Next morning the steward1 went out as usual. He shortly told his companion, Anne, that he had almost matured their scheme, and that they would enter upon the details of it when he came home at night. The fortunate fact that the rector’s letter did not require an immediate2 answer would give him time to consider.
Anne Seaway then began her duties in the house. Besides daily superintending the cook and housemaid one of these duties was, at rare intervals3, to dust Manston’s office with her own hands, a servant being supposed to disturb the books and papers unnecessarily. She softly wandered from table to shelf with the duster in her hand, afterwards standing5 in the middle of the room, and glancing around to discover if any noteworthy collection of dust had still escaped her.
Her eye fell upon a faint layer which rested upon the ledge6 of an old-fashioned chestnut7 cabinet of French Renaissance8 workmanship, placed in a recess9 by the fireplace. At a height of about four feet from the floor the upper portion of the front receded10, forming the ledge alluded12 to, on which opened at each end two small doors, the centre space between them being filled out by a panel of similar size, making the third of three squares. The dust on the ledge was nearly on a level with the woman’s eye, and, though insignificant13 in quantity, showed itself distinctly on account of this obliquity14 of vision. Now opposite the central panel, concentric quarter-circles were traced in the deposited film, expressing to her that this panel, too, was a door like the others; that it had lately been opened, and had skimmed the dust with its lower edge.
At last, then, her curiosity was slightly rewarded. For the right of the matter was that Anne had been incited15 to this exploration of Manston’s office rather by a wish to know the reason of his long seclusion16 here, after the arrival of the rector’s letter, and their subsequent discourse17, than by any immediate desire for cleanliness. Still, there would have been nothing remarkable18 to Anne in this sight but for one recollection. Manston had once casually19 told her that each of the two side-lockers included half the middle space, the panel of which did not open, and was only put in for symmetry. It was possible that he had opened this compartment20 by candlelight the preceding night, or he would have seen the marks in the dust, and effaced21 them, that he might not be proved guilty of telling her an untruth. She balanced herself on one foot and stood pondering. She considered that it was very vexing22 and unfair in him to refuse her all knowledge of his remaining secrets, under the peculiar23 circumstances of her connection with him. She went close to the cabinet. As there was no keyhole, the door must be capable of being opened by the unassisted hand. The circles in the dust told her at which edge to apply her force. Here she pulled with the tips of her fingers, but the panel would not come forward. She fetched a chair and looked over the top of the cabinet, but no bolt, knob, or spring was to be seen.
‘O, never mind,’ she said, with indifference24; ‘I’ll ask him about it, and he will tell me.’ Down she came and turned away. Then looking back again she thought it was absurd such a trifle should puzzle her. She retraced25 her steps, and opened a drawer beneath the ledge of the cabinet, pushing in her hand and feeling about on the underside of the board.
Here she found a small round sinking, and pressed her finger into it. Nothing came of the pressure. She withdrew her hand and looked at the tip of her finger: it was marked with the impress of the circle, and, in addition, a line ran across it diametrically.
‘How stupid of me; it is the head of a screw.’ Whatever mysterious contrivance had originally existed for opening the puny26 cupboard of the cabinet, it had at some time been broken, and this rough substitute provided. Stimulated27 curiosity would not allow her to recede11 now. She fetched a screwdriver28, withdrew the screw, pulled the door open with a penknife, and found inside a cavity about ten inches square. The cavity contained—
Letters from different women, with unknown signatures, Christian29 names only (surnames being despised in Paphos). Letters from his wife Eunice. Letters from Anne herself, including that she wrote in answer to his advertisement. A small pocket-book. Sundry30 scraps31 of paper.
The letters from the strange women with pet names she glanced carelessly through, and then put them aside. They were too similar to her own regretted delusion32, and curiosity requires contrast to excite it.
The letters from his wife were next examined. They were dated back as far as Eunice’s first meeting with Manston, and the early ones before their marriage contained the usual pretty effusions of women at such a period of their existence. Some little time after he had made her his wife, and when he had come to Knapwater, the series began again, and now their contents arrested her attention more forcibly. She closed the cabinet, carried the letters into the parlour, reclined herself on the sofa, and carefully perused33 them in the order of their dates.
‘JOHN STREET,
October 17, 1864.
‘MY DEAREST HUSBAND,—I received your hurried line of yesterday, and was of course content with it. But why don’t you tell me your exact address instead of that “Post–Office, Budmouth?” This matter is all a mystery to me, and I ought to be told every detail. I cannot fancy it is the same kind of occupation you have been used to hitherto. Your command that I am to stay here awhile until you can “see how things look” and can arrange to send for me, I must necessarily abide34 by. But if, as you say, a married man would have been rejected by the person who engaged you, and that hence my existence must be kept a secret until you have secured your position, why did you think of going at all?
‘The truth is, this keeping our marriage a secret is troublesome, vexing, and wearisome to me. I see the poorest woman in the street bearing her husband’s name openly—living with him in the most matter-of-fact ease, and why shouldn’t I? I wish I was back again in Liverpool.
‘To-day I bought a grey waterproof35 cloak. I think it is a little too long for me, but it was cheap for one of such a quality. The weather is gusty36 and dreary37, and till this morning I had hardly set foot outside the door since you left. Please do tell me when I am to come.—Very affectionately yours, EUNICE.’
‘JOHN STREET,
October 25, 1864.
‘MY DEAR HUSBAND,—Why don’t you write? Do you hate me? I have not had the heart to do anything this last week. That I, your wife, should be in this strait, and my husband well to do! I have been obliged to leave my first lodging38 for debt—among other things, they charged me for a lot of brandy which I am quite sure I did not taste. Then I went to Camberwell and was found out by them. I went away privately39 from thence, and changed my name the second time. I am now Mrs. Rondley. But the new lodging was the wretchedest and dearest I ever set foot in, and I left it after being there only a day. I am now at No. 20 in the same street that you left me in originally. All last night the sash of my window rattled40 so dreadfully that I could not sleep, but I had not energy enough to get out of bed to stop it. This morning I have been walking—I don’t know how far—but far enough to make my feet ache. I have been looking at the outside of two or three of the theatres, but they seem forbidding if I regard them with the eye of an actress in search of an engagement. Though you said I was to think no more of the stage, I believe you would not care if you found me there. But I am not an actress by nature, and art will never make me one. I am too timid and retiring; I was intended for a cottager’s wife. I certainly shall not try to go on the boards again whilst I am in this strange place. The idea of being brought on as far as London and then left here alone! Why didn’t you leave me in Liverpool? Perhaps you thought I might have told somebody that my real name was Mrs. Manston. As if I had a living friend to whom I could impart it—no such good fortune! In fact, my nearest friend is no nearer than what most people would call a stranger. But perhaps I ought to tell you that a week before I wrote my last letter to you, after wishing that my uncle and aunt in Philadelphia (the only near relatives I had) were still alive, I suddenly resolved to send a line to my cousin James, who, I believe, is still living in that neighbourhood. He has never seen me since we were babies together. I did not tell him of my marriage, because I thought you might not like it, and I gave my real maiden42 name, and an address at the post-office here. But God knows if the letter will ever reach him.
‘Do write me an answer, and send something.—Your affectionate wife, EUNICE.’
‘FRIDAY, October 28.
‘MY DEAR HUSBAND,—The order for ten pounds has just come, and I am truly glad to get it. But why will you write so bitterly? Ah—well, if I had only had the money I should have been on my way to America by this time, so don’t think I want to bore you of my own free-will. Who can you have met with at that new place? Remember I say this in no malignant43 tone, but certainly the facts go to prove that you have deserted44 me! You are inconstant—I know it. O, why are you so? Now I have lost you, I love you in spite of your neglect. I am weakly fond—that’s my nature. I fear that upon the whole my life has been wasted. I know there is another woman supplanting45 me in your heart—yes, I know it. Come to me—do come. EUNICE.’
‘41 CHARLES SQUARE,
HOXTON,
November 19.
‘DEAR AENEAS,—Here I am back again after my visit. Why should you have been so enraged46 at my finding your exact address? Any woman would have tried to do it—you know she would have. And no woman would have lived under assumed names so long as I did. I repeat that I did not call myself Mrs. Manston until I came to this lodging at the beginning of this month—what could you expect?
‘A helpless creature I, had not fortune favoured me unexpectedly. Banished47 as I was from your house at dawn, I did not suppose the indignity48 was about to lead to important results. But in crossing the park I overheard the conversation of a young man and woman who had also risen early. I believe her to be the girl who has won you away from me. Well, their conversation concerned you and Miss Aldclyffe, very peculiarly. The remarkable thing is that you yourself, without knowing it, told me of what, added to their conversation, completely reveals a secret to me that neither of you understand. Two negatives never made such a telling positive before. One clue more, and you would see it. A single consideration prevents my revealing it—just one doubt as to whether your ignorance was real, and was not feigned49 to deceive me. Civility now, please. EUNICE.’
‘41 CHARLES SQUARE,
Tuesday, November 22.
‘MY DARLING HUSBAND,—Monday will suit me excellently for coming. I have acted exactly up to your instructions, and have sold my rubbish at the broker’s in the next street. All this movement and bustle50 is delightful51 to me after the weeks of monotony I have endured. It is a relief to wish the place good-bye—London always has seemed so much more foreign to me than Liverpool The mid-day train on Monday will do nicely for me. I shall be anxiously looking out for you on Sunday night.
‘I hope so much that you are not angry with me for writing to Miss Aldclyffe. You are not, dear, are you? Forgive me.—Your loving wife, EUNICE.’
This was the last of the letters from the wife to the husband. One other, in Mrs. Manston’s handwriting, and in the same packet, was differently addressed.
‘THREE TRANTERS INN, CARRIFORD,
November 28, 1864.
‘DEAR COUSIN JAMES,—Thank you indeed for answering my letter so promptly52. When I called at the post-office yesterday I did not in the least think there would be one. But I must leave this subject. I write again at once under the strangest and saddest conditions it is possible to conceive.
‘I did not tell you in my last that I was a married woman. Don’t blame me—it was my husband’s influence. I hardly know where to begin my story. I had been living apart from him for a time—then he sent for me (this was last week) and I was glad to go to him. Then this is what he did. He promised to fetch me, and did not—leaving me to do the journey alone. He promised to meet me at the station here—he did not. I went on through the darkness to his house, and found his door locked and himself away from home. I have been obliged to come here, and I write to you in a strange room in a strange village inn! I choose the present moment to write to drive away my misery53. Sorrow seems a sort of pleasure when you detail it on paper—poor pleasure though.
‘But this is what I want to know—and I am ashamed to tell it. I would gladly do as you say, and come to you as a housekeeper54, but I have not the money even for a steerage passage. James, do you want me badly enough—do you pity me enough to send it? I could manage to subsist55 in London upon the proceeds of my sale for another month or six weeks. Will you send it to the same address at the post-office? But how do I know that you...’
Thus the letter ended. From creases56 in the paper it was plain that the writer, having got so far, had become dissatisfied with her production, and had crumpled57 it in her hand. Was it to write another, or not to write at all?
The next thing Anne Seaway perceived was that the fragmentary story she had coaxed58 out of Manston, to the effect that his wife had left England for America, might be truthful59, according to two of these letters, corroborated60 by the evidence of the railway-porter. And yet, at first, he had sworn in a passion that his wife was most certainly consumed in the fire.
If she had been burnt, this letter, written in her bedroom, and probably thrust into her pocket when she relinquished61 it, would have been burnt with her. Nothing was surer than that. Why, then, did he say she was burnt, and never show Anne herself this letter?
The question suddenly raised a new and much stranger one—kindling a burst of amazement62 in her. How did Manston become possessed63 of this letter?
That fact of possession was certainly the most remarkable revelation of all in connection with this epistle, and perhaps had something to do with his reason for never showing it to her.
She knew by several proofs, that before his marriage with Cytherea, and up to the time of the porter’s confession64, Manston believed—honestly believed—that Cytherea would be his lawful65 wife, and hence, of course, that his wife Eunice was dead. So that no communication could possibly have passed between his wife and himself from the first moment that he believed her dead on the night of the fire, to the day of his wedding. And yet he had that letter. How soon afterwards could they have communicated with each other?
The existence of the letter—as much as, or more than its contents—implying that Mrs. Manston was not burnt, his belief in that calamity66 must have terminated at the moment he obtained possession of the letter, if no earlier. Was, then, the only solution to the riddle67 that Anne could discern, the true one?—that he had communicated with his wife somewhere about the commencement of Anne’s residence with him, or at any time since?
It was the most unlikely thing on earth that a woman who had forsaken68 her husband should countenance69 his scheme to personify her—whether she were in America, in London, or in the neighbourhood of Knapwater.
Then came the old and harassing70 question, what was Manston’s real motive71 in risking his name on the deception72 he was practising as regarded Anne. It could not be, as he had always pretended, mere73 passion. Her thoughts had reverted74 to Mr. Raunham’s letter, asking for proofs of her identity with the original Mrs. Manston. She could see no loophole of escape for the man who supported her. True, in her own estimation, his worst alternative was not so very bad after all—the getting the name of libertine75, a possible appearance in the divorce or some other court of law, and a question of damages. Such an exposure might hinder his worldly progress for some time. Yet to him this alternative was, apparently76, terrible as death itself.
She restored the letters to their hiding-place, scanned anew the other letters and memoranda77, from which she could gain no fresh information, fastened up the cabinet, and left everything in its former condition.
Her mind was ill at ease. More than ever she wished that she had never seen Manston. Where the person suspected of mysterious moral obliquity is the possessor of great physical and intellectual attractions, the mere sense of incongruity78 adds an extra shudder79 to dread41. The man’s strange bearing terrified Anne as it had terrified Cytherea; for with all the woman Anne’s faults, she had not descended81 to such depths of depravity as to willingly participate in crime. She had not even known that a living wife was being displaced till her arrival at Knapwater put retreat out of the question, and had looked upon personation simply as a mode of subsistence a degree better than toiling82 in poverty and alone, after a bustling83 and somewhat pampered84 life as housekeeper in a gay mansion85.
‘Non illa colo calathisve Minervae
Foemineas assueta manus.’
2. Afternoon
Mr. Raunham and Edward Springrove had by this time set in motion a machinery86 which they hoped to find working out important results.
The rector was restless and full of meditation87 all the following morning. It was plain, even to the servants about him, that Springrove’s communication wore a deeper complexion88 than any that had been made to the old magistrate89 for many months or years past. The fact was that, having arrived at the stage of existence in which the difficult intellectual feat90 of suspending one’s judgment91 becomes possible, he was now putting it in practice, though not without the penalty of watchful92 effort.
It was not till the afternoon that he determined93 to call on his relative, Miss Aldclyffe, and cautiously probe her knowledge of the subject occupying him so thoroughly94. Cytherea, he knew, was still beloved by this solitary95 woman. Miss Aldclyffe had made several private inquiries96 concerning her former companion, and there was ever a sadness in her tone when the young lady’s name was mentioned, which showed that from whatever cause the elder Cytherea’s renunciation of her favourite and namesake proceeded, it was not from indifference to her fate.
‘Have you ever had any reason for supposing your steward anything but an upright man?’ he said to the lady.
‘Never the slightest. Have you?’ said she reservedly.
‘Well—I have.’
‘What is it?’
‘I can say nothing plainly, because nothing is proved. But my suspicions are very strong.’
‘Do you mean that he was rather cool towards his wife when they were first married, and that it was unfair in him to leave her? I know he was; but I think his recent conduct towards her has amply atoned97 for the neglect.’
He looked Miss Aldclyffe full in the face. It was plain that she spoke98 honestly. She had not the slightest notion that the woman who lived with the steward might be other than Mrs. Manston—much less that a greater matter might be behind.
‘That’s not it—I wish it was no more. My suspicion is, first, that the woman living at the Old House is not Mr. Manston’s wife.’
‘Not—Mr. Manston’s wife?’
‘That is it.’
Miss Aldclyffe looked blankly at the rector. ‘Not Mr. Manston’s wife—who else can she be?’ she said simply.
‘An improper100 woman of the name of Anne Seaway.’
Mr. Raunham had, in common with other people, noticed the extraordinary interest of Miss Aldclyffe in the well-being101 of her steward, and had endeavoured to account for it in various ways. The extent to which she was shaken by his information, whilst it proved that the understanding between herself and Manston did not make her a sharer of his secrets, also showed that the tie which bound her to him was still unbroken. Mr. Raunham had lately begun to doubt the latter fact, and now, on finding himself mistaken, regretted that he had not kept his own counsel in the matter. This it was too late to do, and he pushed on with his proofs. He gave Miss Aldclyffe in detail the grounds of his belief.
Before he had done, she recovered the cloak of reserve that she had adopted on his opening the subject.
‘I might possibly be convinced that you were in the right, after such an elaborate argument,’ she replied, ‘were it not for one fact, which bears in the contrary direction so pointedly102, that nothing but absolute proof can turn it. It is that there is no conceivable motive which could induce any sane103 man—leaving alone a man of Mr. Manston’s clear-headedness and integrity—to venture upon such an extraordinary course of conduct—no motive on earth.’
‘That was my own opinion till after the visit of a friend last night—a friend of mine and poor little Cytherea’s.’
‘Ah—and Cytherea,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, catching104 at the idea raised by the name. ‘That he loved Cytherea—yes and loves her now, wildly and devotedly105, I am as positive as that I breathe. Cytherea is years younger than Mrs. Manston—as I shall call her—twice as sweet in disposition106, three times as beautiful. Would he have given her up quietly and suddenly for a common—Mr. Raunham, your story is monstrous107, and I don’t believe it!’ She glowed in her earnestness.
The rector might now have advanced his second proposition—the possible motive—but for reasons of his own he did not.
‘Very well, madam. I only hope that facts will sustain you in your belief. Ask him the question to his face, whether the woman is his wife or no, and see how he receives it.’
‘I will tomorrow, most certainly,’ she said. ‘I always let these things die of wholesome108 ventilation, as every fungus109 does.’
But no sooner had the rector left her presence, than the grain of mustard-seed he had sown grew to a tree. Her impatience110 to set her mind at rest could not brook111 a night’s delay. It was with the utmost difficulty that she could wait till evening arrived to screen her movements. Immediately the sun had dropped behind the horizon, and before it was quite dark, she wrapped her cloak around her, softly left the house, and walked erect112 through the gloomy park in the direction of the old manor-house.
The same minute saw two persons sit down in the rectory-house to share the rector’s usually solitary dinner. One was a man of official appearance, commonplace in all except his eyes. The other was Edward Springrove.
The discovery of the carefully-concealed113 letters rankled114 in the mind of Anne Seaway. Her woman’s nature insisted that Manston had no right to keep all matters connected with his lost wife a secret from herself. Perplexity had bred vexation; vexation, resentment115; curiosity had been continuous. The whole morning this resentment and curiosity increased.
The steward said very little to his companion during their luncheon116 at mid-day. He seemed reckless of appearances—almost indifferent to whatever fate awaited him. All his actions betrayed that something portentous117 was impending118, and still he explained nothing. By carefully observing every trifling119 action, as only a woman can observe them, the thought at length dawned upon her that he was going to run away secretly. She feared for herself; her knowledge of law and justice was vague, and she fancied she might in some way be made responsible for him.
In the afternoon he went out of the house again, and she watched him drive away in the direction of the county-town. She felt a desire to go there herself, and, after an interval4 of half-an-hour, followed him on foot notwithstanding the distance—ostensibly to do some shopping.
One among her several trivial errands was to make a small purchase at the druggist’s. Near the druggist’s stood the County Bank. Looking out of the shop window, between the coloured bottles, she saw Manston come down the steps of the bank, in the act of withdrawing his hand from his pocket, and pulling his coat close over its mouth.
It is an almost universal habit with people, when leaving a bank, to be carefully adjusting their pockets if they have been receiving money; if they have been paying it in, their hands swing laxly. The steward had in all likelihood been taking money—possibly on Miss Aldclyffe’s account—that was continual with him. And he might have been removing his own, as a man would do who was intending to leave the country.
3. From Five To Eight O’clock P.m.
Anne reached home again in time to preside over preparations for dinner. Manston came in half-an-hour later. The lamp was lighted, the shutters120 were closed, and they sat down together. He was pale and worn—almost haggard.
The meal passed off in almost unbroken silence. When preoccupation withstands the influence of a social meal with one pleasant companion, the mental scene must be surpassingly vivid. Just as she was rising a tap came to the door.
Before a maid could attend to the knock, Manston crossed the room and answered it himself. The visitor was Miss Aldclyffe.
Manston instantly came back and spoke to Anne in an undertone. ‘I should be glad if you could retire to your room for a short time.’
‘It is a dry, starlight evening,’ she replied. ‘I will go for a little walk if your object is merely a private conversation with Miss Aldclyffe.’
‘Very well, do; there’s no accounting121 for tastes,’ he said. A few commonplaces then passed between her and Miss Aldclyffe, and Anne went upstairs to bonnet122 and cloak herself. She came down, opened the front door, and went out.
She looked around to realize the night. It was dark, mournful, and quiet. Then she stood still. From the moment that Manston had requested her absence, a strong and burning desire had prevailed in her to know the subject of Miss Aldclyffe’s conversation with him. Simple curiosity was not entirely123 what inspired her. Her suspicions had been thoroughly aroused by the discovery of the morning. A conviction that her future depended on her power to combat a man who, in desperate circumstances, would be far from a friend to her, prompted a strategic movement to acquire the important secret that was in handling now. The woman thought and thought, and regarded the dull dark trees, anxiously debating how the thing could be done.
Stealthily reopening the front door she entered the hall, and advancing and pausing alternately, came close to the door of the room in which Miss Aldclyffe and Manston conversed124. Nothing could be heard through the keyhole or panels. At a great risk she softly turned the knob and opened the door to a width of about half-an-inch, performing the act so delicately that three minutes, at least, were occupied in completing it. At that instant Miss Aldclyffe said—
‘There’s a draught125 somewhere. The door is ajar, I think.’
Anne glided127 back under the staircase. Manston came forward and closed the door. This chance was now cut off, and she considered again. The parlour, or sitting-room128, in which the conference took place, had the window-shutters fixed129 on the outside of the window, as is usual in the back portions of old country-houses. The shutters were hinged one on each side of the opening, and met in the middle, where they were fastened by a bolt passing continuously through them and the wood mullion within, the bolt being secured on the inside by a pin, which was seldom inserted till Manston and herself were about to retire for the night; sometimes not at all.
If she returned to the door of the room she might be discovered at any moment, but could she listen at the window, which overlooked a part of the garden never visited after nightfall, she would be safe from disturbance130. The idea was worth a trial.
She glided round to the window, took the head of the bolt between her finger and thumb, and softly screwed it round until it was entirely withdrawn131 from its position. The shutters remained as before, whilst, where the bolt had come out, was now a shining hole three-quarters of an inch in diameter, through which one might see into the middle of the room. She applied132 her eye to the orifice.
Miss Aldclyffe and Manston were both standing; Manston with his back to the window, his companion facing it. The lady’s demeanour was severe, condemnatory133, and haughty134. No more was to be seen; Anne then turned sideways, leant with her shoulder against the shutters and placed her ear upon the hole.
‘You know where,’ said Miss Aldclyffe. ‘And how could you, a man, act a double deceit like this?’
‘Men do strange things sometimes.’
‘What was your reason—come?’
‘A mere whim135.’
‘I might even believe that, if the woman were handsomer than Cytherea, or if you had been married some time to Cytherea and had grown tired of her.’
‘And can’t you believe it, too, under these conditions; that I married Cytherea, gave her up because I heard that my wife was alive, found that my wife would not come to live with me, and then, not to let any woman I love so well as Cytherea run any risk of being displaced and ruined in reputation, should my wife ever think fit to return, induced this woman to come to me, as being better than no companion at all?’
‘I cannot believe it. Your love for Cytherea was not of such a kind as that excuse would imply. It was Cytherea or nobody with you. As an object of passion, you did not desire the company of this Anne Seaway at all, and certainly not so much as to madly risk your reputation by bringing her here in the way you have done. I am sure you didn’t, AEneas.’
‘So am I,’ he said bluntly.
Miss Aldclyffe uttered an exclamation136 of astonishment137; the confession was like a blow in its suddenness. She began to reproach him bitterly, and with tears.
‘How could you overthrow138 my plans, disgrace the only girl I ever had any respect for, by such inexplicable139 doings!... That woman must leave this place—the country perhaps. Heavens! the truth will leak out in a day or two!’
‘She must do no such thing, and the truth must be stifled140 somehow—nobody knows how. If I stay here, or on any spot of the civilized141 globe, as AEneas Manston, this woman must live with me as my wife, or I am damned past redemption!’
‘I will not countenance your keeping her, whatever your motive may be.’
‘You must do something,’ he murmured. ‘You must. Yes, you must.’
‘I never will,’ she said. ‘It is a criminal act.’
He looked at her earnestly. ‘Will you not support me through this deception if my very life depends upon it? Will you not?’
‘Nonsense! Life! It will be a scandal to you, but she must leave this place. It will out sooner or later, and the exposure had better come now.’
Manston repeated gloomily the same words. ‘My life depends upon your supporting me—my very life.’
He then came close to her, and spoke into her ear. Whilst he spoke he held her head to his mouth with both his hands. Strange expressions came over her face; the workings of her mouth were painful to observe. Still he held her and whispered on.
The only words that could be caught by Anne Seaway, confused as her hearing frequently was by the moan of the wind and the waterfall in her outer ear, were these of Miss Aldclyffe, in tones which absolutely quivered: ‘They have no money. What can they prove?’
The listener tasked herself to the utmost to catch his answer, but it was in vain. Of the remainder of the colloquy142 one fact alone was plain to Anne, and that only inductively—that Miss Aldclyffe, from what he had revealed to her, was going to scheme body and soul on Manston’s behalf.
Miss Aldclyffe seemed now to have no further reason for remaining, yet she lingered awhile as if loth to leave him. When, finally, the crestfallen143 and agitated144 lady made preparations for departure, Anne quickly inserted the bolt, ran round to the entrance archway, and down the steps into the park. Here she stood close to the trunk of a huge lime-tree, which absorbed her dark outline into its own.
In a few minutes she saw Manston, with Miss Aldclyffe leaning on his arm, cross the glade145 before her and proceed in the direction of the house. She watched them ascend146 the rise and advance, as two black spots, towards the mansion. The appearance of an oblong space of light in the dark mass of walls denoted that the door was opened. Miss Aldclyffe’s outline became visible upon it; the door shut her in, and all was darkness again. The form of Manston returning alone arose from the gloom, and passed by Anne in her hiding-place.
Waiting outside a quarter of an hour longer, that no suspicion of any kind might be excited, Anne returned to the old manor-house.
4. From Eight To Eleven O’clock P.m.
Manston was very friendly that evening. It was evident to her, now that she was behind the scenes, that he was making desperate efforts to disguise the real state of his mind.
Her terror of him did not decrease. They sat down to supper, Manston still talking cheerfully. But what is keener than the eye of a mistrustful woman? A man’s cunning is to it as was the armour147 of Sisera to the thin tent-nail. She found, in spite of his adroitness148, that he was attempting something more than a disguise of his feeling. He was trying to distract her attention, that he might be unobserved in some special movement of his hands.
What a moment it was for her then! The whole surface of her body became attentive149. She allowed him no chance whatever. We know the duplicated condition at such times—when the existence divides itself into two, and the ostensibly innocent chatterer stands in front, like another person, to hide the timorous150 spy.
Manston played the same game, but more palpably. The meal was nearly over when he seemed possessed of a new idea of how his object might be accomplished151. He tilted152 back his chair with a reflective air, and looked steadily153 at the clock standing against the wall opposite to him. He said sententiously, ‘Few faces are capable of expressing more by dumb show than the face of a clock. You may see in it every variety of incentive—from the softest seductions to negligence154 to the strongest hints for action.’
‘Well, in what way?’ she inquired. His drift was, as yet, quite unintelligible155 to her.
‘Why, for instance: look at the cold, methodical, unromantic, business-like air of all the right-angled positions of the hands. They make a man set about work in spite of himself. Then look at the piquant156 shyness of its face when the two hands are over each other. Several attitudes imply “Make ready.” The “make ready” of ten minutes to one differs from the “make ready” of ten minutes to twelve, as youth differs from age. “Upward and onward” says twenty-five minutes to eleven. Mid-day or midnight expresses distinctly “It is done.” You surely have noticed that?’
‘Yes, I have.’
He continued with affected157 quaintness:—
‘The easy dash of ten minutes past seven, the rakish recklessness of a quarter past, the drooping158 weariness of twenty-five minutes past, must have been observed by everybody.’
‘Whatever amount of truth there may be, there is a good deal of imagination in your fancy,’ she said.
He still contemplated159 the clock.
‘Then, again, the general finish of the face has a great effect upon the eye. This old-fashioned brass-faced one we have here, with its arched top, half-moon slit160 for the day of the month, and ship rocking at the upper part, impresses me with the notion of its being an old cynic, elevating his brows, whose thoughts can be seen wavering between good and evil.’
A thought now enlightened her: the clock was behind her, and he wanted to get her back turned. She dreaded161 turning, yet, not to excite his suspicion, she was on her guard; she quickly looked behind her at the clock as he spoke, recovering her old position again instantly. The time had not been long enough for any action whatever on his part.
‘Ah,’ he casually remarked, and at the same minute began to pour her out a glass of wine. ‘Speaking of the clock has reminded me that it must nearly want winding162 up. Remember that it is wound to-night. Suppose you do it at once, my dear.’
There was no possible way of evading163 the act. She resolutely164 turned to perform the operation: anything was better than that he should suspect her. It was an old-fashioned eight-day clock, of workmanship suited to the rest of the antique furniture that Manston had collected there, and ground heavily during winding.
Anne had given up all idea of being able to watch him during the interval, and the noise of the wheels prevented her learning anything by her ears. But, as she wound, she caught sight of his shadow on the wall at her right hand.
What was he doing? He was in the very act of pouring something into her glass of wine.
He had completed the manoeuvre166 before she had done winding. She methodically closed the clock-case and turned round again. When she faced him he was sitting in his chair as before she had risen.
In a familiar scene which has hitherto been pleasant it is difficult to realize that an added condition, which does not alter its aspect, can have made it terrible. The woman thought that his action must have been prompted by no other intent than that of poisoning her, and yet she could not instantly put on a fear of her position.
And before she had grasped these consequences, another supposition served to make her regard the first as unlikely, if not absurd. It was the act of a madman to take her life in a manner so easy of discovery, unless there were far more reason for the crime than any that Manston could possibly have.
Was it not merely his intention, in tampering167 with her wine, to make her sleep soundly that night? This was in harmony with her original suspicion, that he intended secretly to abscond168. At any rate, he was going to set about some stealthy proceeding169, as to which she was to be kept in utter darkness. The difficulty now was to avoid drinking the wine.
By means of one pretext170 and another she put off taking her glass for nearly five minutes, but he eyed her too frequently to allow her to throw the potion under the grate. It became necessary to take one sip171. This she did, and found an opportunity of absorbing it in her handkerchief.
Plainly he had no idea of her countermoves. The scheme seemed to him in proper train, and he turned to poke99 out the fire. She instantly seized the glass, and poured its contents down her bosom172. When he faced round again she was holding the glass to her lips, empty.
In due course he locked the doors and saw that the shutters were fastened. She attended to a few closing details of housewifery, and a few minutes later they retired173 for the night.
5. from Eleven O’clock to Midnight
When Manston was persuaded, by the feigned heaviness of her breathing, that Anne Seaway was asleep, he softly arose, and dressed himself in the gloom. With ears strained to their utmost she heard him complete this operation; then he took something from his pocket, put it in the drawer of the dressing174-table, went to the door, and down the stairs. She glided out of bed and looked in the drawer. He had only restored to its place a small phial she had seen there before. It was labelled ‘Battley’s Solution of Opium175.’ She felt relieved that her life had not been attempted. That was to have been her sleeping-draught. No time was to be lost if she meant to be a match for him. She followed him in her nightdress. When she reached the foot of the staircase he was in the office and had closed the door, under which a faint gleam showed that he had obtained a light. She crept to the door, but could not venture to open it, however slightly. Placing her ear to the panel, she could hear him tearing up papers of some sort, and a brighter and quivering ray of light coming from the threshold an instant later, implied that he was burning them. By the slight noise of his footsteps on the uncarpeted floor, she at length imagined that he was approaching the door. She flitted upstairs again and crept into bed.
Manston returned to the bedroom close upon her heels, and entered it—again without a light. Standing motionless for an instant to assure himself that she still slept, he went to the drawer in which their ready-money was kept, and removed the casket that contained it. Anne’s ear distinctly caught the rustle176 of notes, and the chink of the gold as he handled it. Some he placed in his pocket, some he returned to its place. He stood thinking, as it were weighing a possibility. While lingering thus, he noticed the reflected image of his own face in the glass—pale and spectre-like in its indistinctness. The sight seemed to be the feather which turned the balance of indecision: he drew a heavy breath, retired from the room, and passed downstairs. She heard him unbar the back-door, and go out into the yard.
Feeling safe in a conclusion that he did not intend to return to the bedroom again, she arose, and hastily dressed herself. On going to the door of the apartment she found that he had locked it behind him. ‘A precaution—it can be no more,’ she muttered. Yet she was all the more perplexed177 and excited on this account. Had he been going to leave home immediately, he would scarcely have taken the trouble to lock her in, holding the belief that she was in a drugged sleep. The lock shot into a mortice, so that there was no possibility of her pushing back the bolt. How should she follow him? Easily. An inner closet opened from the bedroom: it was large, and had some time heretofore been used as a dressing or bath room, but had been found inconvenient178 from having no other outlet179 to the landing. The window of this little room looked out upon the roof of the porch, which was flat and covered with lead. Anne took a pillow from the bed, gently opened the casement180 of the inner room and stepped forth181 on the flat. There, leaning over the edge of the small parapet that ornamented182 the porch, she dropped the pillow upon the gravel183 path, and let herself down over the parapet by her hands till her toes swung about two feet from the ground. From this position she adroitly184 alighted upon the pillow, and stood in the path.
Since she had come indoors from her walk in the early part of the evening the moon had risen. But the thick clouds overspreading the whole landscape rendered the dim light pervasive185 and grey: it appeared as an attribute of the air. Anne crept round to the back of the house, listening intently. The steward had had at least ten minutes’ start of her. She had waited here whilst one might count fifty, when she heard a movement in the outhouse—a fragment once attached to the main building. This outhouse was partitioned into an outer and an inner room, which had been a kitchen and a scullery before the connecting erections were pulled down, but they were now used respectively as a brewhouse and workshop, the only means of access to the latter being through the brewhouse. The outer door of this first apartment was usually fastened by a padlock on the exterior186. It was now closed, but not fastened. Manston was evidently in the outhouse.
She slightly moved the door. The interior of the brewhouse was wrapped in gloom, but a streak187 of light fell towards her in a line across the floor from the inner or workshop door, which was not quite closed. This light was unexpected, none having been visible through hole or crevice188. Glancing in, the woman found that he had placed cloths and mats at the various apertures189, and hung a sack at the window to prevent the egress190 of a single ray. She could also perceive from where she stood that the bar of light fell across the brewing-copper191 just outside the inner door, and that upon it lay the key of her bedroom. The illuminated192 interior of the workshop was also partly visible from her position through the two half-open doors. Manston was engaged in emptying a large cupboard of the tools, gallipots, and old iron it contained. When it was quite cleared he took a chisel193, and with it began to withdraw the hooks and shoulder-nails holding the cupboard to the wall. All these being loosened, he extended his arms, lifted the cupboard bodily from the brackets under it, and deposited it on the floor beside him.
That portion of the wall which had been screened by the cupboard was now laid bare. This, it appeared, had been plastered more recently than the bulk of the outhouse. Manston loosened the plaster with some kind of tool, flinging the pieces into a basket as they fell. Having now stripped clear about two feet area of wall, he inserted a crowbar between the joints194 of the bricks beneath, softly wriggling195 it until several were loosened. There was now disclosed the mouth of an old oven, which was apparently contrived196 in the thickness of the wall, and having fallen into disuse, had been closed up with bricks in this manner. It was formed after the simple old-fashioned plan of oven-building—a mere oblate cavity without a flue.
Manston now stretched his arm into the oven, dragged forth a heavy weight of great bulk, and let it slide to the ground. The woman who watched him could see the object plainly. It was a common corn-sack, nearly full, and was tied at the mouth in the usual way.
The steward had once or twice started up, as if he had heard sounds, and his motions now became more cat-like still. On a sudden he put out the light. Anne had made no noise, yet a foreign noise of some kind had certainly been made in the intervening portion of the house. She heard it. ‘One of the rats,’ she thought.
He seemed soon to recover from his alarm, but changed his tactics completely. He did not light his candle—going on with his work in the dark. She had only sounds to go by now, and, judging as well as she could from these, he was piling up the bricks which closed the oven’s mouth as they had been before he disturbed them. The query197 that had not left her brain all the interval of her inspection—how should she get back into her bedroom again?—now received a solution. Whilst he was replacing the cupboard, she would glide126 across the brewhouse, take the key from the top of the copper, run upstairs, unlock the door, and bring back the key again: if he returned to bed, which was unlikely, he would think the lock had failed to catch in the staple198. This thought and intention, occupying such length of words, flashed upon her in an instant, and hardly disturbed her strong curiosity to stay and learn the meaning of his actions in the workshop.
Slipping sideways through the first door and closing it behind her, she advanced into the darkness towards the second, making every individual footfall with the greatest care, lest the fragments of rubbish on the floor should crackle beneath her tread. She soon stood close by the copper, and not more than a foot from the door of the room occupied by Manston himself, from which position she could distinctly hear him breathe between each exertion199, although it was far too dark to discern anything of him.
To secure the key of her chamber200 was her first anxiety, and accordingly she cautiously reached out with her hand to where it lay. Instead of touching201 it, her fingers came in contact with the boot of a human being.
She drooped202 faint in a cold sweat. It was the foot either of a man or woman, standing on the brewing-copper where the key had lain. A warm foot, covered with a polished boot.
The startling discovery so terrified her that she could hardly repress a sound. She withdrew her hand with a motion like the flight of an arrow. Her touch was so light that the leather seemed to have been thick enough to keep the owner of the foot in entire ignorance of it, and the noise of Manston’s scraping might have been quite sufficient to drown the slight rustle of her dress.
The person was obviously not the steward: he was still busy. It was somebody who, since the light had been extinguished, had taken advantage of the gloom, to come from some dark recess in the brewhouse and stand upon the brickwork of the copper. The fear which had at first paralyzed her lessened203 with the birth of a sense that fear now was utter failure: she was in a desperate position and must abide by the consequences. The motionless person on the copper was, equally with Manston, quite unconscious of her proximity204, and she ventured to advance her hand again, feeling behind the feet, till she found the key. On its return to her side, her finger-tip skimmed the lower verge205 of a trousers-leg.
It was a man, then, who stood there. To go to the door just at this time was impolitic, and she shrank back into an inner corner to wait. The comparative security from discovery that her new position ensured resuscitated206 reason a little, and empowered her to form some logical inferences:—
1. The man who stood on the copper had taken advantage of the darkness to get there, as she had to enter.
2. The man must have been hidden in the outhouse before she had reached the door.
3. He must be watching Manston with much calculation and system, and for purposes of his own.
She could now tell by the noises that Manston had completed his reerection of the cupboard. She heard him replacing the articles it had contained—bottle by bottle, tool by tool—after which he came into the brewhouse, went to the window, and pulled down the cloths covering it; but the window being rather small, this unveiling scarcely relieved the darkness of the interior. He returned to the workshop, hoisted207 something to his back by a jerk, and felt about the room for some other article. Having found it, he emerged from the inner door, crossed the brewhouse, and went into the yard. Directly he stepped out she could see his outline by the light of the clouded and weakly moon. The sack was slung208 at his back, and in his hand he carried a spade.
Anne now waited in her corner in breathless suspense209 for the proceedings210 of the other man. In about half-a-minute she heard him descend80 from the copper, and then the square opening of the doorway211 showed the outline of this other watcher passing through it likewise. The form was that of a broad-shouldered man enveloped212 in a long coat. He vanished after the steward.
The woman vented165 a sigh of relief, and moved forward to follow. Simultaneously213, she discovered that the watcher whose foot she had touched was, in his turn, watched and followed also.
It was by one of her own sex. Anne Seaway shrank backward again. The unknown woman came forward from the further side of the yard, and pondered awhile in hesitation214. Tall, dark, and closely wrapped, she stood up from the earth like a cypress215. She moved, crossed the yard without producing the slightest disturbance by her footsteps, and went in the direction the others had taken.
Anne waited yet another minute—then in her turn noiselessly followed the last woman.
But so impressed was she with the sensation of people in hiding, that in coming out of the yard she turned her head to see if any person were following her, in the same way. Nobody was visible, but she discerned, standing behind the angle of the stable, Manston’s horse and gig, ready harnessed.
He did intend to fly after all, then, she thought. He must have placed the horse in readiness, in the interval between his leaving the house and her exit by the window. However, there was not time to weigh this branch of the night’s events. She turned about again, and continued on the trail of the other three.
6. From Midnight To Half-past One A.m.
Intentness pervaded216 everything; Night herself seemed to have become a watcher.
The four persons proceeded across the glade, and into the park plantation217, at equidistances of about seventy yards. Here the ground, completely overhung by the foliage218, was coated with a thick moss219 which was as soft as velvet220 beneath their feet. The first watcher, that is, the man walking immediately behind Manston, now fell back, when Manston’s housekeeper, knowing the ground pretty well, dived circuitously221 among the trees and got directly behind the steward, who, encumbered222 with his load, had proceeded but slowly. The other woman seemed now to be about opposite to Anne, or a little in advance, but on Manston’s other hand.
He reached a pit, midway between the waterfall and the engine-house. There he stopped, wiped his face, and listened.
Into this pit had drifted uncounted generations of withered223 leaves, half filling it. Oak, beech224, and chestnut, rotten and brown alike, mingled225 themselves in one fibrous mass. Manston descended into the midst of them, placed his sack on the ground, and raking the leaves aside into a large heap, began digging. Anne softly drew nearer, crept into a bush, and turning her head to survey the rest, missed the man who had dropped behind, and whom we have called the first watcher. Concluding that he, too, had hidden himself, she turned her attention to the second watcher, the other woman, who had meanwhile advanced near to where Anne lay in hiding, and now seated herself behind a tree, still closer to the steward than was Anne Seaway.
Here and thus Anne remained concealed. The crunch226 of the steward’s spade, as it cut into the soft vegetable mould, was plainly perceptible to her ears when the periodic cessations between the creaks of the engine concurred227 with a lull228 in the breeze, which otherwise brought the subdued229 roar of the cascade230 from the further side of the bank that screened it. A large hole—some four or five feet deep—had been excavated231 by Manston in about twenty minutes. Into this he immediately placed the sack, and then began filling in the earth, and treading it down. Lastly he carefully raked the whole mass of dead and dry leaves into the middle of the pit, burying the ground with them as they had buried it before.
For a hiding-place the spot was unequalled. The thick accumulation of leaves, which had not been disturbed for centuries, might not be disturbed again for centuries to come, whilst their lower layers still decayed and added to the mould beneath.
By the time this work was ended the sky had grown clearer, and Anne could now see distinctly the face of the other woman, stretching from behind the tree, seemingly forgetful of her position in her intense contemplation of the actions of the steward. Her countenance was white and motionless.
It was impossible that Manston should not soon notice her. At the completion of his labour he turned, and did so.
‘Ho—you here!’ he exclaimed.
‘Don’t think I am a spy upon you,’ she said, in an imploring232 whisper. Anne recognized the voice as Miss Aldclyffe’s.
The trembling lady added hastily another remark, which was drowned in the recurring233 creak of the engine close at hand The first watcher, if he had come no nearer than his original position, was too far off to hear any part of this dialogue, on account of the roar of the falling water, which could reach him unimpeded by the bank.
The remark of Miss Aldclyffe to Manston had plainly been concerning the first watcher, for Manston, with his spade in his hand, instantly rushed to where the man was concealed, and, before the latter could disengage himself from the boughs234, the steward struck him on the head with the blade of the instrument. The man fell to the ground.
‘Fly!’ said Miss Aldclyffe to Manston. Manston vanished amidst the trees. Miss Aldclyffe went off in a contrary direction.
Anne Seaway was about to run away likewise, when she turned and looked at the fallen man. He lay on his face, motionless.
Many of these women who own to no moral code show considerable magnanimity when they see people in trouble. To act right simply because it is one’s duty is proper; but a good action which is the result of no law of reflection shines more than any. She went up to him and gently turned him over, upon which he began to show signs of life. By her assistance he was soon able to stand upright.
He looked about him with a bewildered air, endeavouring to collect his ideas. ‘Who are you?’ he said to the woman, mechanically.
It was bad policy now to attempt disguise. ‘I am the supposed Mrs. Manston,’ she said. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am the officer employed by Mr. Raunham to sift235 this mystery—which may be criminal.’ He stretched his limbs, pressed his head, and seemed gradually to awake to a sense of having been incautious in his utterance236. ‘Never you mind who I am,’ he continued. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter now, either—it will no longer be a secret.’
He stooped for his hat and ran in the direction the steward had taken—coming back again after the lapse237 of a minute.
‘It’s only an aggravated238 assault, after all,’ he said hastily, ‘until we have found out for certain what’s buried here. It may be only a bag of building rubbish; but it may be more. Come and help me dig.’ He seized the spade with the awkwardness of a town man, and went into the pit, continuing a muttered discourse. ‘It’s no use my running after him single-handed,’ he said. ‘He’s ever so far off by this time. The best step is to see what is here.’
It was far easier for the detective to reopen the hole than it had been for Manston to form it. The leaves were raked away, the loam239 thrown out, and the sack dragged forth.
‘Hold this,’ he said to Anne, whose curiosity still kept her standing near. He turned on the light of a dark lantern he had brought, and gave it into her hand.
The string which bound the mouth of the sack was now cut. The officer laid the bag on its side, seized it by the bottom, and jerked forth the contents. A large package was disclosed, carefully wrapped up in impervious240 tarpaulin241, also well tied. He was on the point of pulling open the folds at one end, when a light coloured thread of something, hanging on the outside, arrested his eye. He put his hand upon it; it felt stringy, and adhered to his fingers. ‘Hold the light close,’ he said.
She held it close. He raised his hand to the glass, and they both peered at an almost intangible filament242 he held between his finger and thumb. It was a long hair; the hair of a woman.
‘God! I couldn’t believe it—no, I couldn’t believe it!’ the detective whispered, horror-struck. ‘And I have lost the man for the present through my unbelief. Let’s get into a sheltered place.... Now wait a minute whilst I prove it.’
He thrust his hand into his waistcoat pocket, and withdrew thence a minute packet of brown paper. Spreading it out he disclosed, coiled in the middle, another long hair. It was the hair the clerk’s wife had found on Manston’s pillow nine days before the Carriford fire. He held the two hairs to the light: they were both of a pale-brown hue243. He laid them parallel and stretched out his arms: they were of the same length to a nicety. The detective turned to Anne.
‘It is the body of his first wife,’ he said quietly. ‘He murdered her, as Mr. Springrove and the rector suspected—but how and when, God only knows.’
‘And I!’ exclaimed Anne Seaway, a probable and natural sequence of events and motives244 explanatory of the whole crime—events and motives shadowed forth by the letter, Manston’s possession of it, his renunciation of Cytherea, and instalment of herself—flashing upon her mind with the rapidity of lightning.
‘Ah—I see,’ said the detective, standing unusually close to her: and a handcuff was on her wrist. ‘You must come with me, madam. Knowing as much about a secret murder as God knows is a very suspicious thing: it doesn’t make you a goddess—far from it.’ He directed the bull’s-eye into her face.
‘Pooh—lead on,’ she said scornfully, ‘and don’t lose your principal actor for the sake of torturing a poor subordinate like me.’
He loosened her hand, gave her his arm, and dragged her out of the grove—making her run beside him till they had reached the rectory. A light was burning here, and an auxiliary245 of the detective’s awaiting him: a horse ready harnessed to a spring-cart was standing outside.
‘You have come—I wish I had known that,’ the detective said to his assistant, hurriedly and angrily. ‘Well, we’ve blundered—he’s gone—you should have been here, as I said! I was sold by that woman, Miss Aldclyffe—she watched me.’ He hastily gave directions in an undertone to this man. The concluding words were, ‘Go in to the rector—he’s up. Detain Miss Aldclyffe. I, in the meantime, am driving to Casterbridge with this one, and for help. We shall be sure to have him when it gets light.’
He assisted Anne into the vehicle, and drove off with her. As they went, the clear, dry road showed before them, between the grassy246 quarters at each side, like a white riband, and made their progress easy. They came to a spot where the highway was overhung by dense247 firs for some distance on both sides. It was totally dark here.
There was a smash; and a rude shock. In the very midst of its length, at the point where the road began to drop down a hill, the detective drove against something with a jerk which nearly flung them both to the ground.
The man recovered himself, placed Anne on the seat, and reached out his hand. He found that the off-wheel of his gig was locked in that of another conveyance248 of some kind.
‘Hoy!’ said the officer.
Nobody answered.
‘Hoy, you man asleep there!’ he said again.
No reply.
‘Well, that’s odd—this comes of the folly249 of travelling without gig-lamps because you expect the dawn.’ He jumped to the ground and turned on his lantern.
There was the gig which had obstructed250 him, standing in the middle of the road; a jaded251 horse harnessed to it, but no human being in or near the vehicle.
‘Do you know whose gig this is?’ he said to the woman.
‘No,’ she said sullenly252. But she did recognize it as the steward’s.
‘I’ll swear it’s Manston’s! Come, I can hear it by your tone. However, you needn’t say anything which may criminate you. What forethought the man must have had—how carefully he must have considered possible contingencies253! Why, he must have got the horse and gig ready before he began shifting the body.’
He listened for a sound among the trees. None was to be heard but the occasional scamper254 of a rabbit over the withered leaves. He threw the light of his lantern through a gap in the hedge, but could see nothing beyond an impenetrable thicket255. It was clear that Manston was not many yards off, but the question was how to find him. Nothing could be done by the detective just then, encumbered as he was by the horse and Anne. If he had entered the thicket on a search unaided, Manston might have stepped unobserved from behind a bush and murdered him with the greatest ease. Indeed, there were such strong reasons for the exploit in Manston’s circumstances at that moment that without showing cowardice256, his pursuer felt it hazardous257 to remain any longer where he stood.
He hastily tied the head of Manston’s horse to the back of his own vehicle, that the steward might be deprived of the use of any means of escape other than his own legs, and drove on thus with his prisoner to the county-town. Arrived there, he lodged258 her in the police-station, and then took immediate steps for the capture of Manston.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
steward
|
|
| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
ledge
|
|
| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
chestnut
|
|
| n.栗树，栗子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
renaissance
|
|
| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
recess
|
|
| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
receded
|
|
| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
recede
|
|
| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
alluded
|
|
| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
insignificant
|
|
| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
obliquity
|
|
| n.倾斜度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
incited
|
|
| 刺激，激励，煽动( incite的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
seclusion
|
|
| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
discourse
|
|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
casually
|
|
| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
compartment
|
|
| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
effaced
|
|
| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
vexing
|
|
| adj.使人烦恼的，使人恼火的v.使烦恼( vex的现在分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
retraced
|
|
| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
puny
|
|
| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
stimulated
|
|
| a.刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
screwdriver
|
|
| n.螺丝起子；伏特加橙汁鸡尾酒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
sundry
|
|
| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
scraps
|
|
| 油渣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
perused
|
|
| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
abide
|
|
| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
waterproof
|
|
| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
gusty
|
|
| adj.起大风的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
lodging
|
|
| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
privately
|
|
| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
rattled
|
|
| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
malignant
|
|
| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
supplanting
|
|
| 把…排挤掉，取代( supplant的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
46
enraged
|
|
| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
banished
|
|
| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
indignity
|
|
| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
feigned
|
|
| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
bustle
|
|
| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
promptly
|
|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
housekeeper
|
|
| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
subsist
|
|
| vi.生存，存在，供养 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
creases
|
|
| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
crumpled
|
|
| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
coaxed
|
|
| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
truthful
|
|
| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
corroborated
|
|
| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
relinquished
|
|
| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
lawful
|
|
| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
calamity
|
|
| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
riddle
|
|
| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
Forsaken
|
|
| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
harassing
|
|
| v.侵扰，骚扰( harass的现在分词 )；不断攻击（敌人） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
deception
|
|
| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
reverted
|
|
| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
libertine
|
|
| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
memoranda
|
|
| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
incongruity
|
|
| n.不协调，不一致 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
descend
|
|
| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
toiling
|
|
| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
bustling
|
|
| adj.喧闹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
pampered
|
|
| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
machinery
|
|
| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
magistrate
|
|
| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
feat
|
|
| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
inquiries
|
|
| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
atoned
|
|
| v.补偿，赎（罪）( atone的过去式和过去分词 )；补偿，弥补，赎回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
poke
|
|
| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
improper
|
|
| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
well-being
|
|
| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
pointedly
|
|
| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
sane
|
|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
devotedly
|
|
| 专心地； 恩爱地； 忠实地； 一心一意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
monstrous
|
|
| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
wholesome
|
|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
fungus
|
|
| n.真菌，真菌类植物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
brook
|
|
| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
rankled
|
|
| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
luncheon
|
|
| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
portentous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
impending
|
|
| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
trifling
|
|
| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
shutters
|
|
| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
accounting
|
|
| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
bonnet
|
|
| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
conversed
|
|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
draught
|
|
| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
glide
|
|
| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
glided
|
|
| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
disturbance
|
|
| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
withdrawn
|
|
| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
condemnatory
|
|
| adj. 非难的，处罚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
haughty
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
whim
|
|
| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
overthrow
|
|
| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
stifled
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
civilized
|
|
| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
colloquy
|
|
| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
crestfallen
|
|
| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
glade
|
|
| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
ascend
|
|
| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
armour
|
|
| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
adroitness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
attentive
|
|
| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
timorous
|
|
| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
tilted
|
|
| v. 倾斜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
negligence
|
|
| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
unintelligible
|
|
| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
piquant
|
|
| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
drooping
|
|
| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
contemplated
|
|
| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
slit
|
|
| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
dreaded
|
|
| 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) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
evading
|
|
| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
resolutely
|
|
| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
vented
|
|
| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
manoeuvre
|
|
| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
tampering
|
|
| v.窜改( tamper的现在分词 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
abscond
|
|
| v.潜逃，逃亡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
proceeding
|
|
| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
pretext
|
|
| n.借口，托词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
sip
|
|
| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
opium
|
|
| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
rustle
|
|
| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
inconvenient
|
|
| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
outlet
|
|
| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
casement
|
|
| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
ornamented
|
|
| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
gravel
|
|
| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
adroitly
|
|
| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
pervasive
|
|
| adj.普遍的；遍布的，(到处)弥漫的；渗透性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
exterior
|
|
| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
streak
|
|
| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
crevice
|
|
| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
apertures
|
|
| n.孔( aperture的名词复数 )；隙缝；（照相机的）光圈；孔径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
egress
|
|
| n.出去；出口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
copper
|
|
| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
illuminated
|
|
| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
chisel
|
|
| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
joints
|
|
| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
wriggling
|
|
| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
query
|
|
| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
staple
|
|
| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
exertion
|
|
| n.尽力，努力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
201
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
202
drooped
|
|
| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
203
lessened
|
|
| 减少的，减弱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
204
proximity
|
|
| n.接近，邻近 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
205
verge
|
|
| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
206
resuscitated
|
|
| v.使（某人或某物）恢复知觉，苏醒( resuscitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
207
hoisted
|
|
| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
208
slung
|
|
| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
209
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
210
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
211
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
212
enveloped
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
213
simultaneously
|
|
| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
214
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
215
cypress
|
|
| n.柏树 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
216
pervaded
|
|
| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
217
plantation
|
|
| n.种植园，大农场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
218
foliage
|
|
| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
219
moss
|
|
| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
220
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
221
circuitously
|
|
| 曲折地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
222
encumbered
|
|
| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
223
withered
|
|
| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
224
beech
|
|
| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
225
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
226
crunch
|
|
| n.关键时刻；艰难局面；v.发出碎裂声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
227
concurred
|
|
| 同意（concur的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
228
lull
|
|
| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
229
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
230
cascade
|
|
| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
231
excavated
|
|
| v.挖掘( excavate的过去式和过去分词 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
232
imploring
|
|
| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
233
recurring
|
|
| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
234
boughs
|
|
| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
235
sift
|
|
| v.筛撒，纷落，详察 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
236
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
237
lapse
|
|
| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
238
aggravated
|
|
| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
239
loam
|
|
| n.沃土 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
240
impervious
|
|
| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
241
tarpaulin
|
|
| n.涂油防水布，防水衣，防水帽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
242
filament
|
|
| n.细丝；长丝；灯丝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
243
hue
|
|
| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
244
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
245
auxiliary
|
|
| adj.辅助的，备用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
246
grassy
|
|
| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
247
dense
|
|
| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
248
conveyance
|
|
| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
249
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
250
obstructed
|
|
| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
251
jaded
|
|
| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
252
sullenly
|
|
| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
253
contingencies
|
|
| n.偶然发生的事故，意外事故( contingency的名词复数 )；以备万一 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
254
scamper
|
|
| v.奔跑，快跑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
255
thicket
|
|
| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
256
cowardice
|
|
| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
257
hazardous
|
|
| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
258
lodged
|
|
| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |