In a small Italian town not far from Rome, a traveller stood listening to an account of a battle lately fought near by, in which the town had suffered much, yet been forever honored in the eyes of its inhabitants, by having been the headquarters of the Hero of Italy. An inquiry1 of the traveller's concerning a countryman of whom he was in search, created a sensation at the little inn, and elicited2 the story of the battle, one incident of which was still the all-absorbing topic with the excited villagers. This was the incident which one of the group related with the dramatic effects of a language composed almost as much of gesture as of words, and an audience as picturesque3 as could well be conceived.
While the fight was raging on the distant plain, a troop of marauding Croats dashed into the town, whose defenders5, although outnumbered, contested every inch of ground, while slowly driven back toward the convent, the despoiling7 of which was the object of the attack. This convent was both hospital and refuge, for there were gathered women and children, the sick, the wounded, and the old. To secure the safety of these rather than of the sacred relics8, the Italians were bent10 on holding the town till the reinforcement for which they had sent could come up. It was a question of time, and every moment brought nearer the destruction of the helpless garrison11, trembling behind the convent walls. A brutal12 massacre13 was in store for them if no help came; and remembering this the red-shirted Garibaldians fought as if they well deserved their sobriquet15 of "Scarlet16 Demons17."
Help did come, not from below, but from above. Suddenly a cannon18 thundered royally, and down the narrow street rushed a deathful defiance19, carrying disorder20 and dismay to the assailants, joy and wonder to the nearly exhausted21 defenders. Wonder, for well they knew the gun had stood silent and unmanned since the retreat of the enemy two days before, and this unexpected answer to their prayers seemed Heaven-sent. Those below looked up as they fought, those above looked down as they feared, and midway between all saw that a single man held the gun. A stalwart figure, bareheaded, stern faced, sinewy22 armed, fitfully seen through clouds of smoke and flashes of fire, working with a silent energy that seemed almost superhuman to the eyes of the superstitious23 souls, who believed they saw and heard the convent's patron saint proclaiming their salvation24 with a mighty25 voice.
This belief inspired the Italians, caused a panic among the Croats, and saved the town. A few rounds turned the scale, the pursued became the pursuers, and when the reinforcement arrived there was little for it to do but join in the rejoicing and salute26 the brave cannoneer, who proved to be no saint, but a stranger come to watch the battle, and thus opportunely27 lend his aid.
Enthusiastic were the demonstrations28; vivas, blessings30, tears, handkissing, and invocation of all the saints in the calendar, till it was discovered that the unknown gentleman had a bullet in his breast and was in need of instant help. Whereupon the women, clustering about him like bees, bore him away to the wounded ward6, where the inmates31 rose up in their beds to welcome him, and the clamorous32 crowd were with difficulty persuaded to relinquish33 him to the priest, the surgeon, and the rest he needed. Nor was this all; the crowning glory of the event to the villagers was the coming of the Chief at nightfall, and the scene about the stranger's bed. Here the narrator glowed with pride, the women in the group began to sob14, and the men took off their caps, with black eyes glittering through their tears.
"Excellenza, he who had fought for us like a tempest, an angel of doom34, lay there beside my cousin Beppo, who was past help and is now in holy Paradise--Speranza was washing the smoke and powder from him, the wound was easy--death of my soul! may he who gave it die unconfessed! See you, I am there, I watch him, the friend of Excellenza, the great still man who smiled but said no word to us. Then comes the Chief,--silenzio, till I finish!--he comes, they have told him, he stays at the bed, he looks down, the fine eye shines, he takes the hand, he says low--'I thank you,'--he lays his cloak,--the gray cloak we know and love so well--over the wounded breast, and so goes on. We cry out, but what does the friend? Behold35! he lifts himself, he lays the cloak upon my Beppo, he says in that so broken way of his--'Comrade, the honor is for you who gave your life for him, I give but a single hour.' Beppo saw, heard, comprehended; thanked him with a glance, and rose up to die crying, 'Viva Italia! Viva Garibaldi!'"
[Illustration]
The cry was caught up by all the listeners in a whirlwind of enthusiastic loyalty36, and the stranger joined in it, thrilled with an equal love and honor for the Patriot37 Soldier, whose name upon Italian lips means liberty.
"Where is he now, this friend of mine, so nearly lost, so happily found?"
A dozen hands pointed38 to the convent, a dozen brown faces lighted up, and a dozen eager voices poured out directions, messages, and benedictions39 in a breath. Ordering his carriage to follow presently, the traveller rapidly climbed the steep road, guided by signs he could not well mistake. The convent gate stood open, and he paused for no permission to enter, for looking through it, down the green vista40 of an orchard41 path, he saw his friend and sprang to meet him.
"Adam!"
"Geoffrey!"
"Truant42 that you are, to desert me for ten days, and only let me find you when you have no need of me."
"I always need you, but am not always needed. I went away because the old restlessness came upon me in that dead city Rome. You were happy there, but I scented43 war, followed and found it by instinct, and have had enough of it. Look at my hands."
He laughed as he showed them, still bruised44 and blackened with the hard usage they had received; nothing else but a paler shade of color from loss of blood, showed that he had passed through any suffering or danger.
"Brave hands, I honor them for all their grime. Tell me about it, Adam; show me the wound; describe the scene, I want to hear it in calm English."
"I came to watch, but found work ready for me. It is not clear to me even now what I did, nor how I did it. One of my Berserker rages possessed46 me I fancy; my nerves and muscles seemed made of steel and gutta percha; the smell of powder intoxicated47, and the sense of power was grand. The fire, the smoke, the din4 were all delicious, and I felt like a giant, as I wielded48 that great weapon, dealing49 many deaths with a single pair of hands."
"The savage50 in you got the mastery just then; I've seen it, and have often wondered how you managed to control it so well. Now it has had a holiday and made a hero of you."
"The savage is better out than in, and any man may be a hero if he will. What have you been doing since I left you poring over pictures in a mouldy palace?"
"You think to slip away from the subject, do you? and after facing death at a cannon's breach51 expect me to be satisfied with an ordinary greeting? I won't have it; I insist upon asking as many questions as I like, hearing about the wound and seeing if it is doing well. Where is it?"
Warwick showed it, a little purple spot above his heart. Moor's face grew anxious as he looked, but cleared again as he examined it, for the ball had gone upward and the wholesome52 flesh was already healing fast.
"Too near, Adam, but thank God it was no nearer. A little lower and I might have looked for you in vain."
"This heart of mine is a tough organ, bullet-proof, I dare say, though I wear no breastplate."
"But this!" Involuntarily Moor's eye asked the question his lips did not utter as he touched a worn and faded case hanging on the broad breast before him. Silently Warwick opened it, showing not Sylvia's face but that of an old woman, rudely drawn53 in sepia; the brown tints54 bringing out the marked features as no softer hue55 could have done, and giving to each line a depth of expression that made the serious countenance56 singularly lifelike and attractive.
Now Moor saw where Warwick got both keen eyes and tender mouth, as well as all the gentler traits that softened57 his strong character; and felt that no other woman ever had or ever would hold so dear a place as the old mother whose likeness58 he had drawn and hung where other men wear images of mistress or of wife. With a glance as full of penitence59 as the other had been of disquiet60, Moor laid back the little case, drew bandage and blouse over both wound and picture, and linked his arm in Warwick's as he asked--
"Who shot you?"
"How can I tell? I knew nothing of it till that flock of women fell to kissing these dirty hands of mine; then I was conscious of a stinging pain in my shoulder, and a warm stream trickling61 down my side. I looked to see what was amiss, whereat the good souls set up a shriek62, took possession of me, and for half an hour wept and wailed63 over me in a frenzy64 of emotion and good-will that kept me merry in spite of the surgeon's probes and the priest's prayers. The appellations65 showered upon me would have startled even your ears, accustomed to soft words. Were you ever called 'core of my heart,' 'sun of my soul,' or 'cup of gold'?"
"Cannonading suits your spirits excellently; I remember your telling me that you had tried and liked it. But there is to be no more of it, I have other plans for you. Before I mention them tell me of the interview with Garibaldi."
"That now is a thing to ask one about; a thing to talk of and take pride in all one's days. I was half asleep and thought myself dreaming till he spoke66. A right noble face, Geoffrey--full of thought and power; the look of one born to command others because master of himself. A square strong frame; no decorations, no parade; dressed like his men, yet as much the chief as if he wore a dozen orders on his scarlet shirt."
"Not I. Having seen the man, what do I care for the garment that covered him. I keep the hand shake, the 'Grazia, grazia,' for my share. Poor Beppo lies buried in the hero's cloak."
"I grudge67 it to him, every inch of it, for not having seen the man _I_ do desire the garment. Who but you would have done it?"
Warwick smiled, knowing that his friend was well pleased with him for all his murmuring. They walked in silence till Moor abruptly68 asked--
"When can you travel, Adam?"
"I was coming back to you to-morrow."
"Are you sure it is safe?"
"Quite sure; ten days is enough to waste upon a scratch like this."
"Come now, I cannot wait till to-morrow."
"Very good. Can you stop till I get my hat?"
"You don't ask me why I am in such haste."
Moor's tone caused Warwick to pause and look at him. Joy, impatience69, anxiety, contended with each other in his countenance; and as if unable to tell the cause himself, he put a little paper into the other's hand. Only three words were contained in it, but they caused Warwick's face to kindle70 with all the joy betrayed in that of his friend, none of the impatience nor anxiety.
"What can I say to show you my content? The months have seemed very long to you, but now comes the reward. The blessed little letter! so like herself; the slender slip, the delicate handwriting, the three happy words,--'Geoffrey, come home.'"
Moor did not speak, but still looked up anxiously, inquiringly; and Warwick answered with a glance he could not doubt.
"Have no fears for me. I share the joy as heartily71 as I shared the sorrow; neither can separate us any more."
"Thank heaven for that! But, Adam, may I accept this good gift and be sure I am not robbing you again? You never speak of the past, how is it with you now?"
"Quite well and happy; the pain is gone, the peace remains72. I would not have it otherwise. Six months have cured the selfishness of love, and left the satisfaction which nothing can change or take away."
"But Sylvia, what of her, Adam?"
"Henceforth, Sylvia and Ottila are only fair illustrations of the two extremes of love. I am glad to have known both; each has helped me, and each will be remembered while I live. But having gained the experience I can relinquish the unconscious bestowers of it, if it is not best to keep them. Believe that I do this without regret, and freely enjoy the happiness that comes to you."
"I will, but not as I once should; for though I feel that you need neither sympathy nor pity, still, I seem to take so much and leave you nothing."
"You leave me myself, better and humbler than before. In the fierce half hour I lived not long ago, I think a great and needful change was wrought74 in me. All lives are full of such, coming when least looked for, working out the end through unexpected means. The restless, domineering devil that haunted me was cast out then; and during the quiet time that followed a new spirit entered in and took possession."
"What is it, Adam?"
"I cannot tell, yet I welcome it. This peaceful mood may not last perhaps, but it brings me that rare moment--pity that it is so rare, and but a moment--when we seem to see temptation at our feet; when we are conscious of a willingness to leave all in God's hand, ready for whatever He may send; feeling that whether it be suffering or joy we shall see the Giver in the gift, and when He calls can answer cheerfully 'Lord here am I.'"
It _was_ a rare moment, and in it Moor for the first time clearly saw the desire and design of his friend's life; saw it because it was accomplished75, and for the instant Adam Warwick was what he aspired76 to be. A goodly man, whose stalwart body seemed a fit home for a strong soul, wise with the wisdom of a deep experience, genial77 with the virtues79 of an upright life, devout80 with that humble73 yet valiant81 piety82 which comes through hard-won victories over "the world, the flesh, and the devil." Despite the hope that warmed his heart, Moor felt poor beside him, as a new reverence83 warmed the old affection. His face showed it though he did not speak, and Warwick laid an arm about his shoulders as he had often done of late when they were alone, drawing him gently on again, as he said, with a touch of playfulness to set both at ease--
"Tell me your plans, 'my cup of gold,' and let me lend a hand toward filling you brimful of happiness. You are going home?"
"At once; you also."
"Is it best?"
"Yes; you came for me, I stay for you, and Sylvia waits for both."
"She says nothing of me in this short, sweet note of hers;" and Warwick smoothed it carefully in his large hand, eyeing it as if he wished there were some little word for him.
"True, but in the few letters she has written there always comes a message to you, though you never write a line; nor would you go to her now had she sent for you alone; she knew that, and sends for me, sure that you will follow."
"Being a woman she cannot quite forgive me for loving her too well to make her miserable84. Dear soul, she will never know how much it cost me, but I knew that my only safety lay in flight. Tell her so a long while hence."
"You shall do it yourself, for you are coming home with me."
"What to do there?"
"All you ever did; walk up and down the face of the earth, waxing in power and virtue78, and coming often to us when we get fairly back into our former ways, for you are still the house friend."
"I was wondering, as I walked here, what my next summons would be, when lo, you came. Go on, I'll follow you; one could hardly have a better guide."
"You are sure you are able, Adam?"
"Shall I uproot85 a tree or fling you over the wall to convince you, you motherly body? I am nearly whole again, and a breath of sea air will complete the cure. Let me cover my head, say farewell to the good Sisters, and I shall be glad to slip away without further demonstrations from the volcanoes below there."
Laying one hand on the low wall, Warwick vaulted86 over with a backward glance at Moor, who followed to the gateway87, there to wait till the adieux were over. Very brief they were, and presently Warwick reappeared, evidently touched yet ill-pleased at something, for he both smiled and frowned as he paused on the threshold as if loth to go. A little white goat came skipping from the orchard, and seeing the stranger took refuge at Warwick's knee. The act of the creature seemed to suggest a thought to the man. Pulling off the gay handkerchief some grateful woman had knotted round his neck, he fastened it about the goat's, having secured something in one end, then rose as if content.
"What are you doing?" called Moor, wondering at this arrangement.
"Widening the narrow entrance into heaven set apart for rich men unless they leave their substance behind, as I am trying to do. The kind creatures cannot refuse it now; so trot88 away to your mistress, little Nanna, and tell no tales as you go."
As the goat went tapping up the steps a stir within announced the dreaded89 demonstration29. Warwick did not seem to hear it; he stood looking far across the trampled90 plain and ruined town toward the mountains shining white against the deep Italian sky. A rapt, far-reaching look, as if he saw beyond the purple wall, and seeing forgot the present in some vision of the future.
"Come, Adam! I am waiting."
His eye came back, the lost look passed, and cheerily he answered--
"I am ready."
A fortnight later in that dark hour before the dawn, with a murky91 sky above them, a hungry sea below them, the two stood together the last to leave a sinking ship.
"Room for one more, choose quick!" shouted a hoarse92 voice from the boat tossing underneath94, freighted to the water's edge with trembling lives.
"Go, Geoffrey, Sylvia is waiting."
"Not without you, Adam."
"But you are exhausted; I can bear a rough hour better than yourself, and morning will bring help."
"Push off, I am _not_ coming."
In times like that, few pause for pity or persuasion97; the instinct of self-preservation rules supreme98, and each is for himself, except those in whom love of another is stronger than love of life. Even while the friends generously contended the boat was swept away, and they were left alone in the deserted99 ship, swiftly making its last voyage downward. Spent with a day of intense excitement, and sick with hope deferred100, Moor leaned on Warwick, feeling that it was adding bitterness to death to die in sight of shore. But Warwick never knew despair; passive submission101 was not in his power while anything remained to do or dare, and even then he did not cease to hope. It was certain death to linger there; other boats less heavily laden102 had put off before, and might drift across their track; wreckers waiting on the shore might hear and help; at least it were better to die bravely and not "strike sail to a fear." About his waist still hung a fragment of the rope which had lowered more than one baby to its mother's arms; before them the shattered taffrail rose and fell as the waves beat over it. Wrenching103 a spar away he lashed104 Moor to it, explaining his purpose as he worked. There was only rope enough for one, and in the darkness Moor believed that Warwick had taken equal precautions for himself.
"Now Geoffrey your hand, and when the next wave ebbs105 let us follow it. If we are parted and you see her first tell her I remembered, and give her this."
In the black night with only Heaven to see them the men kissed tenderly as women, then hand in hand sprang out into the sea. Drenched106 and blinded they struggled up after the first plunge107, and struck out for the shore, guided by the thunder of the surf they had listened to for twelve long hours, as it broke against the beach, and brought no help on its receding108 billows. Soon Warwick was the only one who struggled, for Moor's strength was gone, and he clung half conscious to the spar, tossing from wave to wave, a piteous plaything for the sea.
"I see a light!--they must take you in--hold fast, I'll save you for the little wife at home."
Moor heard but two words, "wife" and "home;" strained his dim eyes to see the light, spent his last grain of strength to reach it, and in the act lost consciousness, whispering--"She will thank you," as his head fell against Warwick's breast and lay there, heavy and still. Lifting himself above the spar, Adam lent the full power of his voice to the shout he sent ringing through the storm. He did not call in vain, a friendly wind took the cry to human ears, a relenting wave swept them within the reach of human aid, and the boat's crew, pausing involuntarily, saw a hand clutch the suspended oar93, a face flash up from the black water, and heard a breathless voice issue the command--
"Take in this man! he saved you for your wives, save him for his."
One resolute109 will can sway a panic-stricken multitude; it did so then. The boat was rocking in the long swell110 of the sea; a moment and the coming wave would sweep them far apart. A woman sobbed111, and as if moved by one impulse four sturdy arms clutched and drew Moor in. While loosening his friend Warwick had forgotten himself, and the spar was gone. He knew it, but the rest believed that they left the strong man a chance of life equal to their own in that overladen boat. Yet in the memories of all who caught that last glimpse of him there long remained the recollection of a dauntless face floating out into the night, a steady voice calling through the gale112, "A good voyage, comrades!" as he turned away to enter port before them.
Wide was the sea and pitiless the storm, but neither could dismay the unconquerable spirit of the man who fought against the elements as bravely as if they were adversaries113 of mortal mould, and might be vanquished114 in the end. But it was not to be; soon he felt it, accepted it, turned his face upward toward the sky, where one star shone, and when Death whispered "Come!" answered as cheerily as to that other friend, "I am ready." Then with a parting thought for the man he had saved, the woman he had loved, the promise he had kept, a great and tender heart went down into the sea.
* * * * *
Sometimes the Sculptor115, whose workshop is the world, fuses many metals and casts a noble statue; leaves it for humanity to criticise116, and when time has mellowed117 both beauties and blemishes118, removes it to that inner studio, there to be carved in enduring marble.
Adam Warwick was such an one; with much alloy119 and many flaws; but beneath all defects the Master's eye saw the grand lines that were to serve as models for the perfect man, and when the design had passed through all necessary processes,--the mould of clay, the furnace fire, the test of time,--He washed the dust away, and pronounced it ready for the marble.
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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despoiling
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的现在分词 ) | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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sobriquet
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| n.绰号 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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opportunely
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| adv.恰好地，适时地 | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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inmates
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clamorous
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relinquish
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doom
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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loyalty
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patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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benedictions
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| n.祝福( benediction的名词复数 )；（礼拜结束时的）赐福祈祷；恩赐；（大写）（罗马天主教）祈求上帝赐福的仪式 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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43
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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44
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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45
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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46
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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47
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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48
wielded
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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49
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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50
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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51
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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52
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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53
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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54
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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55
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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56
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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57
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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58
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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59
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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60
disquiet
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| n.担心，焦虑 | |
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61
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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62
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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63
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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65
appellations
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| n.名称，称号( appellation的名词复数 ) | |
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66
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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67
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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68
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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69
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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70
kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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71
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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72
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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73
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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74
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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75
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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76
aspired
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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79
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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80
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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81
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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82
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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83
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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84
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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85
uproot
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| v.连根拔起，拔除；根除，灭绝；赶出家园，被迫移开 | |
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86
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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87
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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88
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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89
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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90
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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91
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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92
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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93
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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94
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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95
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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96
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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97
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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98
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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99
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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100
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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101
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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102
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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103
wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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104
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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105
ebbs
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| 退潮( ebb的名词复数 )； 落潮； 衰退 | |
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106
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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107
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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108
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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109
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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110
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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111
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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112
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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113
adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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114
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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115
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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116
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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117
mellowed
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| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
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118
blemishes
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| n.（身体的）瘢点( blemish的名词复数 )；伤疤；瑕疵；污点 | |
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119
alloy
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| n.合金，(金属的)成色 | |
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