She had given rein25 to her horse, not heeding26 or caring where he took her. Her one and only thought was to get away, far away; so she rode on and on, over brook27 and brush, through bog28 and mire29 till gradually her fear had subsided30, and, reining31 in her horse, she looked around, and with a thrill of joy and wonder she saw Mossgiel Farm in the distance. Surely fate had guided her horse’s footsteps in this direction, she thought eagerly. Her[132] course was clear now, she would go to him, to her husband, he would protect her. So she had continued her journey to the cottage, where she brought naught32 but misery33 and sorrow to its inmates34.
As Mrs. Burns left the room Jean gazed after her in bitter silence. She wished she had not come. She knew she was not welcome. Far better to have faced her father’s anger. “But the die is cast. I have made my bed,” she told herself wearily. She realized how futile35 it was to repine over the past, and she felt too exhausted36, too miserably37 unhappy to think of the future. She would stay here perhaps a night, then she didn’t know, couldn’t think what would happen. At all events she could never return to her father’s home now. He had spurned38 her from him, and she was not wanted here. Nobody wanted her now. Her lips quivered convulsively and big tears of self-pity rolled quietly down her pale cheeks.
Gilbert looked uneasily from his brother’s grief-stricken face to the weary, wan6 face of the bride. How long were they going to sit there side by side without a word to each other? he thought uneasily. He felt a great wave of pity well up in his heart for the unwelcome, unloved addition to their family. True she was mostly to blame for her present misfortune. Her imprudence, her misconduct had been well known to many, before his brother had gone to Mauchline to live. He felt sorry for Robert, too, even while he bitterly reproached him for being the[133] author of Mary’s unhappiness. They must make the best of things now, he thought philosophically40. “Ye had better take off your bonnet41, lassie,” he said kindly42, breaking the oppressive silence. “Ye’ll be staying here the night.” She raised her head and looked at him with flashing eyes.
“Full well I know that all here hate and despise me,” she burst forth43 bitterly, not heeding his request.
Robert slowly raised his head and looked at her. There was sorrow and compassion44 in his dark melancholy45 eyes. “Jean,” he said quietly, “our lives have been linked togither by a stern, inexorable fate. We have both been guilty of a grievous sin, and noo we must face the results bravely.” He rose and walked to her and stood humbly47 by her side. “I hope ye’ll forgive me, Jean, for wreckin’ your life and plungin’ ye into sae much misery.”
Slowly Jean bowed her head, her face flushing guiltily. Surely she had the more need to ask his forgiveness. She had not expected to find such nobility of character, and it moved her deeply.
“There is naught to forgive,” she cried in a low stifled48 voice. “I alone am to blame. I am unfit, unworthy to be your wife. Oh, I’m so miserable49, so unhappy,” and she burst into tears.
Souter led old Donald silently out of the room. There was nothing either one could say to the wretched couple, so they sat outside and talked it all over in the way old men have. They had not[134] been seated long, however, when they espied50 coming toward them, at a furious gallop12, a horse and rider. As they drew near Souter perceived with sudden apprehension51 that it was none other than Squire52 Armour53. He rose anxiously to his feet.
“It’s Squire Armour himsel’,” whispered Souter cautiously.
“Ma certie!” ejaculated Donald, shaking his white locks in mild alarm.
“I’d better warn the lass,” said Souter hastily, as the Squire drew up to the gate. Going to the door he quickly told them of the newcomer, then turned to intercept54 the irate55 visitor, who was coming swiftly up the walk.
“Heavens, my father here!” cried Jean in a frightened whisper. “Oh, I dare not face his wrath56. Protect me, Robert,” and she clung to him fearfully.
“Out o’ my way, mon!” they heard the harsh voice of Squire Armour shouting. “Out o’ my way,” and pushing aside the courageous57 little man he strode wrathfully into the room.
“Weel, I’ll stay and see the fun through,” said Souter to himself grimly.
“So, my lass,” cried the old Squire triumphantly58, “I’ve found ye just where I expected ye’d be, in the arms o’ your dissolute lover. Come awa’, ye shameless bairn.”
[135]
He started toward her, but Robert passed her quickly behind him.
“Keep back, Squire Armour,” he said firmly. “I’m nae a mild-mannered man, an’ ye may learn it to your cost.”
Squire Armour glanced at him savagely59. “Dinna ye dare talk to me, ye libertine60, ye blasphemous61 rhymster. Ye dare to stand there wi’ my daughter, proclaiming her dishonor to my very eyes?”
“There is no dishonor, Squire Armour,” replied Robert calmly, “for your daughter is—my wife.”
“Your wife!” echoed the old man, staggering back in amazement62. “I’ll nae believe it. It’s a lie. I’d rather see my daughter disgraced forever than be your wife.”
“An’ ye an Elder in the Kirk, a so-called ‘God-fearin’ man’!” cried Robert scathingly, his eyes blazing with scorn. “I tell ye, Squire Armour, she is my wife, an’ all your bitter, unreasoning hatred65 o’ me canna’ alter that unhappy fact.”
For a moment the old man stood gazing at them in helpless rage. Then he turned to Jean, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “What proofs have ye?” he asked hoarsely66.
“I have my marriage lines, father,” she answered quickly.
“Where were ye married?”
[136]
“Why, father, we——” began Jean hesitatingly.
“Was it in the Kirk?” he interrupted sternly.
“Not in the Kirk?” he cried, his voice rising menacingly. “Who was the minister? Who married ye?”
“There was no minister, father.”
“Nae minister!” he exclaimed in horror.
“Wait, father, you don’t understand,” cried Jean quickly; “’twas a Scotch68 marriage; ye ken what that is—and,” she bowed her head guiltily, “why it is. And here are my lines signed by Robert acknowledging me as his wife.” She took from the bosom69 of her gown a folded paper which she handed to her father.
“’Tis perfectly71 legal, Squire Armour,” replied Robert calmly, “even if it is irregular, and is as binding as though we were married in Kirk.”
“It shall be set aside,” fumed72 the old man. “I will not have it so. Ye shall both renounce73 it, I tell ye.”
“Oh, father,” cried Jean tearfully, going to his side. “’Tis too late now; would you shame me in the eyes of the world?”
“Do these few written lines make your shame any the less?” he shouted wrathfully. “Will not all the neighbors know why he had to give them to ye? Ye would throw awa’ your life on this poverty-stricken,[137] shiftless rhymster, but ye shall not do it; ye must give him up, do ye hear?” and he raised his arm menacingly.
“No, no, no, father,” she exclaimed frantically74, falling on her knees beside him; “I cannot give him up now, I cannot.” After all the weary weeks of anxious fears and doubts she knew at last that she had found her heart, and now asked no greater happiness than to be allowed to remain with her husband to share his humble75 life, to be the mother of his family. All the old ambitious thoughts were gone forever. She wondered that they ever existed.
“Ye shameless bairn, ye must an’ shall!” he replied fiercely. “This is the end o’ it all,” and he vindictively76 tore into little bits the paper Jean had given into his hands. “We’ll hear nae mair of that, my lass, an’ I swear ye shall never see Robert Burns again, make up your mind to that.”
With a cry of despair Jean sank half fainting into a chair.
As he witnessed Squire Armour’s fiendish act Robert’s heart gave a great bound that sent the blood coursing madly through his veins77. The marriage lines were destroyed; then he was free, free! Oh, the music in that word! Free to do as he wished. A sob78 of anguish79 caused him to look around at the kneeling figure of the unfortunate girl. Quickly the eager light died out of his face as he noted80 her suffering. Going to the kneeling girl he[138] raised her gently to her feet, and holding her by the hand faced the inhuman81 father. “Squire Armour, ye would condemn82 your ain flesh an’ blood to shame an’ disgrace because o’ your hatred for me,” he said quietly, “but it shall not be. I defy ye. Come, Jean, we will go to the Kirk at once and Daddy Auld83 will marry us.” They turned to go, but the old man stepped between them and the door, his arms upraised, his eyes wild and glaring.
“I’d sooner see her in her grave than bear the accursed name of Robert Burns,” he cried with solemn intensity84. “Great though her imprudence has been, she can still look to a higher, an’ better connection than a marriage with ye.” Turning to Jean he continued sternly, “Speak, lass, say that ye’ll obey me, or the bitter curse o’ your parents will haunt an’ follow ye all the rest o’ your days.”
“We’ll forget and forgive it all if ye’ll come back,” he replied, the great love for his child revealing itself in his eager tones. “Ye’re nae longer that man’s wife. Come an’ none will ever know o’ your dishonor.”
“My God, mon!” exclaimed Robert in horrified accents, “where is your father’s pride, your ain honor, your manhood!”
But Squire Armour heeded87 him not. “Come, my[139] daughter, come,” he said tenderly, leading the weak, wavering girl to the door.
“Ye canna expect to keep this a secret from the world, Squire Armour,” cried Robert indignantly. “Matters have gone too far for that; soon your daughter’s name will be blasted irretrievably, while mine will be coupled with that of blackguard. It must not be. Ye must let Jean go to the Kirk wi’ me this very night or I shall inform the Elders in the Kirk.”
“Ye’ll have no time to turn informer, my laddie,” snarled88 Squire Armour, turning on him fiercely; “for I mean to have ye brought before the Kirk sessions, an’ ye’ll be punished as ye deserve for the sin ye have committed, an’ ye shall sit on the cutty stool, where all your friends an’ neighbors can jeer89 an’ scoff90 at ye. This very night will I send the parish officers after ye, Robert Burns. Ye can take this warning or no, just as ye please, but I hope they find ye here. Come, lass, we’ll go hame to your mither, noo.” He drew the terrified, half-fainting girl firmly through the door and down the path to the road.
“Ye’re an old hypocrite!” hooted91 Souter, following them to the gate, where he stood shaking his fist angrily after the departing visitors, and shouting his frank opinion of the Squire in no mild or flattering terms.
“I alone am to blame,” cried Robert despairingly,[140] as he watched them gallop madly away into the threatening night. “An’ only the bitterest sorrow, the most poignant92 grief will I know until that wrong is righted.”
“What will ye do noo, lad?” asked Mrs. Burns, breaking in upon the melancholy sadness which enveloped93 him like a pall94. (She had entered the room in time to hear Squire Armour’s parting injunction.) “Ye heard what the Squire threatened. Oh, dinna disdain95 the littleness of prudence39, my son.”
“I willna, mother,” replied Robert dully, after a pause. “I have decided to go awa’ from Mossgiel.”
“Go awa’?” she repeated fearfully. “Nay96, nay, laddie, ye mustna! I fear for ye in your present state o’ mind.”
“I must, mother,” he answered wildly. “I willna sit on the cutty stool to be made the laughing stock o’ the whole neighborhood, to bring shame on ye all.” He walked restlessly up and down the room as he continued feverishly97, “I willna stay here to skulk98 from covert99 to covert under all the terrors of a jail, for I ken that in a little while the merciless pack of the law will be baying at my heels like bloodhounds.” He turned to her suddenly, “Mother, I mean to leave Scotland, perhaps forever.”
“Oh, nay, nay, my bairn; I canna, I willna, let ye go,” answered his mother, clinging to him passionately101.
[141]
“There, there, mither, dinna make it harder for me.” He put his arm around her tenderly and pressed her to him for a moment. “Noo, mother,” he said quietly, “will ye pack my chest? I have nae time to spare,” and he led her gently to the door.
“Where will ye be goin’?” inquired Gilbert.
“To the Indies, to Jamaica,” replied Robert quickly. “Ye ken Dr. Douglas has a place for me there as overseer of his plantation102. He has offered it to me mony times.” He turned in nervous haste to his mother, who stood in the doorway anxiously watching him. “Hurry, mither, please, I am in torture o’ mind.”
“Very well, laddie,” she answered sorrowfully. “God will direct your footsteps aright,” and she closed the door behind her and quickly made her way to his chamber.
“Will ye see Mary before ye go, Robert?” asked Gilbert.
He felt an infinite pity for his brother, who was leaving behind him everything he held dear.
“If she will come to me,” faltered Robert. “Tell her I’m goin’ an’ that I will go wi’ a lighter103 heart if she bids me godspeed. Watch o’er an’ protect her, Gilbert,” he continued, placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “An’ I hope one day she may forget faithless Robert Burns, an’—an’ ye, Gilbert, will be made happy.” He turned away as he finished, grief gnawing104 at his heart.
[142]
An eager light flashed in Gilbert’s eyes as he answered fervently105, “I would lay doon my life to serve her,” and with a quick look into the averted106 face he quietly left the room.
Mechanically Rob took his bonnet from the peg107 and throwing his long plaid around him went out into the air, and silently, sorrowfully he stood there watching the gloomy clouds that hung low in the heavens through eyes misty108 with tears. His soul was filled with unutterable sorrow at the coming parting, with dread109 of the unknown future to be passed alone in a strange, inhospitable foreign land. Oh, the agony of that thought, alone! Suddenly there came floating softly, peacefully, borne on the back of the south wind, which was blowing gently against his face, the alluring110, seductive voice of the Goddess Muse111. Insistently112 she urged her way into the dulled and listless ear of the grief-stricken man. Not for long was she denied admission, however. With a cry of joy, that even in that dreaded113 hour of parting his Goddess had not deserted114 him, he eagerly opened the book he held in his hand, his favorite book, “Tristam Shandy” by Sterne, and wrote quickly, lovingly on the flyleaf the impassioned words which were being whispered in his ear. Hungrily the pencil sped over the paper, till, with a sigh of regret, he dropped his hand, the voice was hushed, the message was finished. As he stood there eagerly reading his verses by the light which streamed through[143] the window, the door softly opened and Mary came swiftly to his side, her pure face pitiful in its childlike sorrow.
“Is it true ye are gang awa’ frae Scotland, Robbie?” she asked breathlessly. He bowed his head. “Oh, my heart beats heavy for ye, laddie.” There was infinite compassion in her voice. “But ye maun be brave noo if ever ye were.” She nestled her little hand in his. He clasped it fervently.
“O, Mary, my Highland115 lassie!” he cried passionately, “I want to hear ye say before I go that ye forgive me for the sorrow I have brought into your pure young life.”
“Hush, laddie,” she answered softly, “there is naught to forgive; ye had to do your duty like an honorable mon. I hae been very happy wi’ ye, laddie, an’ the memory o’ that happiness will be wi’ me always.” She leaned against him for a brief moment, then slowly drew herself away and looked tenderly up into his face. “In this sad parting hour,” she faltered, “I can tell ye without shame that I love ye wi’ a’ my being, an’ will until I dee.”
“Heaven bless ye, Mary,” he whispered brokenly. “The thought of your love will gie me courage to bear my exile bravely.”
“Exile!” she repeated shuddering116. “Oh, what a drear word, to think ye must be exiled in your noble youth, that ye maun leave your hame, your country,[144] to live alone in some foreign clime.” The tears streamed down her pallid117 cheeks. “We will a’ miss ye sair, lad,” she continued bravely, “and we will pray for ye, an’—an’—oh, ’twill be sae hard to say good-by, perhaps forever.” She threw her arms about his neck and clung to him passionately.
He held the weeping child in his strong, loving embrace, his face close to hers. “Oh, why was I born, only to bring sorrow, pain an’ disgrace to those I hold dear?” he cried in an agony of grief and remorse118. “Bitterly am I atonin’ for my act o’ imprudence; an exile, a failure,” he gave a mirthless little laugh; “aye, a failure, for e’en the hopes of success held out to me have a’ vanished in disappointment. Oblivion has enveloped me in its darkening pall, for whichever way I turn naught but darkest gloom, with not e’en a ray of light, meets my wretched gaze.” A flash of lightning pierced the darkness, followed shortly by a heavy, prolonged roll of thunder. She nestled closer to his side.
“Be not discouraged, laddie,” she said; “’tis always darkest before dawn, an’ who kens119 what may yet happen?”
“Ah, nae, nae,” he interrupted with a despairing shake of his head, “e’en the elements conspire120 against me, for I maun face this coming storm on foot to reach Greenock. ’Tis all a part of my just punishment.” The wind had risen and with it a driving mist[145] which soon enveloped them in its damp embrace. But they heeded it not.
“Bide a wee, dinna go to-night,” she pleaded, while the wind tossed her tangled121 curls seductively around his neck and in his sorrowing face. “Listen to the wind. Oh,’tis a bad night to start on a journey,” and she clung to him tighter, her skirts flapping about his limbs like some live thing, thrilling him by their touch.
“Before ye came out, lassie,” he replied quietly, stilling the tumult122 in his heart, “I wrote some verses in this book as a parting song; how appropriate they are for this occasion ye will see. Listen,” and holding the book up to the light he began to read:
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;
I see it driving o’er the plain;
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr;
’Tis not the surging billows’ roar,
’Tis not that fatal deadly shore,
Tho’ death in every shape appear,
The wretched have no more to fear;
But round my heart the ties are bound,
That heart transpierced with many a wound;
These bleed afresh, these ties I tear,
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr.”
The wind had risen rapidly and the old beech126 tree[146] was shrieking127 and groaning128 overhead as its branches strove like maniac129 arms with the tempest. The Ayr could be plainly heard roaring its diapason on its rocky banks in the darkness below, while the thunder crashed overhead and the lurid130 glare of lightning ever and again lit up the yard.
Unheeding its warning he continued, his melancholy sonorous131 voice, with its mournful cadences132, floating out with passionate100 longing, filling his listener with unutterable sadness:
“Farewell, old Coila’s hills and dales,
The scenes where wretched fancy roves,
Pursuing past unhappy loves.
My peace with thee, my love with those;
The bursting tears my heart declare,
Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr.”
As his voice died away he heard the sound of sobbing136, and looked up, to see his mother standing in the doorway.
Silently they entered the cottage. Robert crossed the room to his brother’s side.
“Gilbert,” he said quietly, “ye take the songs an’ verses ye will find on my table an’ send them to Mr. Aiken. Mayhap they will bring you in a bit o’ money to help ye in your struggle wi’ poverty, an’ forgive[147] me that I maun leave ye to battle wi’ misfortune alone.” Turning to Mary he continued, lovingly, “Mary, lass, will ye accept my Bible as a parting gift?” She looked at him with shining eyes. “Ye’ll find it in the oak box with the glass lid in the attic138.”
“I’ll prize it for aye, Robert,” she sobbed139 gratefully, pressing his hand, “an’ our prayers will follow ye to that far distant land, where I hope success awaits ye.”
He drew her to him gently and pressed a kiss on her pure brow. “Farewell, lassie, may ye be happy,” he breathed fervently. Turning again to Gilbert he spoke140 rapidly, “Farewell, brother, give my love to the dear brothers an’ sisters when they come hame.” He shook his hand warmly.
“God keep ye, Robert,” answered Gilbert quietly.
Gently Robert drew his weeping mother into his arms. Tenderly he pulled down the apron141 which she had flung over her head to hide her sorrow, and wiped away her tears. “Noo, mother,” he whispered brokenly, “I—I maun say good-by; the day has drawn142 to its close an’ I maun start on my journey to Greenock. Dinna greet, dear mither.” He let her weep on unconstrainedly a few moments.
Finally her bitter sobbing ceased and looking up into his face she cried passionately, “I canna give ye up, my son, never to see ye again.” She took his cheeks lovingly between her hands.
“Ye’re making it hard for me to go, mither,”[148] he cried, utterly143 distracted. “But the die is cast, my hands are on the plow144, an’ I canna turn back noo. Ye ken there is naught but disappointment an’ disgrace to look forward to here, an’——” Suddenly a loud cheer from outside the cottage interrupted him. They listened in silent wonder. Above the noise of the wind, which had risen to a gale145, and the swish of the rain, which now beat in swirling146 gusts147 about the cottage, came the voices of Souter and Donald shouting and cheering like boys on a frolic. Quickly they opened the door. A gust148 of wind dashed the rain fiercely in their faces. Through the mist and gloom they could vaguely149 make out the outlines of a coach standing at the gate, which had approached unheard in the storm.
“Robert, Robert!” cried Souter, looming150 up out of the darkness and looking decidedly weatherbeaten. “’Tis news I have, great and glorious news.”
“News?” they all repeated in wonder.
“What is it, mon?” asked Rob, trembling with excitement.
“It can speak for itsel’,” replied Souter gleefully, “for here it is.” He pointed151 behind him. They looked down the path and saw rapidly approaching the door a tall man, enveloped in a long cloak, escorted by a servant in livery. At that moment the light fell on his wet face and they started forward in amazement.
[149]
“Aye, my lad, and near drowned,” laughed the visitor genially153. Robert grasped his outstretched hand and drew him to the door.
With words of welcome and delight they made room for him to enter. Quickly he removed his wet cloak from his shoulders and threw it to his servant, who hung it beside the fire, while descanting on the inclemency154 of the weather. Nervously155 and anxiously they waited for the great man to speak his errand.
Presently he turned from the fireplace, and, addressing Robert, he said brightly, “Well, Mr. Burns, you see I have not forgotten you.”
“Oh, my lord,” faltered Robert, his face white with suppressed feeling, “I—I had despaired of seein’ you mair; do ye—bring me—hope? Is it—am I——” his faltering156 voice stopped abruptly157, but his eager eyes continued to search the noble face which was looking so kindly into his, as if he would draw the news from him.
“It is good news,” answered Lord Glencairn, smiling brightly, “and you are famous; yes, my lad, your poems are at last published and already have become the rage in Edinburgh; the name of Robert Burns is on the tongue of all, high and low, prince and peasant.”
[150]
Mrs. Burns turned excitedly to her son, her hands clasped nervously. “Oh, laddie, laddie, ye’re a great mon, noo!” she exclaimed proudly.
For a moment Robert stood there speechless, a look of incredulous wonder on his face. “My lord,” he faltered at last, “can it be true, what you’re telling me, that my songs are—accepted, read an’—praised in Edinburgh?” Lord Glencairn bowed. “Oh, sir,” he continued, with a nervous catch in his voice, “it seems too good to be true, too good.”
Gradually the warm color came back to the pale face, the hurried breathing, which seemed almost to smother159 him, became calmer, the nervous, excited tension relaxed, and, with a smile of rapture and content on his upturned face, he exclaimed fervently, “At last my hopes and ambitions are realized, the bright sunlight of success has crowned my efforts; my verses are known an’ loved in Edinburgh! Oh, do ye hear that, my loved ones?” He stretched out his arms lovingly to them. “Nae mair poverty for us noo, mither, nae—nor disappointments.” He turned to Lord Glencairn, who was being assisted into his cloak. “Oh, sir, I canna tell ye what is in my heart,” he continued earnestly, “but ’tis overflowing160 wi’ love an’ gratitude161 to ye.”
“There, there, my lad, time is precious,” replied Lord Glencairn kindly, buttoning up his cloak. “’Tis late and we have far to go and the postchaise[151] is awaiting us. I came here not only to bring you news, Mr. Burns, but to take you back with me to Edinburgh.” He laughed heartily162 at the look of startled amazement that appeared on the faces before him.
“To Edinburgh!” gasped Robert unbelievingly.
“Aye, lad,” replied his lordship earnestly, his eyes flashing with admiration163 for the modest young genius. “To Edinburgh, where fame and fortune await you, where society stands with outstretched arms to receive you as a conquering hero come to claim his own. To the capital city, where all unite in paying homage164 to the wonderful genius of Robert Burns, our Scottish Bard165. Will you come?” and he held out his hand invitingly166 to the wondering lad, who was gazing at him, his soul in his eyes.
“Am I dreaming?” he cried slowly, looking about him for some confirmation167 of his fears. “Go to Edinburgh wi’ ye, sir, as the Bard of Scotland? O God, can this be true? My wildest hopes ne’er held out such dreams o’ greatness, such happiness.” His voice vibrated with feeling. He paused and took a deep breath, then he continued joyfully168, all the sorrows of the past forgotten in his excitement, “A few moments ago, my lord, I was bidding farewell to these, my loved ones, forever. I was about to start for the Indies, a wretched exile, a disappointed failure, and noo fate once mair alters my destiny.” With a glad laugh he seized Lord Glencairn’s outstretched[152] hand, and, turning to his loved ones, he cried, his voice ringing out clear and strong, a conscious thrill of pride running through it, “Nae more tears, mither, except those of happiness, nae more sorrow or care, for I can leave ye all wi’ a light heart noo, wi’ joy instead o’ sadness. ’Tis true I go from here an outcast, but I’ll return to ye a hero.”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
ignominiously
|
|
| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
procrastinated
|
|
| 拖延，耽搁( procrastinate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
contrive
|
|
| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
annulled
|
|
| v.宣告无效( annul的过去式和过去分词 )；取消；使消失；抹去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
wan
|
|
| (wide area network)广域网 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
beset
|
|
| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
moody
|
|
| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
gallop
|
|
| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
galloping
|
|
| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
scribbled
|
|
| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
jaw
|
|
| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
ken
|
|
| n.视野，知识领域 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
cowering
|
|
| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
shriek
|
|
| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
darting
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
galloped
|
|
| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
rein
|
|
| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
heeding
|
|
| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
brook
|
|
| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
bog
|
|
| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
mire
|
|
| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
subsided
|
|
| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
reining
|
|
| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的现在分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
naught
|
|
| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
inmates
|
|
| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
futile
|
|
| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
miserably
|
|
| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
spurned
|
|
| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
prudence
|
|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
philosophically
|
|
| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
bonnet
|
|
| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
rave
|
|
| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
stifled
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
espied
|
|
| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
armour
|
|
| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
intercept
|
|
| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
irate
|
|
| adj.发怒的，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
courageous
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
triumphantly
|
|
| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
savagely
|
|
| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
libertine
|
|
| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
blasphemous
|
|
| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
horrified
|
|
| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
hoarsely
|
|
| adv.嘶哑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
faltered
|
|
| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
scotch
|
|
| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
binding
|
|
| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
fumed
|
|
| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
renounce
|
|
| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
frantically
|
|
| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
vindictively
|
|
| adv.恶毒地；报复地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
inhuman
|
|
| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
condemn
|
|
| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
auld
|
|
| adj.老的，旧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
intensity
|
|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
wailed
|
|
| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
beseechingly
|
|
| adv. 恳求地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
heeded
|
|
| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
snarled
|
|
| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
jeer
|
|
| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
scoff
|
|
| n.嘲笑，笑柄，愚弄；v.嘲笑，嘲弄，愚弄，狼吞虎咽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
hooted
|
|
| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
poignant
|
|
| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
enveloped
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
pall
|
|
| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
disdain
|
|
| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
feverishly
|
|
| adv. 兴奋地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
skulk
|
|
| v.藏匿；潜行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
covert
|
|
| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
passionately
|
|
| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
plantation
|
|
| n.种植园，大农场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
lighter
|
|
| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
gnawing
|
|
| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
fervently
|
|
| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
peg
|
|
| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
misty
|
|
| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
alluring
|
|
| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
muse
|
|
| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
insistently
|
|
| ad.坚持地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
dreaded
|
|
| 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) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
highland
|
|
| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
shuddering
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
pallid
|
|
| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
kens
|
|
| vt.知道（ken的第三人称单数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
conspire
|
|
| v.密谋，（事件等）巧合，共同导致 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
tangled
|
|
| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
tumult
|
|
| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
murky
|
|
| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
beech
|
|
| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
shrieking
|
|
| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
groaning
|
|
| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
maniac
|
|
| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
lurid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
sonorous
|
|
| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
cadences
|
|
| n.（声音的）抑扬顿挫( cadence的名词复数 )；节奏；韵律；调子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
moors
|
|
| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
foes
|
|
| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
sobbing
|
|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
sobs
|
|
| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
attic
|
|
| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
sobbed
|
|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
plow
|
|
| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
gale
|
|
| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
swirling
|
|
| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
gusts
|
|
| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
gust
|
|
| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
looming
|
|
| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
throbbing
|
|
| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
genially
|
|
| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
inclemency
|
|
| n.险恶，严酷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
faltering
|
|
| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
rapture
|
|
| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
smother
|
|
| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
overflowing
|
|
| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
homage
|
|
| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
bard
|
|
| n.吟游诗人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
invitingly
|
|
| adv. 动人地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
confirmation
|
|
| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
joyfully
|
|
| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |