My uncle, occupying himself with the files of the newspaper in question, was deep in the mazes2 of politics, and favoured Daphne now and then with extracts from the oratory3 of statesmen out of office, to the effect that the country was on the eve of ruin, and that nothing but a speedy return of the Opposition4 to power would ever set matters right—statements which my uncle, who favoured the Opposition, regarded as profoundly true.
Daphne yawned at the impending5 fall of her country without seeming to be much impressed thereby6; and finally, putting on her hat, she exclaimed it was a beautiful morning for a stroll, and sauntered leisurely7 out, expressing a wish that I would follow her as soon as my letters were finished.
This I did, and walked down the mountain path in quest of her. Not having seen her by the time I had reached the haunted well, and not knowing in what direction to look for her, I flung myself down on a grassy8 bank behind the fountain, beneath the shadows of the overhanging foliage9, determined10 to devote five minutes to a cigar before proceeding11 further.
[Pg 129]
The day was sunny, the breeze soft and warm, the waters of the fountain rippled12 pleasantly, and the shadows danced to and fro on the greensward. Repose14 in the shade was much more agreeable than walking in the sunlight, and I found my five minutes extending to ten, and, while dreamily thinking that it was time to resume my quest, I dropped off to sleep.
How long I continued in a state of repose I cannot tell. I was aroused by the sound of voices; and, glancing out from my covert15, I saw Daphne and Angelo standing16 beside the fountain. The artist was labouring under some deep emotion: his dark hair hung negligently17 over his brow and eyes; his attire18 was in a frayed19 and disarranged state; for disorder20 and melancholy21 he looked a very Hamlet.
Evidently neither he nor Daphne was aware of my proximity22. I hesitated to play the spy, but by doing so I might obtain a clue to Angelo's expulsion from the Communion—a clue that probably could be obtained in no other way, since his affection for Daphne might induce him to impart to her what he would withhold23 from my uncle and myself. This thought acted as a salve to my conscience, and, drawing my head within the foliage, I resolved to remain a silent and hidden spectator of the interview, in direct contravention of my promise to Daphne not to leave her alone with the artist. It was not a very honourable24 position I candidly25 admit. But I paid the penalty for it, by overhearing that which made me most miserable26.
"I am afraid, Miss Leslie," the artist was saying—and his voice sounded so strange and hoarse27 that I scarcely recognised it to be his—"that the incident that happened this morning in the cathedral has tended to prejudice me in your esteem28."
[Pg 130]
"If it be this that causes you to look on me with a different face, it admits of an easy explanation. Father Ignatius recognised in you the original of my Madonna. He considers me guilty of sacrilege. My refusal to atone30 for it at the confessional excludes me from the communion of the Church. You know what these priests are, Miss Leslie," he continued with a sneer32. "Meat in Lent, absence from confessional, a thousand similar trifles, are deadly sins in their eyes."
"On this crucifix, image of our God in agony, holiest symbol of the Catholic faith, I swear by my hope of salvation34 that I speak truth when I say that my exclusion35 from the Mass rests on no other ground than the one I have stated."
I did not believe him; and if he had repeated his statement twenty times, and sworn it on his crucifix twenty times, I would not have believed him. A subtle stroke on his part, this: to represent to Daphne that his tribute to her beauty had cost him nothing less than—'the communion of the saints!' It might move her to pity, and we all know to what pity is akin36.
"I am sorry," said Daphne, "that I am the cause—the innocent cause," with a stress on the adjective, "of your suffering the Church's censure37."
And then came a long pause, during which both stood looking at each other: he with undisguised love and admiration38, she with evident distrust and fear. Each seemed afraid to break the silence.
"Miss Leslie," he continued, speaking slowly, as if it were difficult to find words, and his breathing came thick and heavy, "you can guess why in painting that picture I was enabled, in the absence of the original, to reproduce your features with such fidelity39?"
[Pg 131]
"I cannot tell."
This was a falsehood on her part—a pardonable one, perhaps. She knew the reason as well as he did, and dreaded40 what was coming. At last, after another long pause, came the momentous42 declaration:
"It was love that aided my memory."
With his hands tremulously clasped, he bent43 forward, his dark eyes fixed44 on Daphne's face. Hers were bent on the ground. I had never seen her looking more beautiful.
"Yes," repeated Angelo, speaking with more ease now, as if his avowal45 of love had removed the restraint from his speech, "it was love that aided my memory. It was love, if classic story speak truth, that drew the first portrait."
It was characteristic of him that even in his lovemaking he could not wholly avoid reverting46 to his adored art.
"Yes," he continued, "it was love that inspired the production of my Madonna. Madonna!" he exclaimed in scornful tones, as if in contempt of his religion. "I know of no Madonna save you—your worship excludes all other. The saints are forgotten when I gaze on your face. You alone are my divinity. Visit my studio, and see how many pictures there are of that face which troubles me by day and haunts my dreams by night. Look in my desk, and see how many letters there are addressed to Miss Leslie—written, but never sent. Miss Leslie, you must know how much I love you! O, do not say that you do not return the feeling!"
His cloak dropped back from his shoulders as he extended his arms in a pleading manner toward my cousin, his bronzed, handsome face glowing as I have seen the face of a Greek statue glow in the quivering[Pg 132] sunset. He was not ignorant of his own personal charms, and his present attitude, acquired perhaps in the atelier of the artist, was purposely adapted to display the statuesque grace of his figure.
Daphne did not speak a word. I knew what her answer would be, and I knew that her reticence47 arose from her dread41 of the effect which that answer might have on the passionate48 nature of the artist. She had seen something of his nature that morning in the cathedral, and divined but too well that his love was of the character that turns by a leap to hatred49.
"I love you," he repeated—"how deeply no words of mine can tell! The months that have separated us have been to me a torture. I cannot rest apart from you. I have come from England expressly to see you. I am here now to ask you to be mine. I had intended to stay long with, or near you, and seek to win my way gradually into your heart, but I can be silent no longer. Who can forge chains for love, and say, 'To-day thou shalt be dumb; to-morrow thou shalt speak?' Forgive me if my language seems wild. We Italians do not love so coldly as your English youth; we are all passion and flame. If I am precipitate50, if I am rash, if I am mad, blame not me, but blame the beauty that has made me so."
He checked the flow of his words; they seem poor and commonplace enough on paper. It must have been the tone in which they were uttered, and the aid they received from his sparkling eyes and dramatic gestures, that made them sound like eloquence51 at the time.
Daphne, her drooping52 eyes fixed on the ground, stood beside the tree overhanging the fountain, still and silent as a statue. To say "No" to any request, however trifling53, was always a source of pain to her; how much[Pg 133] more now when it would give despair to the one it was addressed to!
"Ah, Heaven! how beautiful you are! What a picture you would make!" One might have thought from the manner in which he dwelt on the word "picture" that he wanted her for no other purpose than to minister to his art. "Will you not speak, Daphne?"
"Give me time—a day—to reflect. I will reply to you by—by letter."
"No, no—a thousand times, no! Not for worlds will I endure another such night as last in an agony of suspense55 and doubt. Let me have your answer here and now. This avowal cannot be a surprise to you. What woman was ever loved without knowing it? Did you not understand my action yesterday when I knelt before your picture? Could you not interpret the look in my eyes the first time they saw your face? That day marked an era in my art. For years I had been seeking to paint a face that should be the very ideal of beauty, and my hand had failed to delineate the shadowy conceptions of my mind; but at last the ideal face shone upon me. My dream of beauty was realised in a living form. With that bright form by my side to inspire my pencil——"
The artist paused, stopped by the expression on Daphne's face. Surely in the presence of the bird the net is spread in vain? Angelo's desire for Daphne was prompted quite as much by art as by love. She would be a priceless acquisition to his studio, would serve as a beautiful model for his princesses, his nymphs, and his angels. So absorbed was he in his passion for art that he could see nothing objectionable or ludicrous in his avowal. Do all artists make love[Pg 134] in this fashion, I wonder? The thought of my own beautiful Daphne posing in various attitudes, and in various stages of dressing56, before this demon57 of an artist, in order that he might produce some exquisite58 masterpiece for the delectation of a gaping59 public, so set my nerves a-quivering that I all but rushed from my hiding-place for the purpose of hurling60 him into the fountain. Great was my joy to hear Daphne's reply, given in a voice that was tinged61 slightly with sarcasm62:
"Mr. Vasari," and she inclined her dainty head, "I thank your for the honour you do me in selecting me as your model——"
"But, believe me, it can never be as you wish."
"Ah, why, Daphne? Say not that you hate me."
"You forget that I am to be Captain Willard's wife."
Angelo started. So did I, for these words were a complete revelation to me. I had thought that she had all but forgotten George, and that I was gradually replacing his image. Her utterance64 completely dispelled65 this illusion.
With a strange heaviness of heart that increased each moment, I continued to listen to the dialogue. Angelo's pleading expression had changed to one of surprise and contempt.
"Captain Willard?" he exclaimed. "Surely you do not think of him now—he who deserted66 you on your bridal morning! He is not worthy67 of you."
"Deserted me?" repeated Daphne. "Yes—but not forever, I feel sure. He has left me only for a time. Whatever the crime was in which he became involved—for crime I suppose it must have been—I am certain that it was none of his causing. If there be any truth[Pg 135] in my dreams he will yet return to explain the mystery of his absence, to vindicate68 his character, and to take me for his wife."
She spoke69 with such a look shining from her eyes, with so proud a trust in the faith of her absent hero, in such a tone of conviction, that I (thinking only of my own faint—very faint—prospect of winning her) trembled, lest her words should be the heralds70 of a stern reality. Some dark shadows dancing suddenly across the greensward between her and Angelo, accompanied by a rustling71 sound as of a footstep, gave me a start as great as if the ghost of George had suddenly risen up before me.
"Your faith is womanly, sublime72, but—misplaced. He will never return. He has left you forever. Think no more of him. There is one who loves you a thousand times more deeply than Captain Willard ever did; compared with mine, his love was but as ice. Ah, Daphne! say that you will be mine. I will gladly wait years for you, content to hold a second place in your affections, if in the event of Captain Willard's non-return you will offer me a little hope."
"Mr. Vasari, it cannot be, even if George were never to return. Be he living or dead, I will remain faithful to his memory."
My mental gloom increased as I listened to these firmly spoken words. Daphne little thought she was wounding two hearts by her remarks.
"Daphne, I would not hurt your feelings, but have you never considered that Captain Willard may have left you for another? If I could show you that this is the case, would you still remain faithful to his memory? Will you not rather show your scorn of him by listening to another lover—me?"
There was little in Angelo's remarks to suggest[Pg 136] the reminiscence, and yet by some inexplicable73 mental process I found my mind reverting to the episode of the veiled lady. Daphne's cheek grew white and her lip quivered at the idea suggested by the Italian, but she replied proudly:
"I will never believe that he was faithless."
"If I could prove that he left you for another—" began the artist.
"Oh, why do you say this? You talk as if you knew something of him. If you have any knowledge of him, tell me, for pity's sake! Do you know where he is?"
"First, my question requires an answer. If I could prove that he left you for another, what would be your answer to me then?"
In the interval75 that elapsed between the question and the reply I could have counted sixty. The deep silence was broken only by the ripple13 of the fountain. I almost thought I could hear her heart beating against her breast. But the question must be answered, and drawing her dress around her with a grace which charmed while it maddened the artist, and raising her head with the proud dignity of a queen, she replied:
"Since you force me to speak out, and are determined to have an answer from me, listen to it. I do not love you, and—forgive me if my words seem harsh; better a cold truth than a sweet falsehood—it is better that you should know now, once and for all, I could never love you—never, never, NEVER!"
There could be no mistaking the meaning of those cold, deliberate words. It pained her to say them, and I believe she would have burst into a flood of tears; but she repressed her emotion, lest it should encourage Angelo to a more earnest persistency76 of his suit.
[Pg 137]
The effect of her refusal on the artist was singular in the extreme. At first he trembled, in every limb, and I could distinctly see drops of perspiration77 glistening78 on his brow. Then, as he realised all the bitterness of his position, and that the lovely woman before him was lost to him forever and ever, and that if they were to live a thousand years on the earth she would still be as cold to him as she was at that moment, he lifted his arms with a slow motion and extended them towards her, and for some moments he maintained this position, petrified79 to rigidity80, staring at her with ghastly look and glassy eye. His attitude was the very apotheosis81 of despair.
I marvelled82 at his emotion. My own sense of disappointment on hearing Daphne express her determination to remain faithful to George was exquisitely83 bitter, but, bitter as it was, it was apparently84 but a tithe85 of the pain felt by the artist.
Several times he tried to speak, but no words came from his dry lips. It was painful to see him going through the mockery of speaking, yet unable to produce a sound. It was as if the dead, touched by some galvanic apparatus86, were trying to assume the mechanism87 of life, and when at last he did speak his strange hollow voice aided the illusion.
"Miss Leslie, you surely cannot—cannot mean that!"
"Indeed I do," was the cold reply.
Scarcely able to keep his feet, the artist moved backward till he touched the trunk of a tree, where he leaned for support. The sight of his misery88 touched Daphne to the quick, and she cried impulsively89:
"O Mr. Vasari, I am sorry for you; but I cannot love you. I cannot forget George. Believe me, it[Pg 138] pains me to have to say this. Try to think it is for the best."
She placed her hand timidly on his arm; but he swung it off with so dark an expression on his face that I had almost thrown myself between them.
"I want not your pity," he exclaimed scornfully, turning the fire of his eyes on her, "if I cannot have your love!"
"And so," he continued in a bitter tone, "rather than accept the love of one who can immortalise you by his pencil you prefer to be a living cenotaph whose sad aspect testifies the esteem set upon her by her first lover!"
"You must have some less fanciful reason for rejecting me than this absurd attachment92 to—to a shadow. Tell me, do you not love another?"
"Mr. Vasari, you have no right to question me thus. You have received your answer, and this meeting may as well end, since it seems now that insult is to be my portion."
And she turned proudly to go.
"Stay!" cried Angelo, barring her passage. "You evade93 my question. You love another. Nay94, do not deny it. I will not accept your denial. I know who my rival is. Let him beware. You may listen to his whispered words, smile at his kisses, receive his gifts; but never shall you go with him to the altar! Rather will I see you dead by my own hand first!"
"Oh, why do you talk so wildly? Leave me and think no more of me. There are many women whose[Pg 139] love is more worth winning than mine. Try to forget me."
"Forget you?" and he laughed bitterly. "There are many artists, but only one Raphael; there are many women, but only one Daphne. O Daphne! dear, dear Daphne!"—his manner changed at once from the fierceness of scorn to the softness of love, as, dropping on one knee, he held her struggling hands in his and covered them with kisses, "do not refuse me! You——"
"Mr. Vasari, it is not right to detain me against my wish. Let go my hands."
He obeyed her, sprang to his feet, but continued his pleading tones:
"Daphne, I beseech95 you to recall your decision. You asked for a day to consider. Let me meet you here in twenty-four hours. I have been too precipitate. I surprise, frighten you. You were not prepared for this. Give me your final answer to-morrow."
"I have given you my answer."
He looked at her beautiful face, so cold in its firmness to resist all entreaties96, and then, turning as if to address an imaginary audience, said:
"Can this cold statue really be the same maiden97 who but yesterday smiled at my gifts and blushed at my words? How quick a change has passed over her! Yes," he continued, observing the colour that mounted to Daphne's brow at these last words, "yes, blush at your actions of yesterday. You cannot deny that by your words and your smiles you have encouraged me to this confession31."
"Mr. Vasari," she returned, speaking very humbly98, with her eyes fixed on one pretty little foot that was shifting uneasily to and fro on the greensward, "I cannot deny that your attentions gave me pleasure.[Pg 140] I am fond of admiration—perhaps too fond. I am only too sorry now that my vanity had led you to put a false interpretation99 on what was intended for friendship only, and must ask you to forgive me."
He looked with a wistful gaze at her fair face, but read no encouragement there. A long silence ensued during which he seemed to grow calmer and more resigned to his position.
"Enough of this supplication," he muttered, folding his cloak around him with a moody100, half-scornful air.
Art had apparently humiliated101 itself too long in the presence of Beauty.
"Let us part friends," said Daphne.
But he turned from the little hand offered to him in friendship. Magnanimity did not form part of his character.
"I leave Rivoli to-day—this hour. You will see me no more."
"Will you not say good-bye to my father and Frank?"
A scornful gesture of refusal was his only reply, and, with a dark glance, he was preparing to depart when a motion from Daphne stopped him.
"Angelo," she said in a plaintive103, supplicating104 voice, and using the Christian105 name of the artist—she was loth to ask the question of him, and yet felt that she must—"Angelo, answer me truly. If you know anything of Captain Willard—and your words just now seemed to imply that you do—tell me, I implore106 you, and I will be—your—your best friend," she added, as if sorry she could not offer him the highest place in her regard. "Do you know where he is?"
[Pg 141]
"Do I know where he is?" repeated the Italian with a peculiar107 laugh. He turned back, took a step nearer to Daphne, and said:
"You are nearer to him now than you have been for months."
He seemed on the point of saying more, but, suddenly turning on his heel, he left her.
"O Angelo, what do you mean?" she called out after him.
But the artist was now plunging108 down the mountain side, and if he heard her words, did not at any rate reply to them. Daphne watched him sadly for a few moments, and then, turning away, began to ascend109 the zigzag110 path which led to the chalet. Not wishing to let her know that I had been a spectator of the interview, I remained where I was, and gazed after the retreating figure of Angelo, who was springing down from crag to crag in a manner that augured111 very little care for his own safety, his dark locks and long cloak swaying on the breeze.
I, Frank Willard, sitting there on that calm summer day amid the loveliest scenery of Switzerland, rich in youth and health, endowed by my uncle with a competent fortune, and with nothing much to trouble my conscience, will seem to many an object of envy; and yet there I was, bewailing what I called my sad destiny, and sentimentally112 thinking myself the most unhappy of mankind.
Daphne's avowal of her continued love for George had cast a gloom over me. Was I again to tread the Via Dolorosa of hopeless love, and, as the melancholy student of Heidelberg, to outwatch the stars once more on the solitary113 crags of the Odenwald?
"Living or dead, I will remain faithful to his memory."
[Pg 142]
"You are nearer to him now than you have been for months."
These two sentences continued to haunt my mind all the way to the chalet. The artist's parting words seemed to imply that George was living at Rivoli—an idea that had previously114 occurred to me. What would become of my love-dream if, on hearing that Daphne was at Rivoli, George should emerge from his seclusion115 with some strange but justifiable116 reason for his past conduct? Would he do this, I wondered, or would he remain hidden in obscurity? A shadow fell across my path. I looked up, and the porch of the chalet fronted me with its legend, ominous117, so it seemed to me, of some coming tragedy:
"He shall return!"
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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mazes
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| 迷宫( maze的名词复数 )； 纷繁复杂的规则； 复杂难懂的细节； 迷宫图 | |
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oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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thereby
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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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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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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negligently
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attire
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frayed
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disorder
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melancholy
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proximity
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withhold
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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candidly
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miserable
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hoarse
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esteem
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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atone
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confession
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sneer
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bosom
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salvation
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exclusion
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akin
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censure
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admiration
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fidelity
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dreaded
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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42
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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43
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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44
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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45
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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46
reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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47
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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48
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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49
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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50
precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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51
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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52
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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53
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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54
evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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55
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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56
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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57
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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59
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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60
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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61
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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63
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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65
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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68
vindicate
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| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
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69
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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70
heralds
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| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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71
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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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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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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74
suppliant
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| adj.哀恳的；n.恳求者，哀求者 | |
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75
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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76
persistency
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| n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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78
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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81
apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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84
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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85
tithe
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| n.十分之一税；v.课什一税，缴什一税 | |
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86
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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87
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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88
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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90
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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91
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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92
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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93
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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94
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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95
beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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96
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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97
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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98
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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99
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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100
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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101
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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102
repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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103
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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104
supplicating
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| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
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105
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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106
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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107
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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108
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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109
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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110
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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111
augured
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| v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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112
sentimentally
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| adv.富情感地 | |
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113
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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114
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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115
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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116
justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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117
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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