With such arguments he perplexed6 his mind on the long, accustomed ride up the steep ascent7 of Holland Park, past the incongruous hustle9 of Notting Hill Gate, where in one direction a road shows the way to the snug10, somewhat faded bowers11 and retreats of Bayswater, and in another one sees the portal of the murky12 region of the slums. The customary companions of his morning's journey were in the seats about him; he[84] heard the hum of their talk, as they disputed concerning politics, and the man next to him, who came from Acton, asked him what he thought of the Government now. There was a discussion, and a loud and excited one, just in front, as to whether rhubarb was a fruit or vegetable, and in his ear he heard Redman, who was a near neighbour, praising the economy of 'the wife.'
'I don't know how she does it. Look here; what do you think we had yesterday? Breakfast: fish-cakes, beautifully fried—rich, you know, lots of herbs, it's a receipt of her aunt's; you should just taste 'em. Coffee, bread, butter, marmalade, and, of course, all the usual etceteras. Dinner: roast beef, Yorkshire, potatoes, greens, and horse-radish sauce, plum tart13, cheese. And where will you get a better dinner than that? Well, I call it wonderful, I really do.'
But in spite of these distractions14 he fell into a dream as the 'bus rolled and tossed on its way Citywards, and still he strove to solve the enigma15 of his vigil of the night before, and as the shapes of trees and green lawns and houses passed before his eyes, and as he saw the procession moving on the pavement, and while the murmur16 of the streets sounded in his ears, all was to him strange and unaccustomed, as if he moved through the avenues of some city in a foreign land. It was, perhaps, on these mornings, as he rode to his mechanical work, that vague and floating fancies that must have long haunted his brain began to shape themselves, and to put on the form of definite conclusions, from which he could no longer escape, even if he had wished it. Darnell had received what is called a sound commercial education, and would therefore have found very great difficulty in putting into[85] articulate speech any thought that was worth thinking; but he grew certain on these mornings that the 'common sense' which he had always heard exalted17 as man's supremest faculty18 was, in all probability, the smallest and least-considered item in the equipment of an ant of average intelligence. And with this, as an almost necessary corollary, came a firm belief that the whole fabric19 of life in which he moved was sunken, past all thinking, in the grossest absurdity20; that he and all his friends and acquaintances and fellow-workers were interested in matters in which men were never meant to be interested, were pursuing aims which they were never meant to pursue, were, indeed, much like fair stones of an altar serving as a pigsty21 wall. Life, it seemed to him, was a great search for—he knew not what; and in the process of the ages one by one the true marks upon the ways had been shattered, or buried, or the meaning of the words had been slowly forgotten; one by one the signs had been turned awry22, the true entrances had been thickly overgrown, the very way itself had been diverted from the heights to the depths, till at last the race of pilgrims had become hereditary23 stone-breakers and ditch-scourers on a track that led to destruction—if it led anywhere at all. Darnell's heart thrilled with a strange and trembling joy, with a sense that was all new, when it came to his mind that this great loss might not be a hopeless one, that perhaps the difficulties were by no means insuperable. It might be, he considered, that the stone-breaker had merely to throw down his hammer and set out, and the way would be plain before him; and a single step would free the delver25 in rubbish from the foul26 slime of the ditch.[86]
It was, of course, with difficulty and slowly that these things became clear to him. He was an English City clerk, 'flourishing' towards the end of the nineteenth century, and the rubbish heap that had been accumulating for some centuries could not be cleared away in an instant. Again and again the spirit of nonsense that had been implanted in him as in his fellows assured him that the true world was the visible and tangible27 world, the world in which good and faithful letter-copying was exchangeable for a certain quantum of bread, beef, and house-room, and that the man who copied letters well, did not beat his wife, nor lose money foolishly, was a good man, fulfilling the end for which he had been made. But in spite of these arguments, in spite of their acceptance by all who were about him, he had the grace to perceive the utter falsity and absurdity of the whole position. He was fortunate in his entire ignorance of sixpenny 'science,' but if the whole library had been projected into his brain it would not have moved him to 'deny in the darkness that which he had known in the light.' Darnell knew by experience that man is made a mystery for mysteries and visions, for the realization28 in his consciousness of ineffable29 bliss30, for a great joy that transmutes31 the whole world, for a joy that surpasses all joys and overcomes all sorrows. He knew this certainly, though he knew it dimly; and he was apart from other men, preparing himself for a great experiment.
With such thoughts as these for his secret and concealed33 treasure, he was able to bear the threatened invasion of Mrs. Nixon with something approaching indifference34. He knew, indeed, that her presence between[87] his wife and himself would be unwelcome to him, and he was not without grave doubts as to the woman's sanity35; but after all, what did it matter? Besides, already a faint glimmering37 light had risen within him that showed the profit of self-negation, and in this matter he had preferred his wife's will to his own. Et non sua poma; to his astonishment38 he found a delight in denying himself his own wish, a process that he had always regarded as thoroughly39 detestable. This was a state of things which he could not in the least understand; but, again, though a member of a most hopeless class, living in the most hopeless surroundings that the world has ever seen, though he knew as much of the askesis as of Chinese metaphysics; again, he had the grace not to deny the light that had begun to glimmer36 in his soul.
And he found a present reward in the eyes of Mary, when she welcomed him home after his foolish labours in the cool of the evening. They sat together, hand in hand, under the mulberry tree, at the coming of the dusk, and as the ugly walls about them became obscure and vanished into the formless world of shadows, they seemed to be freed from the bondage40 of Shepherd's Bush, freed to wander in that undisfigured, undefiled world that lies beyond the walls. Of this region Mary knew little or nothing by experience, since her relations had always been of one mind with the modern world, which has for the true country an instinctive42 and most significant horror and dread43. Mr. Reynolds had also shared in another odd superstition44 of these later days—that it is necessary to leave London at least once a year; consequently Mary had some knowledge of various seaside resorts on the south and east[88] coasts, where Londoners gather in hordes45, turn the sands into one vast, bad music-hall, and derive46, as they say, enormous benefit from the change. But experiences such as these give but little knowledge of the country in its true and occult sense; and yet Mary, as she sat in the dusk beneath the whispering tree, knew something of the secret of the wood, of the valley shut in by high hills, where the sound of pouring water always echoes from the clear brook47. And to Darnell these were nights of great dreams; for it was the hour of the work, the time of transmutation, and he who could not understand the miracle, who could scarcely believe in it, yet knew, secretly and half consciously, that the water was being changed into the wine of a new life. This was ever the inner music of his dreams, and to it he added on these still and sacred nights the far-off memory of that time long ago when, a child, before the world had overwhelmed him, he journeyed down to the old grey house in the west, and for a whole month heard the murmur of the forest through his bedroom window, and when the wind was hushed, the washing of the tides about the reeds; and sometimes awaking very early he had heard the strange cry of a bird as it rose from its nest among the reeds, and had looked out and had seen the valley whiten to the dawn, and the winding48 river whiten as it swam down to the sea. The memory of all this had faded and become shadowy as he grew older and the chains of common life were riveted49 firmly about his soul; all the atmosphere by which he was surrounded was well-nigh fatal to such thoughts, and only now and again in half-conscious moments or in sleep he had revisited that valley in the far-off west, where the breath of[89] the wind was an incantation, and every leaf and stream and hill spoke50 of great and ineffable mysteries. But now the broken vision was in great part restored to him, and looking with love in his wife's eyes he saw the gleam of water-pools in the still forest, saw the mists rising in the evening, and heard the music of the winding river.
They were sitting thus together on the Friday evening of the week that had begun with that odd and half-forgotten visit of Mrs. Nixon, when, to Darnell's annoyance51, the door-bell gave a discordant52 peal53, and Alice with some disturbance54 of manner came out and announced that a gentleman wished to see the master. Darnell went into the drawing-room, where Alice had lit one gas so that it flared55 and burnt with a rushing sound, and in this distorting light there waited a stout56, elderly gentleman, whose countenance57 was altogether unknown to him. He stared blankly, and hesitated, about to speak, but the visitor began.
'You don't know who I am, but I expect you'll know my name. It's Nixon.'
He did not wait to be interrupted. He sat down and plunged58 into narrative59, and after the first few words, Darnell, whose mind was not altogether unprepared, listened without much astonishment.
'And the long and the short of it is,' Mr. Nixon said at last, 'she's gone stark60, staring mad, and we had to put her away to-day—poor thing.'
His voice broke a little, and he wiped his eyes hastily, for though stout and successful he was not unfeeling, and he was fond of his wife. He had spoken quickly, and had gone lightly over many details which might have interested specialists in certain kinds of[90] mania61, and Darnell was sorry for his evident distress62.
'I came here,' he went on after a brief pause, 'because I found out she had been to see you last Sunday, and I knew the sort of story she must have told.'
Darnell showed him the prophetic leaflet which Mrs. Nixon had dropped in the garden. 'Did you know about this?' he said.
'Oh, him,' said the old man, with some approach to cheerfulness; 'oh yes, I thrashed him black and blue the day before yesterday.'
'Isn't he mad? Who is the man?'
'He's not mad, he's bad. He's a little Welsh skunk63 named Richards. He's been running some sort of chapel64 over at New Barnet for the last few years, and my poor wife—she never could find the parish church good enough for her—had been going to his damned schism65 shop for the last twelve-month. It was all that finished her off. Yes; I thrashed him the day before yesterday, and I'm not afraid of a summons either. I know him, and he knows I know him.'
Old Nixon whispered something in Darnell's ear, and chuckled66 faintly as he repeated for the third time his formula—
'I thrashed him black and blue the day before yesterday.'
Darnell could only murmur condolences and express his hope that Mrs. Nixon might recover.
The old man shook his head.
'I'm afraid there's no hope of that,' he said. 'I've had the best advice, but they couldn't do anything, and told me so.'
Presently he asked to see his niece, and Darnell went out and prepared Mary as well as he could. She[91] could scarcely take in the news that her aunt was a hopeless maniac67, for Mrs. Nixon, having been extremely stupid all her days, had naturally succeeded in passing with her relations as typically sensible. With the Reynolds family, as with the great majority of us, want of imagination is always equated68 with sanity, and though many of us have never heard of Lombroso we are his ready-made converts. We have always believed that poets are mad, and if statistics unfortunately show that few poets have really been inhabitants of lunatic asylums69, it is soothing70 to learn that nearly all poets have had whooping-cough, which is doubtless, like intoxication71, a minor72 madness.
'But is it really true?' she asked at length. 'Are you certain uncle is not deceiving you? Aunt seemed so sensible always.'
She was helped at last by recollecting73 that Aunt Marian used to get up very early of mornings, and then they went into the drawing-room and talked to the old man. His evident kindliness74 and honesty grew upon Mary, in spite of a lingering belief in her aunt's fables75, and when he left, it was with a promise to come to see them again.
Mrs. Darnell said she felt tired, and went to bed; and Darnell returned to the garden and began to pace to and fro, collecting his thoughts. His immeasurable relief at the intelligence that, after all, Mrs. Nixon was not coming to live with them taught him that, despite his submission76, his dread of the event had been very great. The weight was removed, and now he was free to consider his life without reference to the grotesque77 intrusion that he had feared. He sighed for joy, and as he paced to and fro he savoured the[92] scent8 of the night, which, though it came faintly to him in that brick-bound suburb, summoned to his mind across many years the odour of the world at night as he had known it in that short sojourn78 of his boyhood; the odour that rose from the earth when the flame of the sun had gone down beyond the mountain, and the afterglow had paled in the sky and on the fields. And as he recovered as best he could these lost dreams of an enchanted79 land, there came to him other images of his childhood, forgotten and yet not forgotten, dwelling80 unheeded in dark places of the memory, but ready to be summoned forth81. He remembered one fantasy that had long haunted him. As he lay half asleep in the forest on one hot afternoon of that memorable82 visit to the country, he had 'made believe' that a little companion had come to him out of the blue mists and the green light beneath the leaves—a white girl with long black hair, who had played with him and whispered her secrets in his ear, as his father lay sleeping under a tree; and from that summer afternoon, day by day, she had been beside him; she had visited him in the wilderness83 of London, and even in recent years there had come to him now and again the sense of her presence, in the midst of the heat and turmoil84 of the City. The last visit he remembered well; it was a few weeks before he married, and from the depths of some futile85 task he had looked up with puzzled eyes, wondering why the close air suddenly grew scented86 with green leaves, why the murmur of the trees and the wash of the river on the reeds came to his ears; and then that sudden rapture87 to which he had given a name and an individuality possessed88 him utterly89. He knew then how the dull flesh of man can be like fire; and now,[93] looking back from a new standpoint on this and other experiences, he realized how all that was real in his life had been unwelcomed, uncherished by him, had come to him, perhaps, in virtue90 of merely negative qualities on his part. And yet, as he reflected, he saw that there had been a chain of witnesses all through his life: again and again voices had whispered in his ear words in a strange language that he now recognized as his native tongue; the common street had not been lacking in visions of the true land of his birth; and in all the passing and repassing of the world he saw that there had been emissaries ready to guide his feet on the way of the great journey.
A week or two after the visit of Mr. Nixon, Darnell took his annual holiday.
There was no question of Walton-on-the-Naze, or of anything of the kind, as he quite agreed with his wife's longing91 for some substantial sum put by against the evil day. But the weather was still fine, and he lounged away the time in his garden beneath the tree, or he sauntered out on long aimless walks in the western purlieus of London, not unvisited by that old sense of some great ineffable beauty, concealed by the dim and dingy92 veils of grey interminable streets. Once, on a day of heavy rain he went to the 'box-room,' and began to turn over the papers in the old hair trunk—scraps and odds93 and ends of family history, some of them in his father's handwriting, others in faded ink, and there were a few ancient pocket-books, filled with manuscript of a still earlier time, and in these the ink was glossier94 and blacker than any writing fluids supplied by stationers of later days. Darnell had hung up the portrait of the ancestor in this room, and had bought a[94] solid kitchen table and a chair; so that Mrs. Darnell, seeing him looking over his old documents, half thought of naming the room 'Mr. Darnell's study.' He had not glanced at these relics95 of his family for many years, but from the hour when the rainy morning sent him to them, he remained constant to research till the end of the holidays. It was a new interest, and he began to fashion in his mind a faint picture of his forefathers96, and of their life in that grey old house in the river valley, in the western land of wells and streams and dark and ancient woods. And there were stranger things than mere24 notes on family history amongst that odd litter of old disregarded papers, and when he went back to his work in the City some of the men fancied that he was in some vague manner changed in appearance; but he only laughed when they asked him where he had been and what he had been doing with himself. But Mary noticed that every evening he spent at least an hour in the box-room; she was rather sorry at the waste of time involved in reading old papers about dead people. And one afternoon, as they were out together on a somewhat dreary97 walk towards Acton, Darnell stopped at a hopeless second-hand98 bookshop, and after scanning the rows of shabby books in the window, went in and purchased two volumes. They proved to be a Latin dictionary and grammar, and she was surprised to hear her husband declare his intention of acquiring the Latin language.
But, indeed, all his conduct impressed her as indefinably altered; and she began to be a little alarmed, though she could scarcely have formed her fears in words. But she knew that in some way that was all[95] indefined and beyond the grasp of her thought their lives had altered since the summer, and no single thing wore quite the same aspect as before. If she looked out into the dull street with its rare loiterers, it was the same and yet it had altered, and if she opened the window in the early morning the wind that entered came with a changed breath that spoke some message that she could not understand. And day by day passed by in the old course, and not even the four walls were altogether familiar, and the voices of men and women sounded with strange notes, with the echo, rather, of a music that came over unknown hills. And day by day as she went about her household work, passing from shop to shop in those dull streets that were a network, a fatal labyrinth99 of grey desolation on every side, there came to her sense half-seen images of some other world, as if she walked in a dream, and every moment must bring her to light and to awakening100, when the grey should fade, and regions long desired should appear in glory. Again and again it seemed as if that which was hidden would be shown even to the sluggish101 testimony102 of sense; and as she went to and fro from street to street of that dim and weary suburb, and looked on those grey material walls, they seemed as if a light glowed behind them, and again and again the mystic fragrance103 of incense104 was blown to her nostrils105 from across the verge106 of that world which is not so much impenetrable as ineffable, and to her ears came the dream of a chant that spoke of hidden choirs107 about all her ways. She struggled against these impressions, refusing her assent108 to the testimony of them, since all the pressure of credited opinion for three hundred[96] years has been directed towards stamping out real knowledge, and so effectually has this been accomplished109 that we can only recover the truth through much anguish110. And so Mary passed the days in a strange perturbation, clinging to common things and common thoughts, as if she feared that one morning she would wake up in an unknown world to a changed life. And Edward Darnell went day by day to his labour and returned in the evening, always with that shining of light within his eyes and upon his face, with the gaze of wonder that was greater day by day, as if for him the veil grew thin and soon would disappear.
From these great matters both in herself and in her husband Mary shrank back, afraid, perhaps, that if she began the question the answer might be too wonderful. She rather taught herself to be troubled over little things; she asked herself what attraction there could be in the old records over which she supposed Edward to be poring night after night in the cold room upstairs. She had glanced over the papers at Darnell's invitation, and could see but little interest in them; there were one or two sketches111, roughly done in pen and ink, of the old house in the west: it looked a shapeless and fantastic place, furnished with strange pillars and stranger ornaments112 on the projecting porch; and on one side a roof dipped down almost to the earth, and in the centre there was something that might almost be a tower rising above the rest of the building. Then there were documents that seemed all names and dates, with here and there a coat of arms done in the margin113, and she came upon a string of uncouth114 Welsh names linked together by the word 'ap' in a chain that looked endless. There was a paper[97] covered with signs and figures that meant nothing to her, and then there were the pocket-books, full of old-fashioned writing, and much of it in Latin, as her husband told her—it was a collection as void of significance as a treatise115 on conic sections, so far as Mary was concerned. But night after night Darnell shut himself up with the musty rolls, and more than ever when he rejoined her he bore upon his face the blazonry of some great adventure. And one night she asked him what interested him so much in the papers he had shown her.
He was delighted with the question. Somehow they had not talked much together for the last few weeks, and he began to tell her of the records of the old race from which he came, of the old strange house of grey stone between the forest and the river. The family went back and back, he said, far into the dim past, beyond the Normans, beyond the Saxons, far into the Roman days, and for many hundred years they had been petty kings, with a strong fortress116 high up on the hill, in the heart of the forest; and even now the great mounds117 remained, whence one could look through the trees towards the mountain on one side and across the yellow sea on the other. The real name of the family was not Darnell; that was assumed by one Iolo ap Taliesin ap Iorwerth in the sixteenth century—why, Darnell did not seem to understand. And then he told her how the race had dwindled118 in prosperity, century by century, till at last there was nothing left but the grey house and a few acres of land bordering the river.
'And do you know, Mary,' he said, 'I suppose we shall go and live there some day or other. My great-uncle,[98] who has the place now, made money in business when he was a young man, and I believe he will leave it all to me. I know I am the only relation he has. How strange it would be. What a change from the life here.'
'You never told me that. Don't you think your great-uncle might leave his house and his money to somebody he knows really well? You haven't seen him since you were a little boy, have you?'
'No; but we write once a year. And from what I have heard my father say, I am sure the old man would never leave the house out of the family. Do you think you would like it?'
'I don't know. Isn't it very lonely?'
'I suppose it is. I forget whether there are any other houses in sight, but I don't think there are any at all near. But what a change! No City, no streets, no people passing to and fro; only the sound of the wind and the sight of the green leaves and the green hills, and the song of the voices of the earth.'... He checked himself suddenly, as if he feared that he was about to tell some secret that must not yet be uttered; and indeed, as he spoke of the change from the little street in Shepherd's Bush to that ancient house in the woods of the far west, a change seemed already to possess himself, and his voice put on the modulation119 of an antique chant. Mary looked at him steadily120 and touched his arm, and he drew a long breath before he spoke again.
'It is the old blood calling to the old land,' he said. 'I was forgetting that I am a clerk in the City.'
It was, doubtless, the old blood that had suddenly stirred in him; the resurrection of the old spirit that[99] for many centuries had been faithful to secrets that are now disregarded by most of us, that now day by day was quickened more and more in his heart, and grew so strong that it was hard to conceal32. He was indeed almost in the position of the man in the tale, who, by a sudden electric shock, lost the vision of the things about him in the London streets, and gazed instead upon the sea and shore of an island in the Antipodes; for Darnell only clung with an effort to the interests and the atmosphere which, till lately, had seemed all the world to him; and the grey house and the wood and the river, symbols of the other sphere, intruded121 as it were into the landscape of the London suburb.
But he went on, with more restraint, telling his stories of far-off ancestors, how one of them, the most remote of all, was called a saint, and was supposed to possess certain mysterious secrets often alluded122 to in the papers as the 'Hidden Songs of Iolo Sant.' And then with an abrupt123 transition he recalled memories of his father and of the strange, shiftless life in dingy lodgings125 in the backwaters of London, of the dim stucco streets that were his first recollections, of forgotten squares in North London, and of the figure of his father, a grave bearded man who seemed always in a dream, as if he too sought for the vision of a land beyond the strong walls, a land where there were deep orchards126 and many shining hills, and fountains and water-pools gleaming under the leaves of the wood.
'I believe my father earned his living,' he went on, 'such a living as he did earn, at the Record Office and the British Museum. He used to hunt up things for[100] lawyers and country parsons who wanted old deeds inspected. He never made much, and we were always moving from one lodging124 to another—always to out-of-the-way places where everything seemed to have run to seed. We never knew our neighbours—we moved too often for that—but my father had about half a dozen friends, elderly men like himself, who used to come to see us pretty often; and then, if there was any money, the lodging-house servant would go out for beer, and they would sit and smoke far into the night.
'I never knew much about these friends of his, but they all had the same look, the look of longing for something hidden. They talked of mysteries that I never understood, very little of their own lives, and when they did speak of ordinary affairs one could tell that they thought such matters as money and the want of it were unimportant trifles. When I grew up and went into the City, and met other young fellows and heard their way of talking, I wondered whether my father and his friends were not a little queer in their heads; but I know better now.'
So night after night Darnell talked to his wife, seeming to wander aimlessly from the dingy lodging-houses, where he had spent his boyhood in the company of his father and the other seekers, to the old house hidden in that far western valley, and the old race that had so long looked at the setting of the sun over the mountain. But in truth there was one end in all that he spoke, and Mary felt that beneath his words, however indifferent they might seem, there was hidden a purpose, that they were to embark127 on a great and marvellous adventure.[101]
So day by day the world became more magical; day by day the work of separation was being performed, the gross accidents were being refined away. Darnell neglected no instruments that might be useful in the work; and now he neither lounged at home on Sunday mornings, nor did he accompany his wife to the Gothic blasphemy128 which pretended to be a church. They had discovered a little church of another fashion in a back street, and Darnell, who had found in one of the old notebooks the maxim129 Incredibilia sola Credenda, soon perceived how high and glorious a thing was that service at which he assisted. Our stupid ancestors taught us that we could become wise by studying books on 'science,' by meddling130 with test-tubes, geological specimens131, microscopic132 preparations, and the like; but they who have cast off these follies133 know that they must read not 'science' books, but mass-books, and that the soul is made wise by the contemplation of mystic ceremonies and elaborate and curious rites134. In such things Darnell found a wonderful mystery language, which spoke at once more secretly and more directly than the formal creeds135; and he saw that, in a sense, the whole world is but a great ceremony or sacrament, which teaches under visible forms a hidden and transcendent doctrine136. It was thus that he found in the ritual of the church a perfect image of the world; an image purged137, exalted, and illuminate138, a holy house built up of shining and translucent139 stones, in which the burning torches were more significant than the wheeling stars, and the fuming140 incense was a more certain token than the rising of the mist. His soul went forth with the albed procession in its white and solemn order, the mystic dance that[102] signifies rapture and a joy above all joys, and when he beheld141 Love slain142 and rise again victorious143 he knew that he witnessed, in a figure, the consummation of all things, the Bridal of all Bridals, the mystery that is beyond all mysteries, accomplished from the foundation of the world. So day by day the house of his life became more magical.
And at the same time he began to guess that if in the New Life there are new and unheard-of joys, there are also new and unheard-of dangers. In his manuscript books which professed144 to deliver the outer sense of those mysterious 'Hidden Songs of Iolo Sant' there was a little chapter that bore the heading: Fons Sacer non in communem Vsum convertendus est, and by diligence, with much use of the grammar and dictionary, Darnell was able to construe145 the by no means complex Latin of his ancestor. The special book which contained the chapter in question was one of the most singular in the collection, since it bore the title Terra de Iolo, and on the surface, with an ingenious concealment146 of its real symbolism, it affected147 to give an account of the orchards, fields, woods, roads, tenements148, and waterways in the possession of Darnell's ancestors. Here, then, he read of the Holy Well, hidden in the Wistman's Wood—Sylva Sapientum—'a fountain of abundant water, which no heats of summer can ever dry, which no flood can ever defile41, which is as a water of life, to them that thirst for life, a stream of cleansing149 to them that would be pure, and a medicine of such healing virtue that by it, through the might of God and the intercession of His saints, the most grievous wounds are made whole.'[103] But the water of this well was to be kept sacred perpetually, it was not to be used for any common purpose, nor to satisfy any bodily thirst; but ever to be esteemed150 as holy, 'even as the water which the priest hath hallowed.' And in the margin a comment in a later hand taught Darnell something of the meaning of these prohibitions151. He was warned not to use the Well of Life as a mere luxury of mortal life, as a new sensation, as a means of making the insipid152 cup of everyday existence more palatable153. 'For,' said the commentator154, 'we are not called to sit as the spectators in a theatre, there to watch the play performed before us, but we are rather summoned to stand in the very scene itself, and there fervently155 to enact156 our parts in a great and wonderful mystery.'
Darnell could quite understand the temptation that was thus indicated. Though he had gone but a little way on the path, and had barely tested the over-runnings of that mystic well, he was already aware of the enchantment157 that was transmuting158 all the world about him, informing his life with a strange significance and romance. London seemed a city of the Arabian Nights, and its labyrinths159 of streets an enchanted maze160; its long avenues of lighted lamps were as starry161 systems, and its immensity became for him an image of the endless universe. He could well imagine how pleasant it might be to linger in such a world as this, to sit apart and dream, beholding162 the strange pageant163 played before him; but the Sacred Well was not for common use, it was for the cleansing of the soul, and the healing of the grievous wounds of the spirit. There must be yet another transformation:[104] London had become Bagdad; it must at last be transmuted164 to Syon, or in the phrase of one of his old documents, the City of the Cup.
And there were yet darker perils165 which the Iolo MSS. (as his father had named the collection) hinted at more or less obscurely. There were suggestions of an awful region which the soul might enter, of a transmutation that was unto death, of evocations which could summon the utmost forces of evil from their dark places—in a word, of that sphere which is represented to most of us under the crude and somewhat childish symbolism of Black Magic. And here again he was not altogether without a dim comprehension of what was meant. He found himself recalling an odd incident that had happened long ago, which had remained all the years in his mind unheeded, amongst the many insignificant166 recollections of his childhood, and now rose before him, clear and distinct and full of meaning. It was on that memorable visit to the old house in the west, and the whole scene returned, with its smallest events, and the voices seemed to sound in his ears. It was a grey, still day of heavy heat that he remembered: he had stood on the lawn after breakfast, and wondered at the great peace and silence of the world. Not a leaf stirred in the trees on the lawn, not a whisper came from the myriad167 leaves of the wood; the flowers gave out sweet and heavy odours as if they breathed the dreams of the summer night; and far down the valley, the winding river was like dim silver under that dim and silvery sky, and the far hills and woods and fields vanished in the mist. The stillness of the air held him as with a charm; he leant all the morning against the rails that parted the[105] lawn from the meadow, breathing the mystic breath of summer, and watching the fields brighten as with a sudden blossoming of shining flowers as the high mist grew thin for a moment before the hidden sun. As he watched thus, a man weary with heat, with some glance of horror in his eyes, passed him on his way to the house; but he stayed at his post till the old bell in the turret168 rang, and they dined all together, masters and servants, in the dark cool room that looked towards the still leaves of the wood. He could see that his uncle was upset about something, and when they had finished dinner he heard him tell his father that there was trouble at a farm; and it was settled that they should all drive over in the afternoon to some place with a strange name. But when the time came Mr. Darnell was too deep in old books and tobacco smoke to be stirred from his corner, and Edward and his uncle went alone in the dog-cart. They drove swiftly down the narrow lane, into the road that followed the winding river, and crossed the bridge at Caermaen by the mouldering169 Roman walls, and then, skirting the deserted170, echoing village, they came out on a broad white turnpike road, and the limestone171 dust followed them like a cloud. Then, suddenly, they turned to the north by such a road as Edward had never seen before. It was so narrow that there was barely room for the cart to pass, and the footway was of rock, and the banks rose high above them as they slowly climbed the long, steep way, and the untrimmed hedges on either side shut out the light. And the ferns grew thick and green upon the banks, and hidden wells dripped down upon them; and the old man told him how the lane in winter was a[106] torrent172 of swirling173 water, so that no one could pass by it. On they went, ascending174 and then again descending175, always in that deep hollow under the wild woven boughs176, and the boy wondered vainly what the country was like on either side. And now the air grew darker, and the hedge on one bank was but the verge of a dark and rustling177 wood, and the grey limestone rocks had changed to dark-red earth flecked with green patches and veins178 of marl, and suddenly in the stillness from the depths of the wood a bird began to sing a melody that charmed the heart into another world, that sang to the child's soul of the blessed faery realm beyond the woods of the earth, where the wounds of man are healed. And so at last, after many turnings and windings179, they came to a high bare land where the lane broadened out into a kind of common, and along the edge of this place there were scattered180 three or four old cottages, and one of them was a little tavern181. Here they stopped, and a man came out and tethered the tired horse to a post and gave him water; and old Mr. Darnell took the child's hand and led him by a path across the fields. The boy could see the country now, but it was all a strange, undiscovered land; they were in the heart of a wilderness of hills and valleys that he had never looked upon, and they were going down a wild, steep hillside, where the narrow path wound in and out amidst gorse and towering bracken, and the sun gleaming out for a moment, there was a gleam of white water far below in a narrow valley, where a little brook poured and rippled182 from stone to stone. They went down the hill, and through a brake, and then, hidden in[107] dark-green orchards, they came upon a long, low whitewashed183 house, with a stone roof strangely coloured by the growth of moss184 and lichens185. Mr. Darnell knocked at a heavy oaken door, and they came into a dim room where but little light entered through the thick glass in the deep-set window. There were heavy beams in the ceiling, and a great fireplace sent out an odour of burning wood that Darnell never forgot, and the room seemed to him full of women who talked all together in frightened tones. Mr. Darnell beckoned186 to a tall, grey old man, who wore corduroy knee-breeches, and the boy, sitting on a high straight-backed chair, could see the old man and his uncle passing to and fro across the window-panes, as they walked together on the garden path. The women stopped their talk for a moment, and one of them brought him a glass of milk and an apple from some cold inner chamber187; and then, suddenly, from a room above there rang out a shrill188 and terrible shriek189, and then, in a young girl's voice, a more terrible song. It was not like anything the child had ever heard, but as the man recalled it to his memory, he knew to what song it might be compared—to a certain chant indeed that summons the angels and archangels to assist in the great Sacrifice. But as this song chants of the heavenly army, so did that seem to summon all the hierarchy190 of evil, the hosts of Lilith and Samael; and the words that rang out with such awful modulations—neumata inferorum—were in some unknown tongue that few men have ever heard on earth.
The women glared at one another with horror in their eyes, and he saw one or two of the oldest of them[108] clumsily making an old sign upon their breasts. Then they began to speak again, and he remembered fragments of their talk.
'She'd never know the way,' answered another. 'They be all gone that went there.'
'How can you tell that, Gwenllian? 'Tis not for us to say that.'
'My great-grandmother did know some that had been there,' said a very old woman. 'She told me how they was taken afterwards.'
And then his uncle appeared at the door, and they went their way as they had come. Edward Darnell never heard any more of it, nor whether the girl died or recovered from her strange attack; but the scene had haunted his mind in boyhood, and now the recollection of it came to him with a certain note of warning, as a symbol of dangers that might be in the way.
It would be impossible to carry on the history of Edward Darnell and of Mary his wife to a greater length, since from this point their legend is full of impossible events, and seems to put on the semblance193 of the stories of the Graal. It is certain, indeed, that in this world they changed their lives, like King Arthur, but this is a work which no chronicler has cared to describe with any amplitude194 of detail. Darnell, it is true, made a little book, partly consisting of queer verse which might have been written by an inspired infant, and partly made up of 'notes and exclamations195' in an odd dog-Latin which he had picked[109] up from the 'Iolo MSS.', but it is to be feared that this work, even if published in its entirety, would cast but little light on a perplexing story. He called this piece of literature 'In Exitu Israel,' and wrote on the title page the motto, doubtless of his own composition, 'Nunc certe scio quod omnia legenda; omnes histori?, omnes fabul?, omnis Scriptura sint de ME narrata.' It is only too evident that his Latin was not learnt at the feet of Cicero; but in this dialect he relates the great history of the 'New Life' as it was manifested to him. The 'poems' are even stranger. One, headed (with an odd reminiscence of old-fashioned books) 'Lines written on looking down from a Height in London on a Board School suddenly lit up by the Sun' begins thus:—
One day when I was all alone
It lay forgotten on the road
When on this stone mine eyes I cast
I saw my Treasure found at last.
I pressed it hard against my face,
I covered it with my embrace,
I hid it in a secret place.
And every day I went to see
And worshipped it with flowers rare,
And secret words and sayings fair.
O stone, so rare and red and wise
O fragment of far Paradise,
O Star, whose light is life! O Sea,
Thou art a fire that ever burns,[110]
And all the world to wonder turns;
And all the dust of the dull day
By thee is changed and purged away,
So that, where'er I look, I see
The desert park's a faery wold,
When on the trees the wind is borne
I hear the sound of Arthur's horn
I see no town of grim grey ways,
With burning torches, to light up
Ever the magic wine is poured,
Ever the Feast shines on the board,
Ever the song is borne on high
That chants the holy Magistry—
Etc. etc. etc.
From such documents as these it is clearly impossible to gather any very definite information. But on the last page Darnell has written—
'So I awoke from a dream of a London suburb, of daily labour, of weary, useless little things; and as my eyes were opened I saw that I was in an ancient wood, where a clear well rose into grey film and vapour beneath a misty205, glimmering heat. And a form came towards me from the hidden places of the wood, and my love and I were united by the well.'
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1
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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3
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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4
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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5
parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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7
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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8
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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9
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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10
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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11
bowers
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| n.（女子的）卧室( bower的名词复数 )；船首锚；阴凉处；鞠躬的人 | |
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12
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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13
tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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14
distractions
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| n.使人分心的事[人]( distraction的名词复数 )；娱乐，消遣；心烦意乱；精神错乱 | |
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15
enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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16
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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17
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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18
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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19
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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20
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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21
pigsty
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| n.猪圈，脏房间 | |
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22
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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23
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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24
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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25
delver
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| 有耐性而且勤勉的研究者，挖掘器 | |
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26
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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27
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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28
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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29
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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30
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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31
transmutes
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的第三人称单数 ) | |
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32
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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33
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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34
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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35
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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36
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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37
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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38
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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39
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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40
bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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41
defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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42
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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43
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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44
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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45
hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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46
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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47
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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48
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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49
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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50
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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51
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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52
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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53
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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54
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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55
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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57
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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58
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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59
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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60
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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61
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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62
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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63
skunk
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| n.臭鼬，黄鼠狼；v.使惨败，使得零分；烂醉如泥 | |
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64
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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65
schism
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| n.分派，派系，分裂 | |
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66
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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68
equated
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| adj.换算的v.认为某事物（与另一事物）相等或相仿( equate的过去式和过去分词 )；相当于；等于；把（一事物） 和（另一事物）等同看待 | |
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69
asylums
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| n.避难所( asylum的名词复数 )；庇护；政治避难；精神病院 | |
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70
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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71
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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72
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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73
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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74
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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75
fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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76
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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77
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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78
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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79
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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80
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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81
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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82
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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83
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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84
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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85
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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86
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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87
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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88
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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89
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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90
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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91
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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92
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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93
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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94
glossier
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| 光滑的( glossy的比较级 )； 虚有其表的； 浮华的 | |
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95
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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96
forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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97
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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98
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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99
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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100
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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101
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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102
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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103
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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104
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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105
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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106
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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107
choirs
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| n.教堂的唱诗班( choir的名词复数 )；唱诗队；公开表演的合唱团；（教堂）唱经楼 | |
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108
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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109
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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110
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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111
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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112
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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113
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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114
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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115
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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116
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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117
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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118
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
modulation
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| n.调制 | |
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120
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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121
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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122
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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124
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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125
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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126
orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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127
embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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128
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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129
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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130
meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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131
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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132
microscopic
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| adj.微小的，细微的，极小的，显微的 | |
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133
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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134
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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135
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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136
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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137
purged
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| 清除（政敌等）( purge的过去式和过去分词 )； 涤除（罪恶等）； 净化（心灵、风气等）； 消除（错事等）的不良影响 | |
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138
illuminate
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| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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139
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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140
fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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141
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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142
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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143
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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144
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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145
construe
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| v.翻译，解释 | |
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146
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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147
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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148
tenements
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| n.房屋，住户，租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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149
cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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150
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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151
prohibitions
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| 禁令，禁律( prohibition的名词复数 )； 禁酒； 禁例 | |
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152
insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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153
palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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154
commentator
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| n.注释者，解说者；实况广播评论员 | |
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155
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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156
enact
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| vt.制定(法律)；上演，扮演 | |
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157
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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158
transmuting
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的现在分词 ) | |
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159
labyrinths
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| 迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 )； （文字，建筑）错综复杂的 | |
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160
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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161
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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162
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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163
pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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164
transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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166
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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167
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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168
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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169
mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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170
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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171
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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172
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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173
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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174
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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175
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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176
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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177
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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178
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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179
windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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180
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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181
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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182
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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183
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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184
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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185
lichens
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| n.地衣( lichen的名词复数 ) | |
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186
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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187
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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188
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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189
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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190
hierarchy
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| n.等级制度；统治集团，领导层 | |
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191
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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192
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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193
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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194
amplitude
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| n.广大；充足；振幅 | |
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195
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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196
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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197
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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198
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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199
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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200
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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201
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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202
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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203
pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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204
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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205
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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