him, and he sank half swooning on the grassy path through the sandhills.
Arthur Markam made up his mind not to tell his family of his terrible adventure—until at least such time as he should be complete master of himself. Now that the fatal double—his other self—had been engulfed173 in the quicksand he felt something like his old peace of mind.
That night he slept soundly and did not dream at all; and in the morning was quite his old self. It really seemed as though his newer and worser self had disappeared for ever; and strangely enough Saft Tammie was absent from his post that morning and never appeared there again, but sat in his old place watching nothing, as of old, with lack-lustre eye. In accordance with his resolution he did not wear his Highland suit again, but one evening tied it up in a bundle, claymore, dirk and philibeg and all, and bringing it secretly with him threw it into the quicksand. With a feeling of intense pleasure he saw it sucked below the sand, which closed above it into marble smoothness. Then he went home and announced cheerily to his family assembled for evening prayers:
'Well! my dears, you will be glad to hear that I have abandoned my idea of wearing the Highland dress. I see now what a vain old fool I was and how ridiculous I made myself! You shall never see it again!'
'Where is it, father?' asked one of the girls, wishing to say something so that such a self-sacrificing announcement as her father's should not be passed in absolute silence. His answer was so sweetly given that the girl rose from her seat and came and kissed him. It was:
'In the quicksand, my dear! and I hope that my worser self is buried there along with it—for ever.'
The remainder of the summer was passed at Crooken with delight by all the family, and on his return to town Mr. Markam had almost forgotten the whole of the incident of the quicksand, and all touching on it, when one day he got a letter from the MacCallum More which caused him much thought, though he said nothing of it to his family, and left it, for certain reasons, unanswered. It ran as follows:—
'The MacCallum More and Roderick MacDhu.
'The Scotch All-Wool Tartan Clothing Mart.
Copthall Court, E.C.,
30th September, 1892.
'Dear Sir,—I trust you will pardon the liberty which I take in writing to you, but I am desirous of making an inquiry174, and I am informed that you have been sojourning during the summer in Aberdeenshire (Scotland, N.B.). My partner, Mr. Roderick MacDhu—as he appears for business reasons on our bill-heads and in our advertisements, his real name being Emmanuel Moses Marks of London—went early last month to Scotland (N.B.) for a tour, but as I have only once heard from him, shortly after his departure, I am anxious lest any misfortune may have befallen him. As I have been unable to obtain any news of him on making all inquiries in my power, I venture to appeal to you. His letter was written in deep dejection of spirit, and mentioned that he feared a judgment175 had come upon him for wishing to appear as a Scotchman on Scottish soil, as he had one moonlight night shortly after his arrival seen his 'wraith176'. He evidently alluded177 to the fact that before his departure he had procured178 for himself a Highland costume similar to that which we had the honour to supply to you, with which, as perhaps you will remember, he was much struck. He may, however, never have worn it, as he was, to my own knowledge, diffident about putting it on, and even went so far as to tell me that he would at first only venture to wear it late at night or very early in the morning, and then only in remote places, until such time as he should get accustomed to it. Unfortunately he did not advise me of his route so that I am in complete ignorance of his whereabouts; and I venture to ask if you may have seen or heard of a Highland costume similar to your own having been seen anywhere in the neighbourhood in which I am told you have recently purchased the estate which you temporarily occupied. I shall not expect an answer to this letter unless you can give me some information regarding my friend and partner, so pray do not trouble to reply unless there be cause. I am encouraged to think that he may have been in your neighbourhood as, though his letter is not dated, the envelope is marked with the postmark of "Yellon" which I find is in Aberdeenshire, and not far from the Mains of Crooken.
'I have the honour to be, dear sir,
'Yours very respectfully,
'Joshua Sheeny Cohen Benjamin
'(The MacCallum More.)'
The End
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1
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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2
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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3
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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4
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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6
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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7
hued
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| 有某种色调的 | |
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dunes
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| 沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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10
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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11
outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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12
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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13
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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14
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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15
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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16
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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17
latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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18
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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19
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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20
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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21
consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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22
buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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23
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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24
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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25
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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26
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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27
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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28
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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29
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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30
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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31
clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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32
usurped
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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33
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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34
clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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35
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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36
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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37
ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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38
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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39
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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40
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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41
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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42
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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43
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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44
rubicund
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| adj.(脸色)红润的 | |
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45
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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46
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
cynosure
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| n.焦点 | |
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48
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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49
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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50
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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51
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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52
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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53
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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54
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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55
forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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56
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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57
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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58
highlander
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| n.高地的人，苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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59
awed
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| 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 ) | |
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60
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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61
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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62
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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63
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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64
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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65
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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66
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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67
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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68
unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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69
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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70
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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71
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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72
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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73
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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74
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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75
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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76
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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77
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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78
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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79
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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80
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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81
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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82
eastwards
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| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
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83
revelling
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| v.作乐( revel的现在分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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84
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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85
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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86
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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87
jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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88
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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89
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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90
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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91
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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92
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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93
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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94
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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95
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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96
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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97
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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98
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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99
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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100
rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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101
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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102
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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103
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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105
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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106
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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107
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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108
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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109
giggles
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| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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110
panoply
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| n.全副甲胄，礼服 | |
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111
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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112
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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113
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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115
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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116
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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117
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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118
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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119
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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120
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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121
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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122
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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123
engendered
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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125
eddied
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| 起漩涡，旋转( eddy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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127
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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128
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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129
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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130
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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131
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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132
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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133
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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134
professing
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| 声称( profess的现在分词 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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135
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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136
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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137
fixture
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| n.固定设备；预定日期；比赛时间；定期存款 | |
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138
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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139
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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140
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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141
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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142
smacks
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| 掌掴（声）( smack的名词复数 )； 海洛因； （打的）一拳； 打巴掌 | |
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143
pensioner
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| n.领养老金的人 | |
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144
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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145
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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146
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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148
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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149
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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150
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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151
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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152
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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153
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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154
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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155
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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156
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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157
divest
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| v.脱去，剥除 | |
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158
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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159
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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160
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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161
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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162
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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163
writhe
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| vt.挣扎，痛苦地扭曲；vi.扭曲，翻腾，受苦；n.翻腾，苦恼 | |
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164
yearn
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| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
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165
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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166
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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167
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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168
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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169
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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170
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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171
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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172
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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173
engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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174
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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175
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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176
wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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177
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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178
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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