Upon these subjects the Colonial Secretary did not touch; and thus his colleagues unanimously applauded his speech and supported his application for the Netherlands’ Lion, an application to which, being a constitutional monarch12, King William III. could not refuse his sanction.
Some few there were, no doubt, who shook their heads dubiously13 as the news of this honourable14 distinction reached Santjoemeh. But yet, when the newspapers, in their boldest type, conveyed to the people the happy tidings, almost all Santjoemeh was beside itself for joy. Cards, letters, telegrams of congratulation came pouring in on all sides, not only from Java; but also from friends in Holland.
The van Gulpendams received visits innumerable, and even those who did not join in the universal chorus of rapture15, yet found it difficult to refrain from giving some outward show of satisfaction. Such want of courtesy might very easily have been ascribed to envy.
But these were not the only demonstrations16 of the public joy. Fêtes, dinner parties, balls were given to celebrate the memorable17 event. The Regent of Santjoemeh led the way by giving a splendid banquet in honour of the newly made knight18; [502]and his example was speedily followed by the Government officials, by the members of the Club “Concordia,” by the Chinese major, &c. &c.
As a grand final to this round of festivities, a state ball was given at the Residence, at which, it is needless to say, that all Santjoemeh was expected to be present, as indeed it was.
On these festive19 occasions, toasts were drunk, speeches were made, congratulatory odes were recited—and all this to glorify20 the man whose breast was now decorated with the “virtus nobilitat.” Fair Laurentia, with that fine tact21, which, in woman, is almost an instinct, had tried to persuade her husband to appear in public with the very tiniest cross suspended from the narrowest possible bit of blue and orange ribbon. This would undoubtedly22 have been in good taste; but the Resident would have none of it. He sent at once to Batavia for a cross about as big as an ordinary saucer, and he suspended it from a ribbon of proportionate width. “When you do hang out a flag,” said he to his wife, “men must be able to see it a mile off and you must let it blow out bravely.” That was his view of the matter, and no argument had been of any avail against this nautical23 aphorism24.
To tell the truth, the man was mighty25 proud of himself and hugely enjoyed all the fuss that was made about him. His satisfaction would indeed have been perfect, had not certain uneasy rumours26 begun to spread among the public. It was whispered, that among the native population, the feeling of contentment of which the Resident was constantly making mention in his despatches, was not by any means so perfect as he tried to represent it. Rumours were abroad of secret gatherings27 and even of conspiracies28 far more alarming than the casual assembling of robber bands. It was a curious thing that a certain paper in Batavia, alluding29 to these secret risings in the residence of Santjoemeh, said that a Holy War was in preparation, and gave this information on trustworthy authority. This paper, which had thus ventured to disturb the serenity30 of the authorities, was treated in the most summary manner, its plant was confiscated31, its offices closed, its editor banished32; all this to prove, of course, that there was no disturbance33 whatever, but that the press only was dangerous.
But yet, some very plain hints were conveyed to Resident van Gulpendam that it would be well for him to do his utmost to prove that the situation was really as satisfactory as he represented [503]it to be, and that the unpleasant rumours were nothing more than idle gossip.
Accordingly, van Gulpendam had, during the festive week, made some excursions into the parts which were said to be disaffected34; but he had found the most profound quiet everywhere. At the suggestion of the European officials, the native chiefs had not failed to wait on the kandjeng toean to offer him their very sincere congratulations on the distinction with which it had been the king’s pleasure to honour him.
Nothing could be better. Van Gulpendam was in the highest possible spirits, he had a kind word for all, he courteously35 acknowledged every profession of good will, whether it came from European or native; and exhorted36 every one to continue in these pleasant paths of peace.
But yet, amidst all this chorus of jubilation37, one jarring note was heard. It came from a well-known European settler, who owned a large sugar-plantation38 and factory, situated39 on the extreme limits of the residence of Santjoemeh. This gentleman was most positive in his assertion, that clandestine40 meetings and assemblies were, now and then, held in a wood close by his property. He had his information from sources which, he thought, were absolutely trustworthy; and he further declared that he was acquainted even with the names of a couple of the ringleaders. He could not help looking upon these secret meetings as suspicious, even though perhaps they might not be immediately dangerous.
“And may I beg you to tell me what are those names?” said Mr. van Gulpendam sarcastically41.
“I know only two of them,” was the reply; “they must be father and son, for they are Pak Ardjan and Ardjan; the latter, I am told, is a bold and determined43 fellow, and both seem to belong to the dessa Kaligaweh in the district of Banjoe Pahit.”
At the mention of these names, the Resident felt that he turned pale. He pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the perspiration44 from his face and to hide his evident confusion.
“It is oppressively hot!” cried he, in a faint tone of voice.
A glass of iced water was handed to him, and soon he regained45 his composure. Determined to remove the impression which his momentary46 confusion might have made, he continued:
“Pooh, pooh! Those Kaligaweh fellows have crossed the sea long ago. Depend upon it they won’t show their noses on Dutch territory again. I know for a fact that they were quite [504]lately seen at Singapore. There can be no doubt about that.”
“Well, Resident,” replied the sugar-planter in a serious tone, “I must tell you that I do not feel at all safe. You know, of course, that here in India the outlying settlers always are the first victims of these native plots; and that if such a rising as I apprehend47 were to break out, all Europeans would be ruthlessly massacred. My grounds,” he continued, “lie far away, and, in case of a sudden outbreak, it would take two days at least for either police or military to reach me. I shall therefore esteem48 it a great favour if you will grant me some kind of protection. Send me a few policemen whom I can trust, I will see to the arming of the men.”
“Policemen! my dear sir. What are you talking about? What would be the use of them?” asked the Resident with a compassionate49 smile; for he had by this time completely regained his self-possession. “You are creating fanciful dangers. It is, in fact, absurd to talk in this manner.”
“I know what I know,” rejoined the sugar-factor, “and I say without any hesitation50, that the reports which have reached me do not appear to me at all fanciful or incredible.”
“All right!” said van Gulpendam carelessly.
“You must excuse me, Resident,” insisted the sugar-planter, “but I think that if you were living with your family in that lonely spot you would not talk in quite such an easy way.”
Although our friend van Gulpendam was not precisely51 the stuff that heroes are made of, yet he was not by any means a coward. He felt, moreover, perfectly well that the moment had arrived to payer de sa personne. What might be said at Batavia should it be suspected that he felt the slightest distrust or fear?
“All nonsense!” cried he in the same sarcastic42 and careless manner. “Come now, my dear sir, to prove to you how certain I am that there is nothing wrong, I invite myself and my wife to go and stay with you for a fortnight on your plantation. I know you keep a pretty good galley52, do you accept my offer?”
“With the greatest pleasure in the world, Resident,” eagerly cried the planter.
He felt sure that the Resident of the district would take care to come under a sufficient escort of police.
“Very well, then,” replied van Gulpendam; “as soon as ever these festivities are over at Santjoemeh, I will let you know; and then you may get a couple of rooms ready for us.” [505]
“And how many oppassers do you intend to bring?”
“None at all! a couple of my servants, and that is all. I intend to show you that I have the fullest confidence in the state of affairs, and that I am under no apprehension53 whatever. Now that is agreed upon, eh?”
Just outside, close under the verandah in which this conversation was taking place, a couple of sentries54 were walking up and down as a guard of honour to the kandjeng toean. If any one could but have watched one of these fellows, he must have noticed that the sentry55 marched up and down in such a manner as always to keep as close as possible to the speakers. He must have observed also, that the man was listening to every word that was said; and that his eyes wore a most dangerous and sinister56 expression. At the last sentence spoken by the Resident a gleam of satisfaction seemed to overspread the native soldier’s face and, had he received a classical education, no doubt the man would have muttered to himself: “Deus quem vult perdere prius dementat.”
As soon as van Gulpendam returned to Santjoemeh, he gave it out far and wide that both his wife and himself were tired out by this round of festivities, that they needed rest and had made up their minds to go and enjoy a fortnight’s peace and quietness at the factory “Soeka maniesan.”
Two days later they started. Laurentia took only her maid, and van Gulpendam a couple of body-servants; but, on the box, a single oppasser was seated beside the coachman. His duty was to hold aloft the golden pajoeng in token that the Resident toean was seated within.
That same day Charles van Nerekool and Theodoor Grenits also started for Gombong, intending from thence, in company with Murowski, to go and surprise Anna van Gulpendam in her lonely retreat. The two carriages crossed as they left the town of Santjoemeh. The one over which the pajoeng was displayed travelling in an eastern direction, while the other took the road to the south.
After nonna Anna and baboe Dalima had been so thoroughly58 frightened at their bathing place, they no longer ventured to go alone to the spot. They thought—indeed by this time they felt sure—that the stone which so unexpectedly had splashed down by Anna’s side, had been detached from the rock above by the tread of some animal—of some wild boar perhaps or some stray goat. But for all that the fright had suggested the possibility of a surprise. Anna, therefore, had persuaded [506]an old Javanese woman to come and take up her abode59 with them in the little hut. She would accompany them to the bathing place and mount guard while the young girls were disporting60 themselves in the water, and would thus be able to give them timely warning of the approach of any possible intruder.
There was another advantage gained by taking this nènèh into their service; for they could now leave to her certain necessary and menial duties which would leave them more time to spend at the loom61 or to work in the painting room. The harder they worked the faster the money came in, for the kahins and the slendangs which they wove, and the sarongs they painted, were in great request. In fact they generally had more orders on hand than they could manage to execute. The result was that the inmates62 of the hut began to find themselves in somewhat easy circumstances, and—was it perhaps owing to this fact, or was it because no one could look upon the two pretty girls without being attracted by them?—At all events this much is certain that when, on rare occasions, they appeared in the dessa Ajo, where they had no fear of being recognised, the young men of the village would cast many a tender look upon them—sometimes even a kindly63 word was whispered as they passed.
All this the girls mightily64 enjoyed, and they had many a hearty65 laugh over the love-lorn looks of the village swains. One day Dalima merrily said to her young mistress:
“If they only knew that they were casting sheeps’ eyes at a resident’s daughter, wouldn’t they fly back in terror?”
“Hush, Dalima, do not mention such a thing again,” said Anna very seriously. “You ought to know that I dislike any such allusions66. I am no longer a resident’s daughter!”
But, when she perceived that her scolding tone of voice really grieved her companion, she continued with a pleasant smile:
“As if the young men of Ajo ever gave me a look!”
“But, Nana,” asked Dalima, “whom do they look at then?”
“They have evidently taken a fancy to one of us,” replied Anna, “but it is certainly not to me; I can see that plainly enough. All those smiles and sweet little whispers are for you, Dalima.”
“How can you talk such nonsense!” said Dalima half-crossly.
“I am only telling you the truth, Dalima.”
“Have you ever noticed Kjahi Wangsa, Nana? He has no eyes but for you.”
“No, no, Dalima, for you.” [507]
“No, for you, Nana!”
And so the girls would run on almost daily, and on such occasions it would have been hard to say who had the last word.
One day, as they were thus merrily talking, Anna said to her friend: “What if it were the Kjahi who gave us that fright the other day?”
“What do you mean, Nana?”
“I mean that it might have been that booby watching us.”
“There is not the least fear of that,” replied Dalima, “he would never have dared to do such a thing. Not one of the young fellows are bold enough for that—he, least of all.”
“Not much boldness required for that,” laughed Anna, “to play the spy on two young girls!”
“Well, I tell you, he would not have dared to do it. But you need not trouble yourself, there was no one there at all. You know how long we kept looking about and, though we had a view of the path for a long way to the right and left, we saw not a single soul.”
“Yet,” rejoined Anna, “it seems to me a very mysterious thing.”
“If there were anybody there at all,” continued Dalima, “it must have been a white man.”
“A white man, Dalima!”
“Yes, it is now so long ago that I do not mind telling you all about it. A few days earlier it would only have made you nervous. The evening before we were frightened by the fall of that stone, a white man arrived at Ajo, and passed the night in the loerah’s house.”
“Dalima!” cried Anna, in dismay, “who was he?”
“I can’t tell you, Nana. I have tried hard enough to find out; but I have discovered nothing further than that he busied himself with butterfly catching67. Pah!”
We may mention here that the natives of Java are, as a rule, afraid of butterflies. They fancy that the dust from their wings produces violent itching68 and even leprosy. Hence Dalima’s exclamation69 of disgust.
“Did you see him, Dalima?” continued Anna, “did he see you?”
“Well, no, Nana, I did not. In fact next morning he started before daybreak. The last that was seen of him was at Pringtoetoel, he was then going in an easterly direction.”
“Why did you not tell me this at once?” asked Anna. [508]
“Why should I have done so? It would only have disturbed you for nothing. What was the use of troubling you to no purpose?”
Dalima, who was beginning to fear that Anna was really displeased70, at length broke the silence and said:
“You are not angry with me, Nana?”
“Angry? no, Dalima.”
“What makes you look so serious then?”
“I wish we could move to some other place,” sighed Anna.
“Move? why?” cried Dalima.
“Yes, move away, further into the mountain, where the country is wilder and more lonely. Yonder close by the birds-nest grots. I wish I could retreat into one of those caves!”
“What are you thinking about, Nana?” cried Dalima, growing seriously alarmed at her friend’s words.
“Oh, I have some kind of presentiment71 that Charles is on my track,” sighed Anna.
“He ought to have been here before this,” remarked the baboe with something very like scorn in her voice. “A Javanese,” she continued, “would have found you out long ago.”
“How about Ardjan then?” asked Anna.
“Ardjan!” cried Dalima sadly, “Ardjan is a convict, he has run away, Allah only knows where he is and what he is about. Moreover, I am no longer his betrothed72. To him I am nothing more than a poor fallen girl!”
Both again were silent for some time, each absorbed in her own thoughts. Anna was sorry that she had touched so sensitive a chord; but it was Dalima who continued:
“But even if it were so, if the young judge really were on your track—”
“Oh! don’t speak so,” cried Anna, “the very thought fills me with terror. If I could think that possible I would start off at once.”
“But what can you have against him?” persisted the baboe.
“No more of this, Dalima!”
“Have you ceased to love him then? Have you cast him out of your heart?”
“Don’t speak so!” cried Anna in the greatest excitement; “not love him? Oh! if that were true! Cast him out of my heart! Not a day, not an hour, not a minute passes without my thinking of him!” [509]
“Well then,” continued the simple Javanese girl, “why be so cruel?”
“Be silent, Dalima!”
“Can you not feel how wretched you are making him, Nana?”
“Oh! I pray you, pray do not say another word. Never, never can I be his—no—nor any other man’s wife.”
Dalima looked up at her with a puzzled expression. It would not be easy perhaps to say exactly what was passing in her mind. On her face there was a look of astonishment73 mingled74 with vexation; in her eyes one might read:
After a little while she was about to renew the conversation, she was in the act of opening her mouth to do so, when, just at that moment, the nènèh entered the gallery where the two girls were sitting. She had been down to the dessa to make some purchases, and now came in to give an account of what she had bought and of the money she had spent. Her entry created a diversion; but, when the old woman began to open her budget of news, she caused the greatest consternation77. She told the girls that three Europeans had arrived at the dessa and had taken up their quarters in the loerah’s house.
“Three Europeans?” cried Anna, pale with terror.
“Yes, Nana,” replied the nènèh, who, thinking that she was speaking to a countrywoman of her own, always followed Dalima’s example and addressed the Resident’s daughter as “Nana.”
“Did you see them, nèh?” asked Dalima.
“No,” said the old woman.
“Could you find out what business they have in the village?”
“Some say one thing, some another,” was the reply. “I have heard it said that they are railway people who are out on a shooting expedition. I think it very likely, for they have guns with them. Another man told me they are after snakes. Well they can catch enough of them here. As I was coming along just now I saw a deadly snake. Luckily I caught sight of the beast or else I might have trodden on it, and then it would have been all up with me. A third report is that the gentlemen have come to visit the birds-nest caves.”
“Did you hear anything else?”
“No, Nana; but why do you look so strange? There is nothing whatever to be frightened at—those white men never hurt anybody. Look—there they are—coming up the path!” [510]
Anna gave one look in the direction to which the nènèh pointed78. She uttered a shriek79 and catching up a slendang which she flung over her head she rushed from the house. Dalima, who also had recognised van Nerekool among the party, followed her mistress and both flew as fast as their feet would carry them up the pathway which ran in the opposite direction to the south of the Poleng range. The three men could see two female forms leaving the hut and rushing up the slope over against them.
“There she goes!” exclaimed Murowski.
“Anna! Anna!” cried van Nerekool in heartrending accents; but it was in vain. That moment the two girls disappeared in a sudden bend of the mountain path.
And now, before coming to the closing scene of our story, we must here cast another look backward.
Van Nerekool and Grenits had started, as we heard just now, in a carriage from Santjoemeh on their way to Wonosobo. From thence they had pursued their journey on horseback.
They had no time, they had no inclination80, to admire the beauty of the sublime81 scenery through which they passed. Whenever Grenits tried to rouse his companion and awaken82 in him some interest in the glories that surrounded them, the latter might cast a furtive83 glance around, but it was only to cry immediately after:
“Let us get on, Theodoor, let us get on!”
Before setting out on their journey, they had telegraphed to Murowski, and they found that medical officer quite ready to accompany them. His colleague was still staying at Gombong and our Pole therefore found but little difficulty in getting his leave of absence prolonged for four or five days.
The travellers, however, did not arrive at Gombong until pretty late in the day. They were tired out with their long ride and felt that they must put off further operations to the morrow. Of that compulsory84 delay they made the best use they could by calling upon the commandant of the place to pay their respects to him.
“If you three are going on the campaign!” exclaimed the kind-hearted soldier, “I advise the butterflies and the beetles85 to keep a pretty sharp look-out. There will be slaughter86 on the hills to-morrow. I hope you have a good supply of corks87 and pins for the poor prisoners. However, I wish you success.”
But while they sat chatting with the commandant and with [511]his wife and enjoying a cool glass of beer in the verandah, a servant brought in a telegram. It was addressed to Murowski. He took it from the man.
“Will you allow me?” said he, looking towards the lady of the house.
“Of course, of course,” said she, “no ceremony required for telegrams. Open it at once; perhaps it is about some patient. I only hope it will not interfere88 with your expedition.”
Murowski tore open the envelope and glanced at the signature.
“It is from van Rheijn,” said he to his friends— “Great God!” he continued, “what have we here?”
“What is the matter? What is it?” exclaimed all in a breath.
“Tell van Nerekool,” he read, “that Resident van Gulpendam and his wife have been murdered by a band of ketjoes. Further particulars by letter!”
For some seconds all present sat dumb with amazement89 and horror. Then van Nerekool sprang to his feet, he snatched the telegram from Murowski’s hand, and held it up to the light of the lamp. He rubbed his eyes as if he could not trust his senses:
“Aye!” he exclaimed at length—“true, too true!”
“Is Mr. van Nerekool related to those poor people?” asked the captain’s wife, who was struck by the ghastly pallor of the young judge’s face.
“Pardon me, madam,” said Grenits, “we happened to leave Santjoemeh at the same time as the family van Gulpendam. The mere90 thought of so terrible a murder perpetrated on friends, whom we but lately left in the full glow of health and spirits, fills us with horror.”
“My friends,” said van Nerekool, turning to Murowski and Grenits, “I fear our expedition will have to be deferred92 for a few hours. Under these terrible circumstances I feel it my duty to go at once and see Mrs. Steenvlak. How far is it from here to Karang Anjer, captain?”
“Is it as much as that? Could you manage to get me a horse?”
“My own horse is at your disposal,” said the captain. “What do you intend to do?” [512]
“I must at once ride off to Karang Anjer. It is now about seven o’clock. Before eight I can be there. To-morrow morning before daybreak I shall be off again, and at six I hope to be back here to resume our journey to Karang Bollong. You need not fear, captain, I shall see that your horse is well cared for.”
“I am not at all afraid of that,” replied the captain. “He will find an excellent stable at the Steenvlaks.” Then he rose and went to give the necessary orders to get the horse saddled.
“Miss van Gulpendam was staying: with the Steenvlaks—” said the lady of the house, her curiosity thoroughly aroused at this sudden resolution on the part of van Nerekool.
“You are right, madam” replied Murowski. “You see it is very probable that Mr. Steenvlak may know where the young lady is to be found, and we might then break the sad news gently to her.”
Meanwhile Grenits had been asking van Nerekool what he intended to do.
“She cannot now refuse to give me a few words to Anna,” was his reply. “In such terrible circumstances a true friend’s advice may be of the greatest value. Do you not approve of my plan?”
Theodoor merely nodded assent while he warmly pressed his friend’s hand.
Ten minutes later van Nerekool was in the saddle and was galloping94 along the road to Karang Anjer. When he arrived there he found the Steenvlaks had already been informed of the terrible event; for the Assistant Resident also had received a telegram from Santjoemeh.
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opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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emulate
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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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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zealous
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entrusted
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perfectly
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judicious
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monarch
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dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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rapture
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demonstrations
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memorable
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knight
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festive
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glorify
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tact
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undoubtedly
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nautical
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aphorism
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mighty
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rumours
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gatherings
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conspiracies
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alluding
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serenity
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confiscated
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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disaffected
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| adj.（政治上）不满的，叛离的 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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exhorted
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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jubilation
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| n.欢庆，喜悦 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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clandestine
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| adj.秘密的，暗中从事的 | |
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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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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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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disporting
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| v.嬉戏，玩乐，自娱( disport的现在分词 ) | |
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loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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beetles
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| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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corks
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| n.脐梅衣；软木( cork的名词复数 )；软木塞 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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pals
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| n.朋友( pal的名词复数 )；老兄；小子；（对男子的不友好的称呼）家伙 | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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