Most murderous even of all that call thee God!
Most treacherous1 even of all that called thee Lord!
—Swinburne.
No one—not even her parents—knew what the proposed journey cost the girl in bitter sense of shame. She had, in order to consent to this pilgrimage of humiliation2, to put aside all thoughts of her own feelings in the matter. She as a sentient3, thinking, suffering woman must for awhile cease to be; her individuality must sink into nothingness, her pride, alas4, must be broken on the wheel of her filial affection, crushed out of all desire for rebellion.
If the dear folk thought that a personal appeal to Lord Stowmaries was a possible loophole out of the present abyss of sorrow and disgrace, then she—Rose Marie—would lend herself to that appeal: and that not as a martyr5, a saint going to the rack, but as readily, as cheerfully, as if the meeting with the man who had despised and discarded her, who had sold her to another man, as if seeing him face to face was at least a matter of indifference7 to her.
Once having made up her mind to the sacrifice, Rose Marie would not allow herself to think of it. She set to her little preparations for the journey with well-feigned eagerness. Even maman was at times deceived, for the child would sing whilst she put a few stitches to the clothes which she was to take away.
[296] Only when she was quite alone, or lying awake in the narrow little bed in the wall, would that sinful and rebellious8 pride rise up in arms, and Rose Marie would almost have to cling to the woodwork of her bed lest she found herself jumping up and rushing to her parents with a frantic9 cry of revolt: "I cannot go! I cannot do it!"
One word of protest from her even at this eleventh hour, and the journey would have been abandoned. But she made no protest, and the day for the voyage was fixed10.
It was some two or three days before the projected departure that M. Legros, going down at his accustomed hour, to see the last of his 'prentices and cutters ere they left the workshop, found that two strangers were waiting to speak with him.
One of them was not altogether a stranger, for Papa Legros looking—with the keen eyes of a successful business man—on the unkempt and slouchy figure that stood expectantly in the doorway11 soon made up his mind that he had seen the face before. A second look decided12 the point, and brought back with a sharp pang13 the bitter memory of that gay wedding festivity which the advent14 of this same stranger, then the bearer of a fateful letter, had so rudely interrupted.
Daniel Pye and his companion, a meek-faced young man who looked like a scholar very much out at elbows, were kept humbly15 standing16 in the doorway, the while the 'prentices filed out past them, on the close of the working-day. We may assume that these rowdy youngsters did not make the two men's halt there any too pleasant for them. But Pye had learnt patience in the past two months, ever since he had ceased to be the dreaded17 majordomo in a pretty woman's household. He did not understand the gibes18 aimed at him by the impertinent crowd, and the pin-pricks,[297] covert19 pinches and other physical inconveniences to which he was subjected left him passably indifferent.
As for the young student who accompanied him, he certainly looked well accustomed to buffetings from whatever quarter these might descend20 upon him.
The two men stood stolidly21 still, twirling their soft felt hats in their hands, never moving from the spot where they had been told to wait until such time as Maitre Legros might condescend22 to speak with them. Maitre Legros for the nonce was engaged in counting out his 'prentices as they filed past him and then out by the door, lest one of them bent23 on nocturnal mischief24 remained behind in safe concealment25 until time was ripe for pranks26. After the 'prentices, the cutters and fitters filed out—more soberly for they were older men, but every man as he passed threw a curious look at the visitors, more especially at the shaggy, grimy face of Daniel Pye.
When the last of the crowd of workers had passed out into the street, Papa Legros turned to his foreman cutter, who had introduced the strangers into the shop.
"What do these men want?" he asked. "Have they told you their business, Master Duval?"
"No, M'sieu," replied the foreman, "one of them does not understand French, the other one only seems to be here as interpreter. The one with the shaggy beard is the principal, he asked for M. Legros with great insistence27 and as he has been here before—"
"Ah!—You do recognize him then?"
"I have seen his face before, M'sieu—I'd take my oath on that—though when that was I could not say."
"Bien, my good Duval, I'll speak to the stranger anon," rejoined M. Legros. "I shall not require you any more to-day. You may go now. I'll lock the back doors."
[298] Whilst Duval obeyed, Legros studied the face of his visitor very attentively28. He had no doubt in his mind that this was the same man who had brought him that fateful letter on Rose Marie's wedding day, just an hour after the child had gone away with that cruel and treacherous blackguard. Undoubtedly30 the face was very much altered; it had been trim and clean-shaved before, now an unkempt beard hid the mouth and jaw31. The eyes, too, looked more sunken, the nose and forehead more pinched, and a shifty, furtive32 expression replaced the former obsequious33 manner peculiar34 to the well-drilled lacquey.
Obviously this man was the principal in this new affair, and at a curt35 word from M. Legros he came forward into the room with a certain air of sulky defiance36, the while his companion followed meekly37 in the rear.
Papa Legros would have not owned to it for worlds, but as a matter of fact his heart was throbbing38 with anxiety. Instinctively40 he looked on the shaggy figure of Daniel Pye as on a bird of ill-omen. It was through the agency of those same grimy hands that the first terrible blow of a crushing misfortune had fallen on the tailor and his family. What other misery41 would this unwelcome visitor bring in his train?
"You have business with me, my masters?" asked M. Legros at last. He settled himself down resolutely42 in the high-backed chair, which he always used when talking to his inferiors—but he left the two men standing before him; there were no other chairs in the room.
"And of what nature is that business?" continued M. Legros, keeping up an air of haughty45 indifference.
"It is of a private nature, Master," here interposed the younger of the two men. He was evidently impressed by[299] the great tailor's august condescension46 and spoke47 timidly with a slight impediment in his speech.
"Then you may speak of it freely," said M. Legros. "No one can overhear you. All my men have gone. So I pray you be brief. My time is much occupied, and I have none to waste."
The young student no doubt would have hemmed48 and hawed very hesitatingly for some little while to come. But Daniel Pye, moody49 and impatient, gave him a vigorous nudge in the ribs50.
"Go it, Master Clerk," he said gruffly in English. "By G—d, man, I am not paying you to toady51 to this old fool, but to state my business clearly before him. Let me tell you that that business will be highly welcomed in this house, so there is no cause for this damnable shaking of your body, as if you were afraid."
"What does your friend say to you, sirrah?" asked the tailor peremptorily52, for he did not like this conversation carried on in a language which he did not understand.
"He says, my Master," replied the clerk, "that I must speak up boldly, for his business will be pleasing to your graciousness. I am but the poor, ill-paid interpreter, who—"
"Then I pray you interpret both boldly and briefly53," interposed M. Legros impatiently. "What is your friend's business? Out with it, quick, before I have you both kicked out of this door."
The clerk did not think it necessary to translate the tailor's last words into English.
"The business concerns my lord the Earl of Stowmaries and Rivaulx," he began.
"Then 'tis none of mine," retorted the tailor coldly.
"Ay, but of a truth it is, good Master," rejoined the[300] other more boldly, "and my friend here, Master Daniel Pye, by name, a worthy54 and independent Englishman, hath journeyed all the way from London to speak with you on this business. The noble Earl of Stowmaries hath greatly wronged you, sir, and your family. You have suffered great humiliation at his hands. Your daughter through his neglect is neither wife nor maid—"
"And you, sirrah, will be neither alive nor dead, but near to both estates, an you do not hold your tongue," said M. Legros bringing an angry fist crashing down on the arm of his chair. "Out of my house this instant!—How dare you speak my daughter's name without my leave, you dirty paper-scraper, you bundle of quill55 feathers, you—"
Good M. Legros was choking with wrath56 but he did fully6 intend to put his threat into execution and to kick these two impertinent rascals57 out of his house. Ere he could recover himself, however, the clerk forcibly egged on by Daniel Pye had interposed quietly but firmly:
"Nevertheless, sir, it is my duty to be the mouthpiece of my friend who hath come all this way to tell you that God himself hath taken up your cause against the great and noble Earl of Stowmaries, whose pride will soon be laid in the dust, who will become an abject58, cringing59 creature, dependent mayhap on your bounty60 for subsistence, dispossessed, disinherited, nay61 worse, tried for treason, and hanged, sir, hanged as a traitor62! Is not that a glorious revenge, sir, for the wrongs which he has done to you?"
"Nay, and by the Mass, sirrah," said M. Legros who had recovered sufficiently63 from his blind wrath to be justly indignant at this mealy-mouthed harangue64, "if you do, value your shoulders and if your friend cares for his skin, you can have thirty seconds wherein to reach that door,[301] after which the toe of my boot and the stout65 stick in yonder corner shall accelerate your footsteps."
"Sir," protested the clerk, prompted thereto by Daniel Pye, "my friend here desires to remind you that he was driven away by blows from your doors in this like manner just five months ago. Had you given him more ready access to your august person, the letter which he bore and which was written by my hand at a kind lady's bidding, would have been delivered into your hands one hour the earlier, and thus would have averted67 a misery which you yourself would now give your life's blood to undo29."
The words were well chosen. The Huguenot clerk had interpreted Daniel Pye's promptings in a manner which could not fail to bear impress on Master Legros' mind. The shaft68 had been well aimed. It had struck a vital nerve centre. The tailor, feeling the justice of the reproof69, curbed70 his wrath. He was silent for a moment or two, while the two men watched and waited.
Suddenly the touch of a hand which he loved, roused Master Legros from his moody incertitude71 and a girl's voice said with firm decision:
"These men are right in what they say, Father. There is no harm in hearing what they have to say. If they bring lying news or empty scandal 'twill be ample time then to turn them out of doors."
"I heard enough to understand that these men have come here to tell you of some evil which is about to descend on my lord of Stowmaries, my husband before God. That is so, is it not?"
And she turned great inquiring eyes on Daniel Pye and on the clerk.
[302] "That is so, Mademoiselle."
"My mother and I heard my father's voice raised in anger against you. She bade me come down to see what was amiss. The matter which concerns my lord of Stowmaries also concerns me, so I pray you tell my father all about it in my presence, and have no fear of his wrath, for he will listen to you for my sake."
"Then, sirrah, an my daughter desires it, I pray you tell your story!" rejoined Legros. "But do so briefly; I'll patiently hear of the evil which hath befallen my lord Stowmaries, but will not listen to any impertinent comments on his actions past or in the present."
"Tell them the whole tale just as you did write it out," whispered Daniel Pye to his interpreter. "Damn you, sir, how much longer will you be about it!"
"Then hear me, master tailor, for it began this wise," now said the clerk with a great effort at composure. "My lord of Stowmaries hath a kinsman73, one named Michael Kestyon, whom you know, and on whose conduct I am not permitted to make comment. Michael hath for years held—on grounds which it would take too long now to explain—that he and not his cousin should own the titles and estates of Stowmaries and Rivaulx. But hitherto he hath had no money wherewith to press his claim. The law as administered in England is a vastly expensive affair, my master, and Michael Kestyon was a poor man, poorer even than I; he was a wastrel74 and many called him a dissolute reprobate75."
"Enough of Michael Kestyon," interrupted Legros gruffly. "Have I not told you to be brief."
"Michael Kestyon's affairs form part of my tale, Master. You must know that he is now passing rich. Many and[303] varied76 are the rumours77 as to the provenance78 of his wealth, and many the comments as to the change in the man himself. Armed with money Michael Kestyon hath obtained the ear and attention of the high dignitaries of the law and the favour of the King himself. The fact hath become of public knowledge that only His Majesty's signature to a document is needed now to instate Michael Kestyon in the title and dignities which are declared to be legally his. My lord of Stowmaries, therefore, is, as you see, no longer secure in his position and his wealth, and though you may not permit the humble79 clerk to make comment on the doings of his betters, yet Master Daniel Pye hath come all the way from England to bring you this news, which must be vastly gratifying to you, whom that same lord of Stowmaries had so wantonly injured."
Daniel Pye and his mouthpiece both looked at the tailor with marked assurance now. Of a truth they were quite confident that the Legros thirsting for revenge would receive the news with every sign of exultation80. But the master tailor was silent and moody, and it was Mademoiselle who spoke.
"And is this all the news which you, sir, came all the way from England to impart to my father?" she asked, addressing Daniel Pye in his mother tongue.
"No, not altogether all, Mistress," he replied; "I have better news for you yet."
"Anent my lord Stowmaries' troubles?"
"Ay, something you will be still more glad to hear."
"What is it?"
"My lord of Stowmaries is a Papist—or—saving your presence he is a Catholic, and Catholics are in bad odour in England just now—they are said to be con[304]spiring to murder the King, and to place the Duke of York on the throne—to sell England to France, and to place the English people under the yoke81 of the Pope of Rome."
"I think so," replied Daniel Pye.
"How do you mean? That you think so is no proof that he hath done it."
"I can soon bring forward the proofs," said Pye with a knowing leer directed at her from under his shaggy brows, "if you, Mistress, will help me."
Rose Marie felt a shudder84 which was almost one of loathing85 creeping up her spine86, at sight of the expression in the man's face.
It told such an infamous87 tale of base thoughts and desires, of cupidity88 and of triumphant89 revenge, that her every nerve rebelled against further parleyings with such a villain90.
But there was something more than mere91 feminine curiosity in her wish to know something definite of what was really passing in the mind of Daniel Pye. That shrewd instinct and sound common sense—which is the inalienable birthright of the French bourgeoisie—told her that the man would not have undertaken the arduous92 and costly93 journey from England to France unless he had some powerful motive94 to prompt him thereunto, or—what was more likely still—some reward to gain.
The desire to learn the truth of this motive or of this hoped-for gain remained therefore paramount95 in her mind, and she did her best not to give outward expression to her sense of repulsion when Daniel Pye drew nearer to her in an attempt at confidential96 familiarity.
He was far from guessing that his last words had done[305] aught but please this wench and her father, both of whom had as serious a grievance97 against Lord Stowmaries as he himself had against Mistress Peyton.
It had not taken the dismissed serving-man very long to learn the lesson of how he could best be revenged on his past mistress. The easiest way to hit at the ambitious lady was undoubtedly—as Master Tongue had pointed98 out to him—by bringing the man she desired to marry to humiliation and ruin. Michael Kestyon's successful claim to the peerage of Stowmaries had paved the way for the more complete undoing99 of my lord, and Daniel Pye soon knew the lesson by heart which the informers of Whitefriars had taught him.
Oates was ready with his lies; he and his confederates had soon mustered100 up a goodly array of names of Papist gentlemen against whom these lies could most easily be proved. The first spark had been set to the tinder which presently would set the whole of England ablaze101 with the hideous102 flame of persecution103. But to make their villainous perjuries104 more startling, and at the same time to obtain better pay for uttering them, they wanted to add to their list a few more high-sounding names which would have the additional advantage of proving the far-reaching dimensions of the supposed Popish plot. Amongst these names that of Stowmaries would be of great moment. Daniel Pye with his intimate acquaintance with my lord became a valuable addition to the band.
Soon he was taught to concoct105 a plausible106 story; information against Papists was being richly rewarded already by the terrorised Ministry107 and Parliament. But Pye, grafting108 his own wits onto the lesson given, bethought himself of the rich tailor over in Paris who surely would not only help him actively109 in the telling of his lies, but also[306] pay him passing well for bringing Lord Stowmaries to humiliation and disgrace—if not to the gallows110.
Tongue—who had remained Daniel Pye's guide and leader in all his villainies—fully approved of the plan; we may take it that he intended to levy111 a percentage on what the more ignorant peasant would obtain from Master Legros.
It was felt among that vile112 band of informers that foreign witnesses, especially those of French nationality, would be a valuable help to the success of the accusations113, and to all these men of low and debased mind, it seemed quite natural that the tailor—whose daughter had been the heroine of a public scandal brought about by Lord Stowmaries' repudiation114 of her—would out of vengeful malice115 be only too ready to swear to any falsehood against the young man.
Thus Daniel Pye went over to France, accompanied by the good wishes of an infamous crowd. The few pounds which he had saved whilst he was in Mistress Peyton's service were rapidly dwindling116 away. The journey to Paris had been expensive, too, and he had therefore much at stake in this interview with the tailor, and watched with greedy eyes the face both of Legros and of his daughter, now that the latter was silent and that the old man resolutely took no part in the conversation.
Of a truth Legros had been listening moodily117 to what this uncouth118 stranger was saying, trying to comprehend the drift of all his talk. But the worthy tailor had only a very scanty119 knowledge of the English tongue, only so much in fact as enabled him in his business to make himself understood by the cloth manufacturers and button makers120 of England with whom he came in contact. Therefore he had only made vague guesses as to what Pye was[307] saying to Rose Marie. Once or twice he tried to interpose, but every time his daughter checked him with a gesture of firm entreaty121, and then a whispered: "Chéri, allow me to speak with him!"
Now after that first instinctive39 movement of recoil122 quickly suppressed, Rose Marie, keen to know what ugly schemes were being nurtured123 in the man's brain, feeling, too, that to know might mean the power to avert66 or to help, turned with well-assumed cordiality once more to Daniel Pye.
"Meseems, sir," she said, "that you have more to tell me. In what way can I help to prove that my lord of Stowmaries hath conspired against the King of England?"
"You need not do much, Mistress," rejoined Pye confidentially124. "I will do most of the work for you. But I am a poor man and—"
"I understand. You want some money. You wish to be paid. For what?"
That sense of repulsion almost overmastered her again. Was she not lending herself—if only with words and with seeming acquiescence—to some abominable125 infamy126? Swiftly her thoughts flew back to the pool of Cluny, the water lilies smirched with the slime. How true had been those words he spoke: contact with what is depraved, what is mean and base, soils and humiliates127 ineradicably very soon.
"You have come to my father to sell him some information against Lord Stowmaries. Is that it?" she reiterated128 impatiently as Daniel Pye was somewhat slow in replying.
"I can bring Lord Stowmaries to the gallows, by just saying the word," replied the man. "I thought Master[308] Legros would wish me to say the word—that he would help a poor man who tried to do him service."
"My lord of Stowmaries is not at the mercy of false accusers," she said almost involuntarily.
"Papists in England do conspire," retorted Pye phlegmatically129, "and I and my friends know a vast deal of their doings—Hark 'ee, Mistress," he added, drawing nearer to her, "and you too, my master, for methinks you understand something of what I say. It is all as simple and as clear as daylight. Papists are in very bad odour in England, and the Ministry and Parliament are all in blue terror lest the country be sold to France or to Rome. Now my friend Titus Oates and some other equally honourable130 gentlemen bethought themselves of a splendid plan whereby we can all render our own country a great service by exposing these Papist conspiracies131. We are being well paid already for any information we get, and information is quite easy to obtain. Look at Master Oates! He hath invented a splendid tale whereby the Duke of York himself and certainly his secretary—one Coleman—and a number of others do find themselves in dire83 trouble. Lord Stowmaries is a Papist, too. I know him well. You know him passing well. We can readily concoct a famous story between us, which will vastly please the Privy132 Council and Parliament. Lord Stowmaries, I feel sure, would wish to see England Catholic like himself. He wishes to see the King put away, and the Duke of York reigning133 in his stead. Well! all that we need do, good Master and Mistress, is to write out a statement wherein we all swear that we overheard my lord of Stowmaries express a desire to that effect, and the man who did you both so great a wrong, the man, Master, who first married your daughter and then cast her away from him as if she were of evil[309] fame, will dangle134 on the gallows to your satisfaction and to mine."
Daniel Pye paused, viewing his two interlocutors with a glance of triumph. He had absolutely no doubt in his mind that the rich tailor would within the next second or two—as soon, in fact, as he had recovered from the first shock of pleasant surprise, jump up from his chair, and with the impetuous fervour peculiar to Frenchmen, throw himself on the breast of his benefactor135. The transference of a bag full of gold from the pocket of the grateful and rich tailor to that of good Master Pye would then be but a matter of time.
But no such manifestations136 of joyful137 excitement occurred, and the expression of triumph in the informer's face soon gave place to one of anxiety.
M. Legros had looked up at his daughter, who stood beside him, pale and thoughtful.
"I have not understood all that this man hath said, my jewel."
"'Tis as well, Father dear," she replied, "for methinks you would have thrashed him to within an inch of his life. Nay!" she added coldly as the Huguenot clerk—suddenly realising that matters were taking a dangerous turn all unbeknown as yet to his companion—gripped the latter's arm and began to talk to him volubly in English, "you, sir, need not warn your friend. I will tell him, myself, all that he need know."
"Miserable138 perjurer," she continued, now speaking directly to Pye, "go out of my father's house forthwith, ere he understands more of your villainies and breaks his stick across your back, as he would over that of a mad and vicious cur. I have listened to your lies, your evil projects, your schemes of villainies only because I wished to[310] know the extent of your infamy and gauge139 the harm which your perjuries might cause. Now, with the help of God, I can yet warn him, who though he may have injured me, is nevertheless my husband in the sight of Heaven. Your perjuries will do you no good—they will mayhap lead you and your friends to the gallows. If there is justice in England your lies will lead you thither140. Now you can go, ere I myself beg my father to lay his dog-whip across your back."
Daniel Pye's surprise was quite boundless141. It had never for a moment entered his head that the tailor and his family would not join readily in any project for the undoing of my lord Stowmaries. He blamed himself for having been too precipitate142; he would have liked to argue and mayhap to persuade, but though he did not understand the French language, he guessed by the expression in the master tailor's eyes, as his daughter now spoke with cold decision to him, that the moment was not propitious143 for a prolonged stay in this inhospitable house.
The look of terror on his interpreter's face also warned him that a hasty retreat would be the most prudent144 course; already M. Legros was gripping his stick very ominously145.
But by the time the old man had struggled to his feet, Daniel Pye and his companion had incontinently fled. They had reached the door, torn it open and were out in the street even before M. Legros had time to throw his stick after them.
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1
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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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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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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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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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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gibes
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| vi.嘲笑，嘲弄（gibe的第三人称单数形式） | |
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covert
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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concealment
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pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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30
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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31
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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32
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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33
obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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34
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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35
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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36
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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37
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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38
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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39
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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40
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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41
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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42
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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43
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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44
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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45
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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46
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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47
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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48
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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49
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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50
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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51
toady
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| v.奉承；n.谄媚者，马屁精 | |
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52
peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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53
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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54
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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55
quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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56
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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57
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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58
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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59
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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60
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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61
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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62
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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63
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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64
harangue
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| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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66
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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67
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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68
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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69
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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70
curbed
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| v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
incertitude
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| n.疑惑，不确定 | |
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72
harangues
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| n.高谈阔论的长篇演讲( harangue的名词复数 )v.高谈阔论( harangue的第三人称单数 ) | |
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73
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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74
wastrel
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| n.浪费者；废物 | |
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75
reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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76
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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77
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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78
provenance
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| n.出处；起源 | |
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79
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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80
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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81
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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82
conspired
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| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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83
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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84
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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85
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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86
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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87
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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88
cupidity
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| n.贪心，贪财 | |
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89
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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90
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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91
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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92
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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93
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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94
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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95
paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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96
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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97
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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98
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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99
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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100
mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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101
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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102
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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103
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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104
perjuries
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| n.假誓，伪证，伪证罪( perjury的名词复数 ) | |
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105
concoct
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| v.调合，制造 | |
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106
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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107
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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108
grafting
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| 嫁接法，移植法 | |
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109
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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110
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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111
levy
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| n.征收税或其他款项，征收额 | |
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112
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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113
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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114
repudiation
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| n.拒绝；否认；断绝关系；抛弃 | |
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115
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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116
dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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117
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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118
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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119
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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120
makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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121
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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122
recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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123
nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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124
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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125
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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126
infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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127
humiliates
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| 使蒙羞，羞辱，使丢脸( humiliate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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128
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
phlegmatically
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130
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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131
conspiracies
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| n.阴谋，密谋( conspiracy的名词复数 ) | |
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132
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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133
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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134
dangle
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| v.(使)悬荡，(使)悬垂 | |
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135
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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136
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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137
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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138
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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139
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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140
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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141
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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142
precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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143
propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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144
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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145
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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