After night comes morning in the material world, but in that inner sphere of thought and feeling, which is the only reality, it frequently happens that after night comes a greater depth of darkness. The early light of successive summer mornings falling into the sleeping-room of Edward Macleod seemed to mock the heavy gloom which perpetually enshrouded his heart. He was back in his old home, for the pleasant circle at Stamford Cottage had broken up shortly after the unexpected advent1 of Wanda. A few days of enforced civilization had affected3 her more severely4 than the hard journey preceding it, and she had returned to her native wilds with the feeling of a bird regaining5 its freedom. Where in all the limitless forest she could be found at any particular time her lover could not tell. He was her lover still--he must always remain her lover. He had attempted to limit and define the strange irresistible6 attraction she exerted over him, he had voluntarily resolved upon life-long celibacy7 rather than subject her to the bitterness of seeing him belong to another; and if in thought he ever yielded to this great, untamed unrepressed love of hers, it was with something of the exaltation and ardour of one who makes a supreme8 sacrifice.
Edward Macleod was no sentimentalist, and yet he was conscious of a very delicate, infinitely9 sad satisfaction in the belief that he would expiate10 with his life the folly11 he had committed in permitting her to love him. In the loftiest sense he would be true to her. He could not be selfish and shameless enough to set forever aside the desolation that his hands had callously13 wrought14. As her sorrow could never be mitigated15 it should always be shared. He would do everything for her. She should be educated, and inducted by gentle degrees into the refinement16 of civilization--he fervently17 hoped that it might not prove the refinement of cruelty. She should not be left desolate18, forsaken19, uncared-for; she should share everything he had except his heart. That was to be kept empty for her sake--for the sake of the sweet dusky maiden20 who had once possessed21 it.
Who had once possessed it! Ah, was it true then that she no longer held a claim? He had closed the door hesitatingly and with sharp pain in her face, but now the bare recollection of the little brown hands fumbling22 upon it thrilled him with a blissful sense that perhaps, after all, his life was not to be the utter sacrifice that he had supposed. Perhaps this peerless creature by some magical process of development might yet meet and satisfy his intellectual demands. She had already the soul of an angel--yes, and the beauty of an angel. And yet he was not satisfied.
It was this haunting dissatisfaction that kept him a prisoner in his room, one brilliant afternoon, when the fresh world without seemed too insupportable a mockery of his jaded23 and cynical24 state of mind. He stepped out upon the little balcony that ran under the windows of his own and his sister's apartments, and looked with a sore heart upon the eternal miracle of earth and sky. He sank heavily down upon a low seat, feeling very old and worn. If the back is fitted to the burden, it occurred to him that the painful process of adjustment would have to be continued through an interminable period of years. Perhaps it is only the stiff, bent25 shoulders of age that are really fitted to bear the burdens that impetuous youth find unendurably irksome.
While he sat in utter silence, thrilled occasionally with shrill26 sweet bursts of irrepressible bird song, and inwardly tortured by the hateful whisperings of doubt, remorse27 and despair, the door of his sister's apartment was opened, and a murmur28 of voices told him that Rose and Helene had returned together from an afternoon drive. Through the lightly draped open window their conversation, distinctly heard, forced him into the position of an unintentional eaves-dropper. There seemed at first no reason why he should withdraw, and when the reason became apparent he found it impossible to make his presence known.
"Is your brother in the house?" asked Helene, waiting for the answer before laying aside hat and gloves, and dropping languidly into an easy chair.
"Oh, no," returned Rose, "he is never at home at this hour of the day. Why? Did you wish to see him?"
"I? No! I wish never to see him!" The words were uttered in a passionate29 undertone.
Rose came directly and beseechingly30 over to her friend. "Dear Helene," she said, "what is this terrible trouble that is preying31 upon your life? Every day you grow thinner and whiter and colder--more like a moonbeam than a mortal woman. Soon I fear you will fade from my grasp altogether, and I shall have nothing left but the recollection that you did not care enough for me to confide32 in me. I am sure there is something dreadful between you and Edward."
"Something, yes, but not enough; there should be an ocean--a whole world between us."
"I wish I could help you a little."
"Help me, dearest? It is like your goodness to think of such a thing; but it is impossible. No, there is nothing tragic34, or terrible, or awe35 compelling, in my fate. It is nothing, I suppose, beyond the common lot of a great portion of humanity. It is simply--" she hesitated a moment, while a choking sob36 rose in her throat; she clasped her white hands above her head in a stern effort at self control, and then flung them down with an irrepressible moan--"it is simply that I am hungry, and thirsty, and cold, and tired and I want to go back to my old home, to my only home in the heart of the man I love. My poor child, do I startle you by talking in this passionate lawless, way? You invited my confidence, and it is such a relief to give it to you. To every one else in the world I must keep up the desolate show of appearing heartless and lifeless, incapable37 of compassion38, of suffering and yearning39. But with you, for a little while, I want to be myself. I am not a mere40 drawing-room ornament41, prized by its owner, and gazed at by curious beholders. I am a wretched woman. Oh, Rose, Rose, I am an inexpressibly wretched woman!"
She caught the little warm hands, sympathizingly outstretched towards her, and pressed them to her neck, where the veins42 throbbed43 fast.
"No, don't pity me yet--only listen to me. I am so tired of living on husks, I seem to be nothing but a husk myself, brainless, soulless, and empty. I am so tired of sham12 and pretence44, of keeping up appearances. I hate appearances. They are all false, unreal, loathsome45. Yes, I am a well-trained puppet; I smile and chatter46, dance and sing, am haughtily47 self-satisfied; but at night--at night my sick heart cries like a starving child, and I pace the floor with it until I fear that its wailings will drive me mad. I heap insults on my darling, and profess48 to scorn his tenderness, and all the time I could fly to him, and rain caresses49 upon him, and hold him closely folded in the arms of my love perpetually. No, he is not to blame, and Wanda is not to blame, for all this wretchedness. I don't understand how a woman can hate her rival. The fact of their loving the same object gives them a closer kinship than that between twin sisters. Wanda's sufferings are too much like my own to permit me even to dislike her. She has rich beauty, a rarely luxuriant vitality50, and the immense advantage of being free to show her love in a natural way. I have nothing but my love for her lover! If I could only trample51 on it, despise it, spurn52 it, but I can't, I can't! My love is stronger than my pride, stronger than my life. It is not a mere fancy of yesterday, it has grown and strengthened with my years."
"I remember one evening in York, last spring," Helene continued, "when it was warm enough to leave doors and windows open to admit the free breeze from the lake; I happened to pass a wretched little shanty53 in the lower part of the town. A commonplace woman within was cooking supper in plain sight of the street, and I thought what a miserable54 lot must be hers. Then her husband, a grimy-looking workman came home, and she put her toil-worn hands about his neck, and gave him a welcome that left me dazed and desolate, filled with unbearable55 pain and envy, because I knew then, as I know now, that for my darling and me there can be no sweet home-coming, no interposition of my love between him and the sordid56 cares of the day. The measure of my need will never be filled. Ah, mon Dieu, it is very hard--it is bitterly hard!"
The low passionate tones died away into absolute silence. Rose's tender arms were closely clasped about her friend, and her wet cheek was pressed against the pale face on her shoulder; but she could find no words to match the heart-sickness that had at last found free vent2 in speech. Perhaps the deepest sympathy can be expressed only by silence. In a few moments Helene looked up gratefully and with a quivering smile. "Dear little, pet," she said, "it is a sin for me to burden you with the shameless story of my griefs. I hardly know what I have been saying, so you must not attach too much importance to it. After all, it is only a mood." The inevitable57 reaction after deep feeling had come.
"I wish with all my heart that I could help you," said Rose, soothingly58 but despairingly.
"So you can. Give me those two blue eyes of yours to kiss. They are blue as wood-violets, and look grieved and sad--so exactly like Edward's." She leaned over and kissed them fervently. "Oh, I must not yield to such thoughts. I must control myself. I must be strong. I must conquer everything. Heaven help me!" The last words sounded like a piteous prayer, as indeed they were. "Come and sing to me, Rose. Sing my soul out of this perdition if you can."
The two girls departed to the music-room, and, shortly after, Edward, with the soundless step of a murderer, crept down stairs and far out into the forest. Like one driven by an indwelling demon59 into the wilderness60 he walked swiftly with great strides away from his trouble. No, not away from it, for it surrounded him like the atmosphere. Sometimes he stopped from sheer exhaustion61, and leaned heavily against a tree, while the perspiration62 stood on his brow in large drops. At one of these times there was a rustling63 among the thick leaves behind him, and Wanda stole timidly, yet with the fearless innocence64 of a child, to his side. He groaned65 aloud as she hid her face upon his breast. "Ah, you are sad as a night in the moon of dying leaves," she said, pulling his arms about her.
"It is because I do not love you," he returned, and the cruel sentence was softened66 by the measureless sadness of his tone.
"Oh, but you shall love me!" Each passionate word seemed a link in a strong chain that bound him inexorably to her. "What does it matter," she pleaded, "that you care little for me now? My love is great enough for both. I can give my life up, but I can never give you up. You are dearer to me than life!"
She leaned over him, and he felt as in a dream the old potential charm of her flower-sweet breath and glowing beauty. Still, though he submitted to her caresses, he did not return them. Within his ears the impassioned words of Helene were sounding perpetually, deafening67 him to every other appeal. His visible presence was with Wanda, his breast was deeply stirred with pity and affection and remorse for her, but his soul was left behind with that stricken girl, to whose broken-hearted confessions68 he had been a forced listener.
The day had lost its brightness, as though twilight69 had suddenly laid her dusky hand across the burning gaze of noon; the shadows deepened perceptibly about them; the sky threatened, the darkened trees seemed full of dread33, the last gleam of light faded swiftly into the black approaching clouds, and they were speedily engulfed70 in one of those impatient summer showers, whose sharp fury quickly spends itself. Edward was reminded of that time a year ago when they were alone in the storm. Again the Indian girl bent reverently71 to the ground, exclaiming in awed72 accents, "The Great Spirit is angry." "He has need to be angry," muttered the young man, hurrying his companion to a denser73 part of the forest, where the thickly intermingled boughs75 might form a roof above them. But before they reached it a terrific burst of thunder broke upon their ears, and a tree beside them was suddenly snapped by the wind, and flung to the ground. The girl, with the quick instinct of a savage76, stepped aside, pulling hard as she did so upon the arm of Edward. But he, walking as one in a dream, was scarcely less unconscious of what was going on around him than when, a moment later, he lay, felled to the earth by the fallen tree.
Wanda uttered an ejaculation of horror and alarm, and exerting all her strength she dragged the inanimate figure away from its enshrouding coverlet of leaves. The rain beat heavily upon the bloodless, upturned face. "What can I do for you?" she cried in despair, taking his handkerchief and binding78 tightly the deep wound on his head. He opened his eyes languidly, and murmured scarcely above his breath, "Bring Helene!" She did not pause even to kiss the pale lips, but flew swift as Love itself upon Love's errand. And yet, in her consuming desire to obey the least wish of her idol79, it seemed to her that every fibre of her eager frame was clogged80 and weighted with lead. The rain blinded her eyes, the tangled81 underbrush tripped her feet, and more than once she fell panting and trembling on the dead leaves. Only for a moment; then she sprang up again, leaping, running, pushing away the branches that stretched across her path, spurning82 at every step the solid earth that interposed so much of its dull bulk between her and her heart's desire. Reaching the lake she jumped quickly into a boat Edward had given her, which lay near, and she made haste for Kempenfeldt Bay.
The rain ceased before she reached Pine Towers, and with the first radiant glance of the sun Helene had come to the wood's edge for the sake of the forest odours, which are never so pungent83 and delicious as immediately after a thunder-storm. In the thinnest, most transparent84 of summer white gowns, with her lily-pale face and drooping85 figure, she looked like some rare flower which the storm in pity had spared. So thought Wanda, who, now that the object of her search was in sight, approached very slowly and wearily, her breast rent by fierce pangs86 of jealousy87. Why had Edward wished at such a critical time for this useless weakling? What possible good could she be to him in what might be his dying moments? And all the time, Helene, fixing her sad eyes upon this wild girl of the woods, noting her drenched88, ragged77 and earth-stained raiment, and the dark sullen89 expression that jealousy had painted upon her face, saw more than all and above all the overwhelming beauty, which belittled90 all externals, and made them scarcely worth notice. "What wonder," thought Helene, "that Edward is given up heart and soul to this peerless creature, when the mere sight of her quickens my slow pulses?"
The two loves of Edward Macleod stood face to face. Wanda explained her presence in a few cold words. "Some of the family can take a carriage and everything necessary and go to him by the road," she said. "You will reach him much sooner by letting me row you across the bay in my boat."
Helene trembled visibly, and a great longing91 possessed her to go instantly to Edward. Then a strong fear seized her. She felt a profound distrust of this beautiful savage with the coarse garments, rough speech, and strangely marred93 visage. Perhaps to revenge herself for Edward's suspected unfaithfulness she had killed him in the forest, and wished now to satiate her appetite for vengeance94 by taking the woman who loved him to view her ghastly work. Perhaps the whole story was a fabrication to lure95 her to some lonely spot in the boundless96 woods, where she would be horribly murdered. Perhaps--
"Is it you who have killed him?" demanded Helene, sternly voicing all her fears in that black suspicion.
The girl turned away with a quick writhing98 motion. "No," she groaned, "it is he who has killed me--with two words--bring Helene." She darted99 to the house with the news of Edward's accident, and then to the beach, where Helene was already before her. The tiny skiff was pushed off, and the two girls were alone together.
As long as she lived Helene DeBerczy remembered that swift boat ride across the bay. Great masses of black clouds still hung heavily in the western sky, occasionally pierced by a brilliant flash of sunshine, that emphasized by contrast the dreariness100 succeeding it. Below, the waters were dark and troubled, while from the flat shores rose the majestic101 monotony of the forest, chill, shadowy, inscrutable. But these were as the frame of a picture, that printed itself indelibly upon the heart of this high-born woman of the world--the picture of a tropically beautiful face, now for the first time deathly pale, and seamed with lines of unutterable anguish102; of bare rounded arms, showing in their raised muscles, and in the tense grasp of the oars92, a power of self-repression awful in its strength; of deeply-heaving bosom103, beneath which was raging that old, old conflict between true and false love--the true love that gives everything, the false love that grasps everything; of the passionate, eloquent104, suffering eyes, full of jealousy and yearning, fierce hate and fiercer desire, and behind all, yes, dominating all, the struggle for martyr-like self-effacement whose cry forever is, not for my sake, but for the sake of one that I love. Great waves of pity overwhelmed every other emotion in Helene's breast, as she leaned forward. "My poor child," she said, "how intensely you love him! Do not let my coming hurt you so, I have long ago yielded him to you."
"But he has not yielded himself to me," moaned the girl, her ashen105 lips framing the cry that came from her soul. The boat grated in the sand, and she sprang out, and pulled it upon the beach. Then, taking in a feverish106 clasp the delicately-draped arm of the other, she hurried her to the spot where Edward still lay, deadly pale but conscious. He did not look at Wanda--he had no eyes save for Helene. With a little cry of passionate love and sorrow she flung herself beside him, and drew the white wounded face close to her aching heart. His broken syllables107 of love were in her ears, his head was nestled, like that of a weary child, within her arms, his blood was staining the white laces on her breast. For a moment Wanda paused and looked upon them; then noiselessly as a dream she vanished away.
But where in the wide, pitiless world is there a place of refuge for a woman's broken heart? Instinctively108 Wanda went back to the boat, and rowed far out upon the troubled waters. The afternoon's storm had been but the warning of a wilder one yet to come; the heavy skies shut down on all sides, adamantine and inexorable as the fate enshrouding her; from the mute mysterious woods came the sighing of the wind, sinking now into deep moaning, then rising into a shrill anguish, that was answered by the sobbing109 of the waves upon the beach. All nature seemed stirred to the heart at the hopeless misery110 of this her cherished child. But Wanda's eyes were blank, and her ears deafened111 to the sights and sounds around her. With the desperation of despair she rowed fast and strenuously112 out into the heaving lake, while hours passed, and the black night, like a pall113, enveloped114 all things earthly. At last, with her strength utterly115 gone, she dropped the oars and drifted wherever the wild tide might choose to take her. Low mutterings of thunder shook the air, and with them she mingled74 the notes of an Indian death-chant. Before the weird116, heart-breaking tones had ceased, the black heavens opened, and tears of pity were rained upon this desolate human soul. She lay outstretched, her glorious face upturned to the starless skies, her tired hands far apart over the sides of the boat. Towards them with wolfish haste rushed the white-capped breakers, rising in fury as they reached the little craft, and flinging themselves wildly across it. Wanda paid no heed117. Her voice rose once again, thrilling the air with its wild sweet melody, and then she sank, without even a convulsive clutch at the frail118 bark which overturned upon her.
So perished the life that was naught119 but a mere empty husk, since love, its strong sweet occupant, had departed. Alas120, poor Wanda! alas, poor little one, whose sore feet and sorer heart could find no resting-place in all this wide hard world. The anguished121 winds moaned on far into the night; the sad waves, now racked and scourged122 by the tempest, sobbed123 ceaselessly upon the beach; the pitiful heavens outpoured their flood of tears, but the tortured soul that had committed the god-like sin of loving too much had found rest at last.
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1
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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celibacy
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| n.独身(主义) | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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expiate
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| v.抵补，赎罪 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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callously
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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mitigated
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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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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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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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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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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beseechingly
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| adv. 恳求地 | |
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preying
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| v.掠食( prey的现在分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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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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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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45
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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46
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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48
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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51
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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52
spurn
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| v.拒绝，摈弃；n.轻视的拒绝；踢开 | |
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53
shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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54
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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56
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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57
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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58
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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59
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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60
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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61
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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62
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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63
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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64
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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65
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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66
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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67
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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68
confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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69
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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70
engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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72
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
denser
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| adj. 不易看透的, 密集的, 浓厚的, 愚钝的 | |
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74
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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75
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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76
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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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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79
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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81
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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82
spurning
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| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的现在分词 ) | |
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83
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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85
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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88
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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89
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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belittled
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| 使显得微小，轻视，贬低( belittle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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95
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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98
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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99
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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100
dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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101
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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102
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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103
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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105
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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106
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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107
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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108
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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109
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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110
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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111
deafened
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| 使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 )； 使隔音 | |
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112
strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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113
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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114
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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116
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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117
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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118
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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119
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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120
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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121
anguished
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| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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122
scourged
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| 鞭打( scourge的过去式和过去分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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123
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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