At last he was aware that she was cautiously opening her door. He did not move. He heard her come stealthily down the stair, pausing after every creak. Presently he caught a glimpse of light under his door. It vanished, yet not so suddenly as though a candle had been blown out. She must have turned into the passage leading to the shop. What could she be wanting there at such an hour? He pretended to himself that he could not guess.
After a little while the light returned with her p. 109footsteps. It remained in his vision during the short silence that ensued. The silence ended in a heavy sigh. John Corrie lay very still.
The light went out. He heard her groping her way to the front door. He heard it open—close—softly. She was gone on her dark errand, and he had deliberately5 let her go. Nothing he could ever do or suffer in this world would redeem6 his soul from that loathsome7 disgrace. But John Corrie was not thinking of his soul then.
He sprang up, lit a candle and ran upstairs; thence he peeped from a window. He was in time to see a cloaked figure fade into the misty8 murk. The cloak bulged9 at one side. What was she carrying in it concealed10? Again he pretended he could not guess. Returning downstairs he pretended also not to feel the strong, rank odour of paraffin, nor to notice the drips on the passage from the shop.
He returned to his bed, but now he kept the candle burning, for he was afraid of the darkness. And ere three minutes had passed, he rose, shaken with a new terror. What if the holder11 of the letter should, in spite of all, escape with it? . . . For a moment he wavered on the verge12 of collapse13, then the very terror itself stiffened14 his nerves, cleared his mind, and drove him to action.
p. 110In an amazingly short time he was following the path taken by his sister. He wore no cloak, but both his side pockets bulged, and he carried a club-like staff. He sped swiftly through the slumbering15 village. He was sweating and shivering, and once his whole being leapt as if jerked at the whistle of a distant train. He did not intend to overtake Rachel; she must do her work deeming herself unobserved; yet he did not wish to be far behind her. Clear of the village, he began to trot16 on the grass at the side of the road.
Years ago a sanguine17 and enterprising individual had caused to be erected18 by the roadside, midway between station and village, a superior sort of timber shanty19, and had labelled it “Cyclists’ Rest—Temperance Refreshments20.” There were plenty of cyclists in the summer, and numerous pedestrians21 also, but somehow few of them seemed to be tired or thirsty; and at the end of the second season the sanguine and enterprising individual departed, unseen by human eye, leaving a small selection of aerated22 waters in the refreshment-room and sundry23 little debts for lodging24 and so forth25 in the village. Eventually the building fell to the only bidder26, Sam, the postman, who converted it into two apartments, p. 111and a fairly snug27 home of which he was inclined to be proud.
A mere28 strip of garden separated the house from the road, but Sam kept it bright with flowers for eight months of the year. The front of the house was painted a pale stone-colour; the porch, the door, and the two quartets of tall, extremely narrow windows were coloured white. Altogether it provided a gay relief from the sober moorland behind it. Across the road, and separated from it by a deep ditch usually dry in summer, lay a strip of moor30 gently sloping upwards31 to the wood, through which a path supplied a short cut from the station to the village. There was no other dwelling32 within five minutes’ walk.
When John Corrie’s eyes began dimly to discern the house he slowed his pace till he was stealing forward with every appearance of caution and alertness. Suddenly he stopped short, dropped on hands and knees, and let himself down into the ditch where he crouched33, holding his breath.
A vague figure was coming hurriedly from behind the house. On reaching the road it broke into a shambling run, its dark garment flapping like the wings of some huge night bird. As it passed the lurking34 watcher it panted and sobbed35. p. 112Presently it disappeared round a bend, and the watcher heaved a sigh of angry relief. That was the worst of women: they could do nothing without making a fuss!
He drew himself from the ditch, and now his head and most of his face were covered with a heavy black muffler. Keeping to the grass, he darted36 towards the house. Opposite it, he halted for a moment, almost overcome by the thudding of his heart. Just then he perceived a thin smoke rising from the rear of the house—from the attached shed; he guessed that contained the postman’s store of coal and wood. That nerved him again. It was now or never.
Dropping his bludgeon, he brought from his pocket a hank of thin, strong rope, shook it out and tip-toed across the road. He was about to fasten one end to the door handle with the view to securing it to a pillar of the porch, when he bethought himself of another, though barely possible way. With fearful care he turned the handle—and lo, the door gave! Chance had favoured him! Sam had forgotten to lock it—not for the first time.
Sweating, John Corrie opened the door about a foot, put round his hand and removed the key from the lock. Then with infinite gentleness he p. 113drew the door shut, inserted the key, turned it and withdrew it. Almost fainting he recrossed the road, took up his staff, and fell rather than descended37 into the ditch.
A faint breeze was stirring at last. Smoke blown over the tarred roof of the shanty drifted to his nostrils38. For a while, fingering the key, he seemed to hesitate; then, turning, he tossed it from him among the heather. The rope he coiled up and let fall at his feet. He crouched, staring at the house.
And presently a spark floated up, hovered39 and died. But others followed, thicker and thicker, and a glow appeared under them. Crackling sounds broke the silence, softly, timidly at first, but soon with noisy boldness. The breeze gained in strength. A fiery40 tongue waved above the roof, subsided41, rose again and licked the tarry surface; ere long it was joined by others. A low roaring mingled42 with the crackling. The narrow windows were still dark, but smoke began to stream from the ventilator over the door. Woe to the sleeper43 if he did not waken now!
Cold with terror, fascinated by horror, Corrie knelt in his lair44 and gazed and gazed. Suddenly a light sprang into being in the room on the left—a small light that lasted but a moment. The p. 114sleeper had wakened and struck a match. Corrie wondered if he would wait to light a candle, but in the next moment the windows went dark. Sounds followed: a cry, the noise of a chair overturned, hurried footfalls on a bare plank45 floor. Then Corrie put his hands under the muffler and thrust his fingers in his ears. For the inmate46 was trying to open the door.
The flames were now rising high above the roof; smoke was pouring from the ventilator, trickling47 from under the door and through crevices48 about the windows and walls. A reddish glow behind the windows on the left caused the watcher to shut his eyes. But he could no longer close his ears to agony, for the prisoner was raining blows with some heavy implement49 on the door and lock. Once more Corrie was roused to action. What if the holder of the letter should escape with it after all? He readjusted the black muffler about his head till little more than his eyes remained uncovered, took a fresh grip on his staff, and held himself in readiness. The blows became frantic50.
* * * * *
Up yonder in the wood, Colin Hayward, fagged with the long railway journey and much thinking, had thrown himself down to await the morning. p. 115He was almost asleep when the sound of knocking made him raise his head from his arms. As he did so he became conscious of a strong smell of burning timber. The sound, coupled with the odour, struck him as odd at that hour. He got up and crossed the few yards which lay between him and the verge of the wood. From there he looked down on fire and smoke, and quickly realized that the burning thing was the abode51 of his old friend Sam, the postman. He descended the slope as swiftly as the darkness, the treacherous52 ground, and the slippery heather permitted.
At last the lock was shattered, the door torn inwards. The hatchet53 fell from Sam’s hand as, spent and coughing most grievously, he staggered forth to reel across the road, bare-footed, in a long grey night-shirt. At the grass he stumbled and fell helplessly, in the heaving torment54 of smoke-charged lungs.
He was beginning to revive, when behind him, rising from hands and knees, John Corrie clubbed him over the head—once—twice—and would have struck again but that there was no need. Sam lay on his face, one hand clutching grass, the other under him, clenched55 against his breast. With a sob29 of terror, Corrie threw his cudgel into the ditch and turned his victim over. And now p. 116the back of the house was well ablaze56, and in the yellow light even small things became plain. The clenched hand, for instance, held a crushed piece of paper—the little, terrible thing, the recovery of which meant salvation57 to Corrie. He went down on his knees to prise open the grasping fingers, but they fell apart of their own accord. He took the letter. He gloated over it. The latter proceeding58 was folly59; his moment of exultation60 was to cost him dear. Hearing dulled by excitement and the thick muffler did not warn him until too late. He scrambled61 to his feet only to be seized viciously from behind by the collar and shaken like a rat. Then a cruel grip on his wrist caused him to drop the precious letter, and a savage62 kick sent him five yards beyond it on his face.
“You beastly coward!” cried a voice he knew, and all panic-stricken he picked himself up and fled.
Colin had started to pursue, when a groan63 from the stricken one recalled him. He picked up the letter, deeming that it must be of importance, stuffed it into his pocket, and proceeded to do what he could for Sam. Perhaps, after all, his student days had not been wholly wasted. But Sam was sore hurt. His home was a fiery furnace, and he neither knew nor cared.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
dreading
|
|
| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
yearning
|
|
| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
repenting
|
|
| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
redeem
|
|
| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
loathsome
|
|
| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
misty
|
|
| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
bulged
|
|
| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
holder
|
|
| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
verge
|
|
| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
collapse
|
|
| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
stiffened
|
|
| 加强的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
slumbering
|
|
| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
trot
|
|
| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
sanguine
|
|
| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
ERECTED
|
|
| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
shanty
|
|
| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
refreshments
|
|
| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
pedestrians
|
|
| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
aerated
|
|
| v.使暴露于空气中，使充满气体( aerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
sundry
|
|
| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
lodging
|
|
| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
bidder
|
|
| n.(拍卖时的)出价人，报价人，投标人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
snug
|
|
| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
moor
|
|
| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
upwards
|
|
| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
crouched
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
lurking
|
|
| 潜在 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
sobbed
|
|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
darted
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
nostrils
|
|
| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
hovered
|
|
| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
subsided
|
|
| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
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： |
|
|
|
|
43
sleeper
|
|
| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
lair
|
|
| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
plank
|
|
| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
inmate
|
|
| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
trickling
|
|
| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
crevices
|
|
| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
implement
|
|
| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
frantic
|
|
| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
abode
|
|
| n.住处，住所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
treacherous
|
|
| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
hatchet
|
|
| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
torment
|
|
| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
clenched
|
|
| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
ablaze
|
|
| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
salvation
|
|
| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
proceeding
|
|
| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
exultation
|
|
| n.狂喜，得意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
scrambled
|
|
| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
groan
|
|
| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |