I am the fortunate possessor of one of these small Georgian houses, and consider myself no less fortunate in having so interesting and stimulating14 a neighbour as Francis Urcombe, who, the most confirmed of Maxleyites, has not slept away from his house, which stands just opposite to mine in the village street, for nearly two years, at which date, though still in middle life, he resigned his Physiological15 Professorship at Cambridge University and devoted16 himself to the study of those occult and curious phenomena17 which seem equally to concern the physical and the psychical18 sides of human nature. Indeed his retirement19 was not unconnected with his passion for the strange uncharted places that lie on the confines and borders of science, the existence of which is so stoutly20 denied by the more materialistic21 minds, for he advocated that all medical students should be obliged to pass some sort of examination in mesmerism, and that one of the tripos papers should be designed to test their knowledge in such subjects as appearances at time of death, haunted houses, vampirism, automatic writing, and possession.
[225]“Of course they wouldn’t listen to me,” ran his account of the matter, “for there is nothing that these seats of learning are so frightened of as knowledge, and the road to knowledge lies in the study of things like these. The functions of the human frame are, broadly speaking, known. They are a country, anyhow, that has been charted and mapped out. But outside that lie huge tracts22 of undiscovered country, which certainly exist, and the real pioneers of knowledge are those who, at the cost of being derided23 as credulous24 and superstitious25, want to push on into those misty26 and probably perilous27 places. I felt that I could be of more use by setting out without compass or knapsack into the mists than by sitting in a cage like a canary and chirping28 about what was known. Besides, teaching is very bad for a man who knows himself only to be a learner: you only need to be a self-conceited ass7 to teach.”
Here, then, in Francis Urcombe, was a delightful29 neighbour to one who, like myself, has an uneasy and burning curiosity about what he called the “misty and perilous places”; and this last spring we had a further and most welcome addition to our pleasant little community, in the person of Mrs. Amworth, widow of an Indian civil servant. Her husband had been a judge in the North-West Provinces, and after his death at Peshawar she came back to England, and after a year in London found herself starving for the ampler air and sunshine of the country to take the place of the fogs and griminess of town. She had, too, a special reason for settling in Maxley, since her ancestors up till a hundred years ago had[226] long been native to the place, and in the old church-yard, now disused, are many grave-stones bearing her maiden30 name of Chaston. Big and energetic, her vigorous and genial31 personality speedily woke Maxley up to a higher degree of sociality than it had ever known. Most of us were bachelors or spinsters or elderly folk not much inclined to exert ourselves in the expense and effort of hospitality, and hitherto the gaiety of a small tea-party, with bridge afterwards and goloshes (when it was wet) to trip home in again for a solitary32 dinner, was about the climax33 of our festivities. But Mrs. Amworth showed us a more gregarious34 way, and set an example of luncheon-parties and little dinners, which we began to follow. On other nights when no such hospitality was on foot, a lone35 man like myself found it pleasant to know that a call on the telephone to Mrs. Amworth’s house not a hundred yards off, and an inquiry36 as to whether I might come over after dinner for a game of piquet before bed-time, would probably evoke37 a response of welcome. There she would be, with a comrade-like eagerness for companionship, and there was a glass of port and a cup of coffee and a cigarette and a game of piquet. She played the piano, too, in a free and exuberant38 manner, and had a charming voice and sang to her own accompaniment; and as the days grew long and the light lingered late, we played our game in her garden, which in the course of a few months she had turned from being a nursery for slugs and snails39 into a glowing patch of luxuriant blossoming. She was always cheery and jolly; she was interested in everything, and in music, in gardening, in games of all sorts was a competent performer.[227] Everybody (with one exception) liked her, everybody felt her to bring with her the tonic40 of a sunny day. That one exception was Francis Urcombe; he, though he confessed he did not like her, acknowledged that he was vastly interested in her. This always seemed strange to me, for pleasant and jovial41 as she was, I could see nothing in her that could call forth42 conjecture43 or intrigued44 surmise45, so healthy and unmysterious a figure did she present. But of the genuineness of Urcombe’s interest there could be no doubt; one could see him watching and scrutinising her. In matter of age, she frankly46 volunteered the information that she was forty-five; but her briskness47, her activity, her unravaged skin, her coal-black hair, made it difficult to believe that she was not adopting an unusual device, and adding ten years on to her age instead of subtracting them.
Often, also, as our quite unsentimental friendship ripened48, Mrs. Amworth would ring me up and propose her advent49. If I was busy writing, I was to give her, so we definitely bargained, a frank negative, and in answer I could hear her jolly laugh and her wishes for a successful evening of work. Sometimes, before her proposal arrived, Urcombe would already have stepped across from his house opposite for a smoke and a chat, and he, hearing who my intending visitor was, always urged me to beg her to come. She and I should play our piquet, said he, and he would look on, if we did not object, and learn something of the game. But I doubt whether he paid much attention to it, for nothing could be clearer than that, under that penthouse of forehead and thick eyebrows50, his attention was fixed51 not on the cards, but on one[228] of the players. But he seemed to enjoy an hour spent thus, and often, until one particular evening in July, he would watch her with the air of a man who has some deep problem in front of him. She, enthusiastically keen about our game, seemed not to notice his scrutiny52. Then came that evening, when, as I see in the light of subsequent events, began the first twitching53 of the veil that hid the secret horror from my eyes. I did not know it then, though I noticed that thereafter, if she rang up to propose coming round, she always asked not only if I was at leisure, but whether Mr. Urcombe was with me. If so, she said, she would not spoil the chat of two old bachelors, and laughingly wished me good night.
Urcombe, on this occasion, had been with me for some half-hour before Mrs. Amworth’s appearance, and had been talking to me about the medi?val beliefs concerning vampirism, one of those borderland subjects which he declared had not been sufficiently54 studied before it had been consigned55 by the medical profession to the dust-heap of exploded superstitions56. There he sat, grim and eager, tracing, with that pellucid57 clearness which had made him in his Cambridge days so admirable a lecturer, the history of those mysterious visitations. In them all there were the same general features: one of those ghoulish spirits took up its abode58 in a living man or woman, conferring supernatural powers of bat-like flight and glutting59 itself with nocturnal blood-feasts. When its host died it continued to dwell in the corpse60, which remained undecayed. By day it rested, by night it left the grave and went on its awful errands.[229] No European country in the Middle Ages seemed to have escaped them; earlier yet, parallels were to be found, in Roman and Greek and in Jewish history.
“It’s a large order to set all that evidence aside as being moonshine,” he said. “Hundreds of totally independent witnesses in many ages have testified to the occurrence of these phenomena, and there’s no explanation known to me which covers all the facts. And if you feel inclined to say ‘Why, then, if these are facts, do we not come across them now?’ there are two answers I can make you. One is that there were diseases known in the Middle Ages, such as the black death, which were certainly existent then and which have become extinct since, but for that reason we do not assert that such diseases never existed. Just as the black death visited England and decimated the population of Norfolk, so here in this very district about three hundred years ago there was certainly an outbreak of vampirism, and Maxley was the centre of it. My second answer is even more convincing, for I tell you that vampirism is by no means extinct now. An outbreak of it certainly occurred in India a year or two ago.”
At that moment I heard my knocker plied61 in the cheerful and peremptory62 manner in which Mrs. Amworth is accustomed to announce her arrival, and I went to the door to open it.
“Come in at once,” I said, “and save me from having my blood curdled64. Mr. Urcombe has been trying to alarm me.”
Instantly her vital, voluminous presence seemed to fill the room.
“Ah, but how lovely!” she said. “I delight in[230] having my blood curdled. Go on with your ghost-story, Mr. Urcombe. I adore ghost-stories.”
I saw that, as his habit was, he was intently observing her.
“It wasn’t a ghost-story exactly,” said he. “I was only telling our host how vampirism was not extinct yet. I was saying that there was an outbreak of it in India only a few years ago.”
There was a more than perceptible pause, and I saw that, if Urcombe was observing her, she on her side was observing him with fixed eye and parted mouth. Then her jolly laugh invaded that rather tense silence.
“Oh, what a shame!” she said. “You’re not going to curdle63 my blood at all. Where did you pick up such a tale, Mr. Urcombe? I have lived for years in India and never heard a rumour65 of such a thing. Some story-teller in the bazaars66 must have invented it: they are famous at that.”
I could see that Urcombe was on the point of saying something further, but checked himself.
“Ah! very likely that was it,” he said.
But something had disturbed our usual peaceful sociability67 that night, and something had damped Mrs. Amworth’s usual high spirits. She had no gusto for her piquet, and left after a couple of games. Urcombe had been silent too, indeed he hardly spoke68 again till she departed.
“That was unfortunate,” he said, “for the outbreak of—of a very mysterious disease, let us call it, took place at Peshawar, where she and her husband were. And——”
“Well?” I asked.
[231]“He was one of the victims of it,” said he. “Naturally I had quite forgotten that when I spoke.”
The summer was unreasonably69 hot and rainless, and Maxley suffered much from drought, and also from a plague of big black night-flying gnats70, the bite of which was very irritating and virulent71. They came sailing in of an evening, settling on one’s skin so quietly that one perceived nothing till the sharp stab announced that one had been bitten. They did not bite the hands or face, but chose always the neck and throat for their feeding-ground, and most of us, as the poison spread, assumed a temporary goitre. Then about the middle of August appeared the first of those mysterious cases of illness which our local doctor attributed to the long-continued heat coupled with the bite of these venomous insects. The patient was a boy of sixteen or seventeen, the son of Mrs. Amworth’s gardener, and the symptoms were an an?mic pallor and a languid prostration72, accompanied by great drowsiness73 and an abnormal appetite. He had, too, on his throat two small punctures74 where, so Dr. Ross conjectured75, one of these great gnats had bitten him. But the odd thing was that there was no swelling76 or inflammation round the place where he had been bitten. The heat at this time had begun to abate77, but the cooler weather failed to restore him, and the boy, in spite of the quantity of good food which he so ravenously78 swallowed, wasted away to a skin-clad skeleton.
I met Dr. Ross in the street one afternoon about this time, and in answer to my inquiries79 about his patient he said that he was afraid the boy was dying.[232] The case, he confessed, completely puzzled him: some obscure form of pernicious an?mia was all he could suggest. But he wondered whether Mr. Urcombe would consent to see the boy, on the chance of his being able to throw some new light on the case, and since Urcombe was dining with me that night, I proposed to Dr. Ross to join us. He could not do this, but said he would look in later. When he came, Urcombe at once consented to put his skill at the other’s disposal, and together they went off at once. Being thus shorn of my sociable80 evening, I telephoned to Mrs. Amworth to know if I might inflict81 myself on her for an hour. Her answer was a welcoming affirmative, and between piquet and music the hour lengthened82 itself into two. She spoke of the boy who was lying so desperately83 and mysteriously ill, and told me that she had often been to see him, taking him nourishing and delicate food. But to-day—and her kind eyes moistened as she spoke—she was afraid she had paid her last visit. Knowing the antipathy84 between her and Urcombe, I did not tell her that he had been called into consultation85; and when I returned home she accompanied me to my door, for the sake of a breath of night air, and in order to borrow a magazine which contained an article on gardening which she wished to read.
“Ah, this delicious night air,” she said, luxuriously86 sniffing87 in the coolness. “Night air and gardening are the great tonics88. There is nothing so stimulating as bare contact with rich mother earth. You are never so fresh as when you have been grubbing in the soil—black hands, black nails, and boots covered with mud.” She gave her great jovial laugh.
[233]“I’m a glutton89 for air and earth,” she said. “Positively I look forward to death, for then I shall be buried and have the kind earth all round me. No leaden caskets for me—I have given explicit90 directions. But what shall I do about air? Well, I suppose one can’t have everything. The magazine? A thousand thanks, I will faithfully return it. Good night: garden and keep your windows open, and you won’t have an?mia.”
“I always sleep with my windows open,” said I.
I went straight up to my bedroom, of which one of the windows looks out over the street, and as I undressed I thought I heard voices talking outside not far away. But I paid no particular attention, put out my lights, and falling asleep plunged91 into the depths of a most horrible dream, distortedly suggested no doubt, by my last words with Mrs. Amworth. I dreamed that I woke, and found that both my bedroom windows were shut. Half-suffocating92 I dreamed that I sprang out of bed, and went across to open them. The blind over the first was drawn93 down, and pulling it up I saw, with the indescribable horror of incipient94 nightmare, Mrs. Amworth’s face suspended close to the pane95 in the darkness outside, nodding and smiling at me. Pulling down the blind again to keep that terror out, I rushed to the second window on the other side of the room, and there again was Mrs. Amworth’s face. Then the panic came upon me in full blast; here was I suffocating in the airless room, and whichever window I opened Mrs. Amworth’s face would float in, like those noiseless black gnats that bit before one was aware. The nightmare rose to screaming point,[234] and with strangled yells I awoke to find my room cool and quiet with both windows open and blinds up and a half-moon high in its course, casting an oblong of tranquil96 light on the floor. But even when I was awake the horror persisted, and I lay tossing and turning. I must have slept long before the nightmare seized me, for now it was nearly day, and soon in the east the drowsy97 eyelids98 of morning began to lift.
I was scarcely downstairs next morning—for after the dawn I slept late—when Urcombe rang up to know if he might see me immediately. He came in, grim and preoccupied99, and I noticed that he was pulling on a pipe that was not even filled.
“I want your help,” he said, “and so I must tell you first of all what happened last night. I went round with the little doctor to see his patient, and found him just alive, but scarcely more. I instantly diagnosed in my own mind what this an?mia, unaccountable by any other explanation, meant. The boy is the prey100 of a vampire101.”
He put his empty pipe on the breakfast-table, by which I had just sat down, and folded his arms, looking at me steadily102 from under his overhanging brows.
“Now about last night,” he said. “I insisted that he should be moved from his father’s cottage into my house. As we were carrying him on a stretcher, whom should we meet but Mrs. Amworth? She expressed shocked surprise that we were moving him. Now why do you think she did that?”
With a start of horror, as I remembered my dream that night before, I felt an idea come into my mind[235] so preposterous103 and unthinkable that I instantly turned it out again.
“I haven’t the smallest idea,” I said.
“Then listen, while I tell you about what happened later. I put out all light in the room where the boy lay, and watched. One window was a little open, for I had forgotten to close it, and about midnight I heard something outside, trying apparently104 to push it farther open. I guessed who it was—yes, it was full twenty feet from the ground—and I peeped round the corner of the blind. Just outside was the face of Mrs. Amworth and her hand was on the frame of the window. Very softly I crept close, and then banged the window down, and I think I just caught the tip of one of her fingers.”
“But it’s impossible,” I cried. “How could she be floating in the air like that? And what had she come for? Don’t tell me such——”
Once more, with closer grip, the remembrance of my nightmare seized me.
“I am telling you what I saw,” said he. “And all night long, until it was nearly day, she was fluttering outside, like some terrible bat, trying to gain admittance. Now put together various things I have told you.”
He began checking them off on his fingers.
“Number one,” he said: “there was an outbreak of disease similar to that which this boy is suffering from at Peshawar, and her husband died of it. Number two: Mrs. Amworth protested against my moving the boy to my house. Number three: she, or the demon105 that inhabits her body, a creature powerful and deadly, tries to gain admittance. And add this,[236] too: in medi?val times there was an epidemic106 of vampirism here at Maxley. The vampire, so the accounts run, was found to be Elizabeth Chaston ... I see you remember Mrs. Amworth’s maiden name. Finally, the boy is stronger this morning. He would certainly not have been alive if he had been visited again. And what do you make of it?”
There was a long silence, during which I found this incredible horror assuming the hues107 of reality.
“I have something to add,” I said, “which may or may not bear on it. You say that the—the spectre went away shortly before dawn.”
“Yes.”
I told him of my dream, and he smiled grimly.
“Yes, you did well to awake,” he said. “That warning came from your subconscious108 self, which never wholly slumbers109, and cried out to you of deadly danger. For two reasons, then, you must help me: one to save others, the second to save yourself.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“I want you first of all to help me in watching this boy, and ensuring that she does not come near him. Eventually I want you to help me in tracking the thing down, in exposing and destroying it. It is not human: it is an incarnate110 fiend. What steps we shall have to take I don’t yet know.”
It was now eleven of the forenoon, and presently I went across to his house for a twelve-hour vigil while he slept, to come on duty again that night, so that for the next twenty-four hours either Urcombe or myself was always in the room where the boy, now getting stronger every hour, was lying. The day[237] following was Saturday and a morning of brilliant, pellucid weather, and already when I went across to his house to resume my duty the stream of motors down to Brighton had begun. Simultaneously111 I saw Urcombe with a cheerful face, which boded112 good news of his patient, coming out of his house, and Mrs. Amworth, with a gesture of salutation to me and a basket in her hand, walking up the broad strip of grass which bordered the road. There we all three met. I noticed (and saw that Urcombe noticed it too) that one finger of her left hand was bandaged.
“Good morning to you both,” said she. “And I hear your patient is doing well, Mr. Urcombe. I have come to bring him a bowl of jelly, and to sit with him for an hour. He and I are great friends. I am overjoyed at his recovery.”
Urcombe paused a moment, as if making up his mind, and then shot out a pointing finger at her.
“I forbid that,” he said. “You shall not sit with him or see him. And you know the reason as well as I do.”
I have never seen so horrible a change pass over a human face as that which now blanched113 hers to the colour of a grey mist. She put up her hand as if to shield herself from that pointing finger, which drew the sign of the cross in the air, and shrank back cowering114 on to the road. There was a wild hoot115 from a horn, a grinding of brakes, a shout—too late—from a passing car, and one long scream suddenly cut short. Her body rebounded116 from the roadway after the first wheel had gone over it, and the second followed. It lay there, quivering and twitching, and was still.
[238]She was buried three days afterwards in the cemetery117 outside Maxley, in accordance with the wishes she had told me that she had devised about her interment, and the shock which her sudden and awful death had caused to the little community began by degrees to pass off. To two people only, Urcombe and myself, the horror of it was mitigated118 from the first by the nature of the relief that her death brought; but, naturally enough, we kept our own counsel, and no hint of what greater horror had been thus averted119 was ever let slip. But, oddly enough, so it seemed to me, he was still not satisfied about something in connection with her, and would give no answer to my questions on the subject. Then as the days of a tranquil mellow120 September and the October that followed began to drop away like the leaves of the yellowing trees, his uneasiness relaxed. But before the entry of November the seeming tranquillity121 broke into hurricane.
I had been dining one night at the far end of the village, and about eleven o’clock was walking home again. The moon was of an unusual brilliance122, rendering123 all that it shone on as distinct as in some etching. I had just come opposite the house which Mrs. Amworth had occupied, where there was a board up telling that it was to let, when I heard the click of her front gate, and next moment I saw, with a sudden chill and quaking of my very spirit, that she stood there. Her profile, vividly124 illuminated125, was turned to me, and I could not be mistaken in my identification of her. She appeared not to see me (indeed the shadow of the yew126 hedge in front of her garden enveloped127 me in its blackness) and she[239] went swiftly across the road, and entered the gate of the house directly opposite. There I lost sight of her completely.
My breath was coming in short pants as if I had been running—and now indeed I ran, with fearful backward glances, along the hundred yards that separated me from my house and Urcombe’s. It was to his that my flying steps took me, and next minute I was within.
“What have you come to tell me?” he asked. “Or shall I guess?”
“You can’t guess,” said I.
“No; it’s no guess. She has come back and you have seen her. Tell me about it.”
I gave him my story.
“That’s Major Pearsall’s house,” he said. “Come back with me there at once.”
“But what can we do?” I asked.
“I’ve no idea. That’s what we have got to find out.”
A minute later, we were opposite the house. When I had passed it before, it was all dark; now lights gleamed from a couple of windows upstairs. Even as we faced it, the front door opened, and next moment Major Pearsall emerged from the gate. He saw us and stopped.
“I’m on my way to Dr. Ross,” he said quickly. “My wife has been taken suddenly ill. She had been in bed an hour when I came upstairs, and I found her white as a ghost and utterly128 exhausted129. She had been to sleep, it seemed—— but you will excuse me.”
“One moment, Major,” said Urcombe. “Was there any mark on her throat?”
[240]“How did you guess that?” said he. “There was: one of those beastly gnats must have bitten her twice there. She was streaming with blood.”
“And there’s someone with her?” asked Urcombe.
“Yes, I roused her maid.”
He went off, and Urcombe turned to me. “I know now what we have to do,” he said. “Change your clothes, and I’ll join you at your house.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you on our way. We’re going to the cemetery.”
He carried a pick, a shovel130, and a screwdriver131 when he rejoined me, and wore round his shoulders a long coil of rope. As we walked, he gave me the outlines of the ghastly hour that lay before us.
“What I have to tell you,” he said, “will seem to you now too fantastic for credence132, but before dawn we shall see whether it outstrips133 reality. By a most fortunate happening, you saw the spectre, the astral body, whatever you choose to call it, of Mrs. Amworth, going on its grisly business, and therefore, beyond doubt, the vampire spirit which abode in her during life animates134 her again in death. That is not exceptional—indeed, all these weeks since her death I have been expecting it. If I am right, we shall find her body undecayed and untouched by corruption135.”
“But she has been dead nearly two months,” said I.
“If she had been dead two years it would still be so, if the vampire has possession of her. So remember: whatever you see done, it will be done not[241] to her, who in the natural course would now be feeding the grasses above her grave, but to a spirit of untold136 evil and malignancy, which gives a phantom137 life to her body.”
“But what shall I see done?” said I.
“I will tell you. We know that now, at this moment, the vampire clad in her mortal semblance138 is out; dining out. But it must get back before dawn, and it will pass into the material form that lies in her grave. We must wait for that, and then with your help I shall dig up her body. If I am right, you will look on her as she was in life, with the full vigour139 of the dreadful nutriment she has received pulsing in her veins140. And then, when dawn has come, and the vampire cannot leave the lair141 of her body, I shall strike her with this”—and he pointed142 to his pick—“through the heart, and she, who comes to life again only with the animation143 the fiend gives her, she and her hellish partner will be dead indeed. Then we must bury her again, delivered at last.”
We had come to the cemetery, and in the brightness of the moonshine there was no difficulty in identifying her grave. It lay some twenty yards from the small chapel144, in the porch of which, obscured by shadow, we concealed145 ourselves. From there we had a clear and open sight of the grave, and now we must wait till its infernal visitor returned home. The night was warm and windless, yet even if a freezing wind had been raging I think I should have felt nothing of it, so intense was my preoccupation as to what the night and dawn would bring. There was a bell in the turret146 of the chapel, that struck the quarters[242] of the hour, and it amazed me to find how swiftly the chimes succeeded one another.
The moon had long set, but a twilight147 of stars shone in a clear sky, when five o’clock of the morning sounded from the turret. A few minutes more passed, and then I felt Urcombe’s hand softly nudging me; and looking out in the direction of his pointing finger, I saw that the form of a woman, tall and large in build, was approaching from the right. Noiselessly, with a motion more of gliding148 and floating than walking, she moved across the cemetery to the grave which was the centre of our observation. She moved round it as if to be certain of its identity, and for a moment stood directly facing us. In the greyness to which now my eyes had grown accustomed, I could easily see her face, and recognise its features.
She drew her hand across her mouth as if wiping it, and broke into a chuckle149 of such laughter as made my hair stir on my head. Then she leaped on to the grave, holding her hands high above her head, and inch by inch disappeared into the earth. Urcombe’s hand was laid on my arm, in an injunction to keep still, but now he removed it.
“Come,” he said.
With pick and shovel and rope we went to the grave. The earth was light and sandy, and soon after six struck we had delved150 down to the coffin151 lid. With his pick he loosened the earth round it, and, adjusting the rope through the handles by which it had been lowered, we tried to raise it. This was a long and laborious152 business, and the light had begun to herald153 day in the east before we had it out, and lying by the side of the grave. With his screwdriver[243] he loosed the fastenings of the lid, and slid it aside, and standing154 there we looked on the face of Mrs. Amworth. The eyes, once closed in death, were open, the cheeks were flushed with colour, the red, full-lipped mouth seemed to smile.
“One blow and it is all over,” he said. “You need not look.”
Even as he spoke he took up the pick again, and, laying the point of it on her left breast, measured his distance. And though I knew what was coming I could not look away....
He grasped the pick in both hands, raised it an inch or two for the taking of his aim, and then with full force brought it down on her breast. A fountain of blood, though she had been dead so long, spouted155 high in the air, falling with the thud of a heavy splash over the shroud156, and simultaneously from those red lips came one long, appalling157 cry, swelling up like some hooting158 siren, and dying away again. With that, instantaneous as a lightning flash, came the touch of corruption on her face, the colour of it faded to ash, the plump cheeks fell in, the mouth dropped.
“Thank God, that’s over,” said he, and without pause slipped the coffin lid back into its place.
Day was coming fast now, and, working like men possessed159, we lowered the coffin into its place again, and shovelled160 the earth over it.... The birds were busy with their earliest pipings as we went back to Maxley.
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saner
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| adj.心智健全的( sane的比较级 )；神志正常的；明智的；稳健的 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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graveyard
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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11
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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12
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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13
agitate
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| vi.(for,against)煽动，鼓动；vt.搅动 | |
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14
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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15
physiological
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| adj.生理学的，生理学上的 | |
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16
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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18
psychical
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| adj.有关特异功能现象的；有关特异功能官能的；灵魂的；心灵的 | |
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19
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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20
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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21
materialistic
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| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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22
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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23
derided
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| v.取笑，嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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25
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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26
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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27
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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28
chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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29
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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30
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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31
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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32
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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33
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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34
gregarious
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| adj.群居的，喜好群居的 | |
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35
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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36
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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37
evoke
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| vt.唤起，引起，使人想起 | |
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38
exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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39
snails
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| n.蜗牛；迟钝的人；蜗牛( snail的名词复数 ) | |
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40
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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41
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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42
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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43
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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44
intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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45
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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46
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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47
briskness
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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48
ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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50
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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51
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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52
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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53
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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54
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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55
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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56
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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57
pellucid
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| adj.透明的，简单的 | |
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58
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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59
glutting
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| v.吃得过多( glut的现在分词 )；（对胃口、欲望等）纵情满足；使厌腻；塞满 | |
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60
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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61
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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62
peremptory
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|
| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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63
curdle
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| v.使凝结，变稠 | |
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64
curdled
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| v.（使）凝结( curdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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66
bazaars
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| （东方国家的）市场( bazaar的名词复数 )； 义卖； 义卖市场； （出售花哨商品等的）小商品市场 | |
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67
sociability
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| n.好交际，社交性，善于交际 | |
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68
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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69
unreasonably
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|
| adv. 不合理地 | |
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70
gnats
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| n.叮人小虫( gnat的名词复数 ) | |
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71
virulent
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|
| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
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72
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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73
drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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74
punctures
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|
| n.（尖物刺成的）小孔( puncture的名词复数 )；（尤指）轮胎穿孔；（尤指皮肤上被刺破的）扎孔；刺伤v.在（某物）上穿孔( puncture的第三人称单数 )；刺穿（某物）；削弱（某人的傲气、信心等）；泄某人的气 | |
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75
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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77
abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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78
ravenously
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|
| adv.大嚼地，饥饿地 | |
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79
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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80
sociable
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|
| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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81
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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82
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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84
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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85
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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86
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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87
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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88
tonics
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|
| n.滋补品( tonic的名词复数 )；主音；奎宁水；浊音 | |
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89
glutton
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| n.贪食者，好食者 | |
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90
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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91
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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92
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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93
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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94
incipient
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| adj.起初的，发端的，初期的 | |
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95
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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96
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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97
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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98
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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99
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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100
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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101
vampire
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| n.吸血鬼 | |
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102
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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103
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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104
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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105
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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106
epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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107
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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108
subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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109
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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110
incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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111
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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112
boded
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| v.预示，预告，预言( bode的过去式和过去分词 )；等待，停留( bide的过去分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待 | |
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113
blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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114
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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115
hoot
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| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
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116
rebounded
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| 弹回( rebound的过去式和过去分词 )； 反弹； 产生反作用； 未能奏效 | |
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117
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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118
mitigated
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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120
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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121
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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122
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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123
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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124
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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125
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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126
yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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127
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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129
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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130
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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131
screwdriver
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| n.螺丝起子；伏特加橙汁鸡尾酒 | |
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132
credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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133
outstrips
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| v.做得比…更好，（在赛跑等中）超过( outstrip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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134
animates
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| v.使有生气( animate的第三人称单数 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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135
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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136
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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137
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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138
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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139
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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140
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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141
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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142
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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143
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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144
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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145
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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146
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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147
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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148
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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149
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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150
delved
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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152
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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153
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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154
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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155
spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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156
shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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157
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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158
hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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159
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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160
shovelled
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| v.铲子( shovel的过去式和过去分词 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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