In the distance the sound of jovial2 carols told me that in the servants' quarters due homage3 was being paid to the spirit of the season. Floating faintly along the corridors came the snatches of a refrain—
"Come, bring with a noise,
My merry, merry boys,
The Christmas log to the firing;
Bids you all be free,
And drink to your hearts' desiring."
I hummed over a few bars myself as I made my way along.
At last, after losing my way several times, I stood in front of the thick oaken door that I knew to be the entrance of the picture-gallery. Half-a-dozen keys inserted into the lock one after another failed to open the door. The seventh caused the steel tongue to spring back with a sharp click. I was on the point of turning the handle when a sound on the other side arrested my act. A moment's reflection induced me to believe that it was merely the night breeze sighing[Pg 232] through the elms and yews6 outside, but in my first start I had likened it to human footsteps stealing softly away from the door. So strongly had I been impressed with this fancy that I had at once turned the key in the lock again, so as to keep two inches of solid oak, at least, between me and the something on the other side.
Up to this time I had always considered myself fairly brave, but I now began to question my right to the title. Should I return whence I came, safe in limb, sane7 in mind, but baffled in my quest by my own fears, or should I invite one of the servants to accompany me? No! I determined8 to venture by myself. What a fine thing it would be, if, alone and unaided, I should succeed in solving the mystery that gave this chamber9 the reputation of being haunted! I should be the hero of the hour, eclipsing all the male guests of Silverdale and receiving the smiles and praises of the women. While the men were singing carols at a safe distance, I should have been keeping a solitary10 vigil in a moonlit hall surrounded by ghostly perils11. Vanity rather than courage inspired me to proceed.
I could still hear the carolling of the servants, and the sound, remote though it was, gave me a sense of safety. Once more I turned the key, and then flung wide the door. Before entering, I gazed down the gallery, but no sound came from it now, and nothing moving was to be seen.
It was a superb night. The moon was at the full, and its bright rays, falling upon the tall casements12, flung parallelograms of light across the polished oak flooring, causing the gallery to present a chequered appearance, silver alternating with ebony in regular perspective. A more weird14 place to spend a night in[Pg 233] could hardly be imagined, and I quite forgave the servants for believing it to be haunted. Mailed warriors15 and mounted knights16 shimmered17 in the moonlight apparently18 on the point of starting into life and action; the eyes of the portraits on the walls seemed to stare at me with a marvellous resemblance to those of human beings; mysterious shapes seemed to be lurking20 in the alcoves21, whispering and pointing at me as I advanced with beating heart.
I had not taken more than ten steps when the great door swung to on its hinges with a clang that gave me a sudden start and called forth22 strange echoes from the gallery.
There is nothing remarkable23 in the clanging of a door, if it be due merely to a current of air or to automatic action; but when neither of these causes is in operation it is apt to create an uneasy sensation, especially when, as in the present instance, it is accompanied by what sounds very like a laugh, coming it is impossible to say whence.
I felt afraid almost to turn round to discover the author of the laugh, but when I had turned and could perceive nothing to justify24 my belief that it was a laugh, I was equally afraid to turn the other way, and so stood rooted to the spot for a few moments, not wishing to retire, nor yet overbold to go forward.
At length, despite the frowning faces of the portraits on the walls and the threatening lances of the knights, I advanced, with one hand on the pistol in my pocket. I could have wished myself for the time being one of those students of the black art who, successfully passing through the fabled25 hall in Padua, are said never afterwards to have cast a shadow; for, as I moved before the moonlit casements, a black shape[Pg 234] moved with me along the floor of the hall, and when I had passed out of the moonlight, the candle I carried in my trembling hand caused the shadow to start up on the adjacent wall as though it were some sable26 familiar attendant on my movements.
In the middle of the gallery, upon a small table and reared up against the wall, I could perceive in a massive frame a large picture, which I took to be the thing I was in quest of, but before I had got near enough to obtain a glimpse of it an unfortunate accident occurred. I dropped my candle, and the moon at this moment being obscured by clouds, I was left in darkness.
The superstitious27 fancies of my overwrought mind were for the moment overcome by the annoyance28 I felt at being thus baffled on the edge of discovery. Here was I at last standing29 before Angelo's great picture, the picture that had lifted him to fame, the picture that some critics had assigned to a hand other than his, the picture he had been so anxious to conceal30 from my view, the picture whose principal figure the Baronet averred31 was copied from the murdered dead, the picture whose figure, so the servants whispered, had the power of descending32 from the canvas, and yet beyond the fact of its size I was precluded33 by the darkness from learning anything about it.
It stood glimmering34 faintly through the gloom, and eluding35 my power to penetrate36 its secret. I strained my eyes to the utmost, and after a time they became accustomed to the darkness; but all I could discern on the canvas were two figures, one erect37, the other prostrate38, both which seemed to be returning my stare like faces in a mirror. Faint whisperings seemed to be trembling on the air around, and more than once I thought I heard a subdued39 laugh.
[Pg 235]
I passed my hand over the canvas, not without the weird fancy that it might be seized in a cold clasp. It is needless to say that my sense of touch did not add anything to my knowledge.
Just as I was preparing to return for another candle the moon emerged triumphantly40 from an array of defiant41 clouds, and its light, increasing almost to the brightness of day, enabled me to obtain a clear view of the picture.
My first feeling was one of disappointment.
What I had expected to see I do not quite know: something alarming, probably.
There was, however, nothing alarming on the canvas before me. It was a painting that Gér?me himself might have been proud to own, so classic and finished was its character. Indeed, I cannot give a better idea of it than by saying that in the pose of the two figures, and in the arrangement of the details, it bore a considerable resemblance to the work of that great master on the same subject, save that in Angelo's composition the figures of the conspirators43 were wanting.
The principal features of the picture (to quote the language of the Standard correspondent) were: "The fallen C?sar with his toga wrapped partly round him, the statue of Pompey rising above, a tesselated pavement stained with blood, here and there a discarded dagger44, columnar architecture in the back-ground: such were the simple elements presented by this chef-d'?uvre."
I fell back a pace or two to contemplate45 the picture as a whole, and, despite my dislike of the artist, I could not repress a feeling of admiration46 for the man who had produced such a masterpiece.
Desirous of verifying the Baronet's suspicion that the picture might reveal to me something that would[Pg 236] be entirely47 passed over by others, I proceeded to examine it in detail.
I first directed my attention to the statue of Pompey, and saw that Angelo had given his own regular and haughty48 features to this figure, which was represented as being crowned with a laurel-wreath, and armed with spear and shield. The centre of this shield was set with the helmeted head of Minerva—a gem42 of minute painting—and it required no second glance to tell me that the face of the goddess was simply a miniature portrait of Daphne. The Baronet had never made any reference to this fact. How the likeness49 could have escaped his notice was a marvel19 to me. Perhaps a lover's eyes were more discerning than his.
From the statue of Pompey I turned my attention to the figure at the base of the pedestal. Angelo had not strictly50 adhered to the minuti? of history in this portion of his picture, for he had given a full view of C?sar's face instead of veiling it in the folds of the toga.
From the space between two lofty columns there slanted51 a flood of sunshine, painted with a technique so marvellous that the beams seemed actually to quiver on the canvas. In fact, so beautifully was this sunlight managed that I was impelled52 to touch it with my hand, almost expecting to see it tinged53 with a golden hue54. These rays formed the principal beauty of the picture, suffusing55 the dead body of C?sar with a transparent56 veil of light.
The bald and beardless head of the fallen Dictator became next the object of my study.
Standing close to the canvas, my eyes could detect nothing but a confused daub, but on receding57 gradually from it the effect was curious, not to say startling.[Pg 237] The features of C?sar, which appeared but dim and vague at first, became gradually clearer and more distinct, till at length each curve and every line of the painted countenance58 stood out in relief through the cascade59 of yellow beams. I could quite forgive the little servant-girl for supposing that the eyes of this figure moved, for more than once I was seized with the same impression.
The thought, suggested by the epitaph in the artist's portfolio60, that a murdered man might have contributed to the deathlike realism displayed by this face invested it with a weird interest; and I continued to gaze at it as though it were the embalmed61 head of Orpheus, celebrated62 in classic legend, whose dead tongue could whisper things past and to come. The filmy, glazed63 eyes fascinated me with their dreadful stare. The face had a mournful, surprised expression—the very expression, so far as I could imagine (for happily I am no judge of such matters), of a man who, without warning, had been cut off out of the land of the living. It was not, however, the face that meets us in the coins and busts64 of art-galleries: it seemed to have a much more familiar look. It seemed a face well known to me—one, too, that I had seen but recently.
Minute after minute passed, and still I stood there contemplating65 the dead face, with the secret consciousness that ere long I should recognise it. A sudden movement on my part to the left, seemingly, as it were, to set the face in a new point of view, caused the light of knowledge to flash into my mind.
A loud cry broke from me, and I reeled back into the middle of the hall.
For my brother's face was staring at me from the canvas in lineaments not to be mistaken—in [Pg 238]lineaments so startling in their fidelity66 to the original that I marvelled67 how I could have failed at the first to detect the resemblance. The beard and hair were wanting to complete the likeness: it was this omission68 that had delayed my recognition of it, just as it had prevented my recognition of the portrait sketch69 that Angelo had exhibited to me.
Overwhelmed with amazement70 I stood staring at the picture, rooted to the spot, without power to move from it. Whence had Angelo derived71 the marvellous art that had enabled him to limn72 my brother's face so faithfully, and yet to transform it so as to make it seem like the very image of death?
I lifted my eyes to the figure of Pompey mounted on his lofty pedestal, and as I gazed at the proud face, over which the changing moonbeams seemed to impart a smile of mockery, the picture assumed a new and terrible significance. An ordinary spectator might regard it simply as a splendid work of art, and see in it nothing more than was implied in its title—"The Fall of C?sar;" but to me, familiar with the artist's aspiration73, it was full of a latent symbolism expressive74 of his hopes at the time of painting it. It was no longer the conqueror75 of the East triumphing over the conqueror of the West, but Angelo in his own person exulting76 over the rival whom he had slain77. The laurel-wreath on his brows represented the crown of fame which the exhibition of this very picture was to bring him; and the setting of Daphne's head in the shield that was braced78 tight to his arm expressed the confident conviction that she was destined79 one day to be linked to him. The artist's secret was revealed: he had killed my brother! In his morbid80 desire of fame, and in a spirit of hideous81 realism sometimes, though rarely, exemplified in the history of art,[Pg 239] Angelo had murdered a fellow-mortal for the purpose of having by his side a dead man to serve as a model for the fallen C?sar, even proceeding82 so far as to retain in his picture the very features of his victim.
The commission of this terrible deed, and the thought that now that his rival was dead Daphne would be his, had imparted to the mind of the artist a sort of diabolic inspiration—a tone of fiendish exaltation that had enabled him for the time being to rise superior to his ordinary mediocre83 powers, and to surprise the art-critics by producing a work far surpassing all his previous efforts.
He could expose this painting to public view with little fear that its exhibition would be attended with the discovery of his crime, owing to the fact that his victim (to represent faithfully the person of C?sar) must be delineated as both bald and beardless, a fact that had imparted a very different look to the painted face; and moreover, since George had spent the years subsequent to his twentieth birthday in India, he was not known in Europe except to his own small circle of kinsfolk.
The only persons, then, whom the artist had cause to fear were the relatives of his victim, and returned Anglo-Indians.
I now understood his motive84 in calling my attention to the pen-and-ink sketch of George's face. It was to ascertain85 whether, in the event of seeing his picture, I should detect any resemblance to my brother in the bald and beardless head of C?sar: hence his satisfaction at my want of perception, for he felt pretty certain that if I failed to recognise the likeness, other persons would be equally or more obtuse86.
Yet, despite the apparent safety which my mental blindness had promised him, he had feared after all lest[Pg 240] the picture should betray him, and the fracas87 that had occurred in the Vasari Gallery at Paris was a result of this fear.
The Indian officer, whom Angelo had ordered to be expelled from the gallery, was doubtless a friend of George's, belonging, perhaps, to the same regiment88, and who, if permitted to see the work of art, might have discovered in the same more than was intended by its author.
Hence Angelo's reason for withdrawing the picture from the public view. Too fond of his handiwork to destroy it, he thought that by consigning89 it to the private collection of the Cornish Baronet his safety would be assured.
Vain hope! Avenging90 Nemesis91 was pursuing him, bringing to the chosen asylum92 of his masterpiece the very bride of the man he had slain—the one person above all others who would be swift to detect in the face of the painted C?sar the features of her lost lover; and so, in order to avert93 the penalty which such a recognition would bring, the artist had been compelled to resort to the desperate expedient94 of carrying off the picture during the night.
Such were the thoughts that went whirling through my mind!
Then, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, I laughed at these wild ideas, and at the fright they had given me.
"No, no. It can't be. I'm out of it altogether," I muttered. "This picture was exhibited last spring: the Standard newspaper's a proof of that. But George was seen at Rivoli by Daphne in the autumn: clearly, then, he can't have been killed last Christmas in order to minister to the success of Angelo's art."
It was a relief to believe that George might still be[Pg 241] living and that Angelo was not his murderer. But the affair was still as great a mystery as ever—nay, rather, it was enhanced. The question still remained: Why had the artist employed George's features in painting his C?sar?
The human mind is not content with simply accepting facts: it must endeavour to account for them. Men will theorise, as confident to-day as ever that they can solve every problem presented to them, whether it relates to things in heaven above, or in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth.
Flinging myself on a seat within an embrasured casement13, I tried to devise some new theory to account for the admission of my brother's face into Angelo's picture.
"Angelo had George before him in his studio while painting this picture: of that I am certain. But how came George to be there? He would never of his own free will consent to pose as an artist's model—of that, too, I am certain. Besides, if it were so, Angelo would have nothing to fear from our discovering the fact; but that he does fear our discovering it is manifest by his behaviour. It's quite clear that something suspicious has attended the production of this picture. There's only one conclusion left as far as I can see. George, on account of his fine athletic95 figure, was inveigled96 into Angelo's studio; and, in order to produce a state requisite97 for the artist's conception, he was compelled to drink some drug which subdued his natural powers, and gave him every appearance of death. And since Angelo could never by his own strength overpower George, it is clear he must have had others to help him in this plot. That silver-haired old man, Matteo Carito, may have been one; and perhaps that mysterious veiled lady was another.
[Pg 242]
"But what happened after the picture was finished? George would never permit himself to be quietly and contemptuously dismissed from the studio without making the affair public, or seeking redress98. Nor would Angelo be such a fool as to permit George to go forth to the world, proclaiming the ignominious99 treatment he had received. Ah, I have it! That drug must have so disordered his senses as to leave him without intellect and without memory of the past. Angelo would have no difficulty in removing him in that state to Rivoli, and detaining him there—a harmless lunatic—in his old nurse's cottage. What cared he so long as his rival in love was out of the way, and his fame as an artist established? Yes, yes; I see it all now.
"'In some secluded100 part of Europe I shall live out my days a lonely recluse101.' That letter was a forgery102 of Angelo's. The damnable villain103! I now understand his words to Daphne when parting from her at Rivoli: 'You are nearer to him now than you have been for months.' Of course she was. George was living, a sort of prisoner, at Rivoli. He must have contrived104 to escape from his place of captivity105 that very day; and, perhaps with some faint glimmering of reason left, he determined to have vengeance106 on all who had taken part in the plot against him. That is why he hurled107 the old man over the cliff. He was mad, quite mad, there can be no doubt, and that is why he took no notice of Daphne when he saw her by the haunted spring."
As I thought of the old man's awful death I muttered, "It will not be well for Angelo if George should find him out."
Scarcely had this idea occurred to me when I recalled the butler's stories of the wild face he had seen staring through the casement in the dusk of[Pg 243] evening, a face like that in the picture; of the figure in the grey cloak, and of the terrible cry of the previous night—a "death-cry" the butler had called it.
Now the butler knew absolutely nothing of my brother's history; how came he, then, to connect this picture with a figure in a grey cloak, unless, indeed, he had seen such a figure lying on the floor of the gallery?
Could it be that George, having secretly gained access to the Abbey with intent to kill the artist, had been himself killed by the very man whose life he sought—struck down in the dead of night in front of the picture that had been the cause of all the mystery?
Was it possible that only a few hours ago this gallery had rung with my brother's death-cry as Angelo struck him down? Oppressed by this new idea I turned quite faint, becoming alternately cold and hot.
"If so, what can Angelo have done with the body?" I thought. "Is it in the tower?" From the casement where I sat a view could be obtained of the Nuns108' Tower. I turned, and to my surprise beheld109 a light shining from the window of the artist's studio.
Too impatient to await the return of the Baronet with the constable110 and the warrant, I determined to make my way to the tower, and force from the artist an explanation of the mystery that overhung George's fate.
With a final glance at the painted image of my brother's face, whose mournful eyes and mute lips seemed appealing to me for justice, I left the gallery, and hurrying over the lawn reached the tower, bareheaded, breathless, and excited.
"Angelo," I cried, hammering at the door, "I want you. Something really important. I know you are [Pg 244]inside. Open the door. I won't go away until I've seen you. Angelo, do you hear?"
It was not my fault if he didn't, for I delivered at the door a succession of kicks which not only hurt me frightfully but made a most tremendous noise. Then remembering that I had the key of the tower with me, I thrust it into the keyhole and turned the lock. I hesitated before actually opening the door, thinking that the artist might be ready on the other side to offer armed resistance to me or to anyone who should invade his sanctum by force. But I thought of the pistols, and taking one from my pocket, I softly and slowly pushed the door ajar, standing a little on one side as I did so in order that I might escape the full force of a frontal attack if one were made.
But no voice or sound of any kind greeted me, and venturing to peep inside I found to my surprise that the room was unoccupied. As soon as I was satisfied that this was really so, I slipped in and locked the door behind me in order to secure myself against the return of the artist.
The chamber, like the tower which contained it, was octagonal. The roof was beautifully vaulted111. From the eight angles of the octagon eight pointed112 arches sprang towards a common centre, meeting in the capital of the solitary pillar that supported the roof. The walls were hidden by tapestry113, and the floor was strewn with yellow sand.
A medi?val monk114 of the most ascetic115 tastes could not have found fault with the appointments of this cell. A carved oak table littered with an artist's paraphernalia116, a carved oak chair, and an iron lamp affixed117 to the central pillar constituted all the furniture of the place. The only other conspicuous119 object was the easel with its canvas. No fire had been lighted that[Pg 245] day, though materials for one were laid in the grate, and the chilling atmosphere of the room sent a shiver through me.
It was evident that the artist had been in the studio since our afternoon visit. For the lamp was alight, and the purple curtain had been taken down from the casement and now hung over the back of one of the chairs. All this I noticed at a glance, and then I eagerly approached the easel, and throwing off the sheet that covered it, I turned it so that the light from above fell full upon the canvas.
The picture was a representation of the Flavian Amphitheatre in the days of its wicked old glory, when the balconies gleamed with mosaic-work of precious stones, and clouds of purple incense120 rose in the air. The galleries were crowded with spectators, and in the expression of the various countenances121 ample scope was given for the display of the artist's skill. Every character typical of the times was represented, from Imperial C?sar viewing with cold disdain122 the death of the enemy of the gods, down to the secret Christian123 slave shuddering124 at the fate of his co-religionist. A purple velarium was drawn125 above the amphitheatre as a shield against the sun's rays, and the painter had displayed with artistic126 effect every object tinged with a faint violet hue.
But the spectator of the picture felt at once that all these details were mere5 accessories. The arena—dotted here and there with helmet, shield, and spear, or the gilded127 net of the retairius—was intended to be the feature of the picture. A magnificent Libyan lion, lashing128 his tail on the sands, was standing proudly erect, his flaming eyes fixed118 on something beneath his forepaws. That something was nothing; or, to be less paradoxical, what was to be there was not yet painted.[Pg 246] The picture was in an unfinished state, and the dying martyr129 was not yet outlined upon the canvas.
It was disappointing to contemplate the picture with what was evidently intended to be the central figure absent. I did not doubt that were it completed and exposed to public view it would create as great a furore as his last masterpiece.
I was puzzled to find the work in so unfinished a state, for Angelo himself had said that most of the details I now beheld had been painted before he came to the Abbey. It was clear that he was a dilatory130 worker, and the picture gave the lie to his assertion that since his arrival he had been engaged upon the figure of the girl-martyr, for not a trace of her was visible upon the canvas. He may, of course, have been dissatisfied with his work and have effaced131 it, but if that were the case there seemed no justification132 for his saying so late as this morning that he expected to complete the picture in a few hours. Some characters at the foot of the canvas in one corner attracted my notice, and bending low I saw that they gave the title of the picture and the name of the artist. Prompted by the appearance of the letters, I drew my forefinger133 heavily over them, and, as I had expected, they were immediately converted into a long smear134.
The paint was wet, a proof that it had been but recently laid on. My action had completely effaced the title of the picture, but not before I had read it. That title was "Modestus, the Christian Martyr."
"Modestus!" This was singular. It was only this very morning that the artist had called it "Modesta." Why this sudden change of title? Was he going to represent a man, and not a maiden135, as the martyr? Why had he abandoned his original project—abandoned it, so it would seem, within the past few hours?[Pg 247] Was it because he had failed to delineate to his own satisfaction his ideal of beauty?
I was unable to answer this question, and turned from the easel to the table, on which lay a medley136 of articles. First, there was a white woollen tunic137 such as the antique Roman was wont138 to wear, a girdle, a pair of sandals, a short Roman sword, and a buckler of oblong shape. In my dulness I at first thought that these were to form Angelo's costume for the fancy-dress ball to be held at Silverdale on Twelfth Night, but they were of course the "properties" in which the model for his picture was to pose. Perhaps, on the principle of killing139 two birds with one stone, this costume was to unite both purposes. At any rate it furnished an additional proof that the artist had abandoned the title of "Modesta," since these articles, though suitable enough, perhaps, for an Amazon, would have been out of place as the equipment of a Christian maiden.
But who or what was to be the model? I looked around for the lay-figure of which the artist had spoken. I lifted different portions of the tapestry, thinking that the model might perhaps be in some recess140 behind it, but failed to discover anything suitable for the artist's purpose. Was he going to employ the human form once more? and if so, whose? Had last night's tragedy in the gallery furnished him with a ready means of completing his picture without delay? Was this the real reason of the change of title, and of this sudden preparation of artistic material? I say sudden, because it had evidently been introduced into the cell since Fruin's visit to it, otherwise the gleam of the sword and buckler would surely have attracted his attention, and have been mentioned by him. If we delayed the arrest of Angelo for a few hours in[Pg 248] order to peer through the casement of the studio with the first gleam of daylight, should we catch him at work upon his canvas with a dead form before him, completing his picture, by a singular coincidence of dates, on the very anniversary of the day on which he had finished his last masterpiece?
A short dagger was the next object that engaged my attention, a double-edged and pointed weapon. Taking it up for closer inspection141, I saw a red stain on it. Was it paint or—something else? The dagger seemed familiar to me, and I now remembered to have seen its painted image in "The Fall of C?sar." The artist had evidently copied its antique shape in his picture; the stain on it was probably some colouring matter, and not blood, as I had supposed in my first start of surprise.
By the side of this poniard was a curious article representing a lion's paw with claws projecting out. The paw was of ivory, exquisitely142 carved; the claws were of bright steel. I could not help connecting this curious object with the lion in the picture on the easel, yet utterly143 failed to perceive the links of the connexion. The artist had not employed it in delineating the paw of the lion—such a supposition was absurd; and, besides, on glancing at the painting of the animal, I saw that its claws were curved in a manner very different from those of the model before me. As I could not conjecture144 what its use was, I began to examine the next object to it, a small cut-glass phial containing some dark liquid.
Removing the stopper, I applied145 my nostrils146 to the orifice. An extremely fragrant147 odour arose—so pungent148, however, that it caused my eyes to water, and set me coughing for several seconds.
Of course it was impossible for my nostrils to detect[Pg 249] off-hand the nature and composition of the contents of the phial; and, though not gifted, perhaps, with any large amount of wisdom, I was not quite so foolish as to attempt to gain any knowledge of the liquid by tasting it. Replacing the stopper, I put the phial in my pocket with a view to subjecting its contents to an analysis at the first convenient opportunity.
At this point I sank into a chair, for a strange drowsiness149 was stealing over me. I could not account for it at the time, but I know now that it was due to the volatility150 of the liquid, which was operating on my mind with a stupefying effect.
Scarcely knowing what I was doing, I lifted up a purple-bound volume from the table, and turning mechanically to the first page, found a fresh surprise in the title of the work, Silverdale Abbey: Its History and Antiquities151.
Why, here was the very book that had disappeared from the library, the book whose loss had so much fretted152 the Baronet! The contents of the book were not printed, but written with a pen, in a hand beautifully clear and flowing. This manuscript, according to Sir Hugh, had been compiled by an eminent153 arch?ologist; but there was at the end an addendum154 of a few pages which were evidently not by the hand that had penned the body of the work. I recognised the crabbed155 characters to be those of Sir Hugh's predecessor156, whose autograph I had seen.
This addendum contained matter that the last Baronet for obvious reasons would not wish to be generally known. It gave an account of certain secret panels, hidden corridors, and subterranean157 chambers158, made in the days of the Commonwealth159, when loyalty160 to the House of Stuart meant confiscation161 and death.
The present Baronet had never read the book,[Pg 250] and was ignorant of the existence of these secret rooms, in which his Royalist ancestors had been wont to take refuge from the search of the Puritan soldiery.
Not so Angelo. The book had fallen in his way, and by its perusal162 he had become master of secrets unknown to the household of Silverdale—unknown even to the white-headed old butler, who had passed all his days at the Abbey. It was this knowledge that had enabled the artist to remove his picture with such secrecy163 during the night, for, as I read on I came to the following:
"The Nuns' Tower is connected with the picture gallery by a subterranean passage, which——"
I could get no farther. The letters were dancing wildly on the page, and all efforts on my part to persuade them to behave like quiet, respectable members of the alphabet were useless.
I found myself mechanically repeating this fragment of a sentence, and then, with the sudden consciousness that I was falling asleep in a very dangerous place, I staggered to my feet, but the soporific drug had done its work, and I sank back again into the chair in a state of coma164.
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jovial
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homage
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dame
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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9
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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11
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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12
casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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13
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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14
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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15
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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16
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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17
shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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19
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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20
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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21
alcoves
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| n.凹室( alcove的名词复数 )；（花园）凉亭；僻静处；壁龛 | |
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22
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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23
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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24
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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25
fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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26
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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27
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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28
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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29
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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30
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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31
averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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32
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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33
precluded
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| v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 )；排除；妨碍；使…行不通 | |
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34
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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35
eluding
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的现在分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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36
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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37
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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38
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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39
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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40
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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41
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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42
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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43
conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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44
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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45
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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46
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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47
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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48
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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49
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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50
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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51
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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52
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
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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54
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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55
suffusing
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的现在分词 ) | |
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56
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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57
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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58
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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59
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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60
portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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61
embalmed
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| adj.用防腐药物保存（尸体）的v.保存（尸体）不腐( embalm的过去式和过去分词 )；使不被遗忘；使充满香气 | |
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62
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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63
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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64
busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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65
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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66
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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67
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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68
omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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69
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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70
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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71
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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72
limn
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| v.描画；描述 | |
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73
aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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74
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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75
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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76
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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77
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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78
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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79
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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80
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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81
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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82
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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83
mediocre
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| adj.平常的，普通的 | |
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84
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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85
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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86
obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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87
fracas
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| n.打架；吵闹 | |
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88
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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89
consigning
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的现在分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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90
avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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91
nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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92
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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93
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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94
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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95
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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96
inveigled
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| v.诱骗，引诱( inveigle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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98
redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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99
ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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100
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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101
recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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102
forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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103
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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104
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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105
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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106
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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107
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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108
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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109
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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110
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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111
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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112
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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113
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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114
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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115
ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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116
paraphernalia
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| n.装备；随身用品 | |
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117
affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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118
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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119
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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120
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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121
countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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122
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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123
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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124
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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125
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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126
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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127
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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128
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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129
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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130
dilatory
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| adj.迟缓的，不慌不忙的 | |
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131
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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133
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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134
smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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135
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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136
medley
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| n.混合 | |
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137
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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138
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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139
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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141
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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142
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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143
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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145
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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146
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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150
volatility
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| n.挥发性，挥发度，轻快，（性格）反复无常 | |
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151
antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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152
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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153
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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154
addendum
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| n.补充，附录 | |
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155
crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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156
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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158
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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159
commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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160
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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161
confiscation
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| n. 没收, 充公, 征收 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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