It was the very next day after the conversation in the library that the waggonette was sent over to Cove2 to meet the steamer and fetch Mrs Moss3, who was expected to arrive. As Ian Anderson and Donald with the ragged4 head had to return home that day, they were offered a lift by their friend Roderick.
“I wad raither waalk, Rodereek,” said Ian; “but I dar’ say I may as weel tak a lift as far as the Cluff; chump up, Tonal’.”
Donald was not slow to obey. Although active and vigorous as a mountain goat, he had no objection to repose5 under agreeable conditions.
“What think ye o’ the keeper this time, Rodereek?” asked the boatman as they drove away.
“Oo, it wull be the same as last time,” answered the groom6. “He’ll haud on for a while, an’ then he wull co pack like the soo to her wallowin’ i’ the mire7.”
“I doubt ye’re richt,” returned Ian, with a solemn shake of the head. “He’s an unstiddy character, an’ he hes naither the fear o’ Cod8 nor man pefore his eyes. But he’s a plees’nt man when he likes.”
“Oo, ay, but there iss not in him the wull to give up the trink. He hes given it up more than wance before, an’ failed. He will co from pad to worse in my opinion. There iss no hope for him, I fear.”
“Fery likely,” and on the strength of that opinion Ian drew a flask9 from his pocket, and the two cronies had what the groom called a “tram” together.
Farther up the steep road they overtook John Barret and Giles Jackman, who saluted10 them with pleasant platitudes11 about the weather as they passed. Curiously12 enough, these two chanced to be conversing13 on the very subject that had engaged the thoughts of Ian and the groom.
“They say this is not the first time that poor Ivor has dashed his bottle to pieces,” said Barret. “I fear it has become a disease in this case, and that he has lost the power of self-control. From all I hear I have little hope of him. It is all the more sad that he seems to have gained the affections of that poor little girl, Aggy Anderson.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Giles, laughing; “a fellow-feeling makes you wondrous14 sharp, I suppose, for I had not observed that interesting fact. But why do you speak in such pitiful tones of Aggy?”
“No, not quite, because she has almost recovered her usual health while here, and poor Ivor is, after all, only one of the sinners for whom Jesus Christ died. I have great hopes of him.”
“I’m glad to hear you say so, Jackman, though I don’t see that the fact of our Saviour16’s dying for us all proves his case to be hopeful. Are there not hundreds of men of whom the same may be said, yet they are not delivered from drunkenness, and don’t seem likely to be?”
“That is unquestionably true,” rejoined his friend; “but such men as you refer to have not been brought to the condition of renouncing17 self, and trusting only in our Saviour. They want to have some credit in the matter of their own salvation—hence they fail. Ivor, I have good reason to believe, has been brought to that condition—a condition which insures success—hence my great hopes of him. I became aware of his state of mind, partly from having had a long talk with him the other day, and partly from the report of his good old mother. She told me yesterday that Ivor had come to her, laid his hand on her shoulder, and said, ‘Mither, I’ve lost all hope o’ mysel’ noo,’ to which the old woman answered, ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard for mony a day, my son, for noo the Lord wull let ye see what He can do for ye.’ Ivor’s reply to that was, ‘I believe ye’re richt, mither.’ Now I think that was a great deal to come from two such undemonstrative Celts.”
At this point in the conversation they reached a part of the road where a footpath19 diverged20 down to the river, the road itself rising abruptly21 towards the Eagle Cliff.
“We separate here,” said Jackman. “I need scarcely ask where you are going, or what going to do! Botany, coupled with inaccessible22 cliffs, seems to be your mania23 just now. Oh! John Barret, my friend, may I not with truth, in your case, paraphrase24 a well-known couplet,—
“Milly in the heart breeds Milly in the brain,
And this reciprocally that again?”
“Your paraphrases25 are about equal to your compositions, Jackman, and, in saying that, I don’t compliment you. Pray, may I ask why you have forsaken26 your favourite weapon, the gun, and taken to the rod to-day?”
“Because of amiability—pure and simple. You know I don’t care a rush for fishing, but, to my surprise, this morning MacRummle expressed a wish to try my repeating rifle at the rabbits, and offered to let me try his rod, and—I might almost add—his river. Wasn’t it generous of him? So I’m off to have a try for ‘that salmon,’ and he is off no one knows where, to send the terrified rabbits into their holes. Good-bye, old fellow—a pleasant day to you.”
Left alone, Barret began to devote himself to the cliffs. It was arduous27 work, for the said cliffs were almost perpendicular28, and plants grew in such high-up crevices29, and on such un-get-at-able places, that it seemed as if “rare specimens” knew their own value, as well as the great demand for them, and selected their habitations accordingly.
It was pleasant work, and our hero revelled31 in it! To be in such exceptional circumstances, with the grand cliffs above and below him, with no one near, save the lordly eagle himself, to watch his doings, with the wild sweeps of mountain-land everywhere, clothed with bracken, heather, and birch, and backed by the island-studded sea; with the fresh air and the bright sun, and brawling32 burns, and bleating33 sheep, and the objects of his favourite science around him, and the strong muscular frame and buoyant spirits that God had given to enable him to enjoy it all, was indeed enough to arouse a feeling of gratitude34 and enthusiasm; but when, in addition to this, the young man knew that he was not merely botanising on his own account, but working at it for Milly, he felt as though he had all but attained36 to the topmost pinnacle37 of felicity!
It is sad to think that in human affairs this condition is not unfrequently the precursor38 of misfortune. It is not necessarily so. Happily, it is not always so. Indeed, we would fain hope that it is not often so, but it was so on this occasion.
Barret had about half filled his botanical box with what he believed to be an interesting collection of plants that would cause the eyes of Milly Moss to sparkle, when the position of the sun and internal sensations induced him to think of his midday meal. It was tied up in a little square paper package. There was a spring at the bottom of the cliffs. It was near the stone where he had met Milly, and had given way to precipitancy. Not far from the spot also where he had made Milly up into a bundle, with a plaid, and started with her towards Kinlossie. No place could be better than that for his solitary39 luncheon40. He would go there.
Descending41 the cliffs, he gained the road, and was walking along towards the selected spot, when the sound of wheels arrested him. Looking up, he saw the waggonette turn sharp round the projecting cliff, and approach him at a walk. He experienced a little depression of spirit, for there was no one in it, only the groom on the box. Milly would be sorely disappointed!
“Oo, ay, sir, she’s come. But she iss a queer leddy. She’s been chumpin’ in an’ oot o’ the waginette a’ the way up, like a whutret, to admire the scenery, as she says. When we cam’ to the heed44 o’ the pass she chumped oot again, an’ telt me to drive on slow, an wait at the futt o’ the first hull45 for her. She’s no far ahint.”
“I’ll go and meet her. You can drive on, slowly.”
Barret hurried forward with feelings of considerable uncertainty46 as to whether this chance of meeting his mother-in-law to be (he hoped!) alone, and in these peculiar47 circumstances, would be an advantage or otherwise. She might be annoyed by a sudden interruption in “admiring the scenery.” There would be the awkwardness of having to introduce himself, and she might be fatigued48 after all her “chumpin’” in and out of the waggonette.
He was still pondering these points while he walked smartly forward, turned the projecting cliff above referred to, and all but overturned the identical little old lady whom he had run down on his bicycle, weeks before, in London!
To say that these two drew back and gazed at each other intently—the lady quivering and pale, the youth aghast and red—is to give but a feeble account of the situation.
“Young man,” she said, indignantly, in a low, repressed voice, “you have a peculiar talent for assaulting ladies.”
“Madam,” explained the youth, growing desperate, “you are right. I certainly have a talent—at least a misfortune—of that sort—”
He stopped short, for, being quite overwhelmed, he knew not what to say.
“It is sad,” continued the little old lady in a tone of contempt, “that a youth like you should so much belie18 your looks. It was so mean of you to run away without a word of apology, just like a bad little boy, for fear of being scolded—not that I cared much for being run down with that horrid49 bicycle, for I was not hurt—though I might have been killed—but it was the cowardly way in which you left me lying helpless among bakers50, and sweeps, and policemen, and dirty boys. Oh! it was disgraceful.”
Poor Barret became more and more overwhelmed as she went on.
“Spare me, madam,” he cried, in desperation. “Oh; if you only knew what I have suffered on your account since that unlucky day! Believe me, it was not cowardice—well, I cannot say that exactly—but it was not the fear of your just reproaches that made me fly. It was the approach of the police, and the fear of being taken up, and a public trial, and the disgrace of—of—and—then I felt ashamed before I had fled more than a few hundred yards, and I returned to the spot, but you were gone, and I had no means of—of—”
“That will do, young man. There is no need to keep me standing51 in this wild place. You are living somewhere in this neighbourhood, I suppose?”
“Yes. I am living in the neighbourhood,” said Barret bitterly.
“Well, I am going to stay at Kinlossie House. You know Kinlossie House, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes, I know it.”
“There is no occasion to look so fierce or bitter, young sir. I am going to be at Kinlossie for some time. If you choose to call there, I shall be ready to listen to your explanations and apologies, for I have no desire to appear either harsh or unforgiving. Meanwhile, I wish you good morning.”
Saying which, and with a sweeping52 bow of a rather antiquated53 style, the offended lady passed on.
For a considerable time Barret stood motionless, with folded arms, “admiring the scenery” with a stony54 stare. A stone about the size of his fist lay at his foot. He suddenly kicked that violently into space. Had it been the size of his head, he would probably not have kicked it! Then he gave vent55 to a wild laugh, became suddenly grave, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and walked up the road with clenched56 teeth and a deadly stride.
Mrs Moss heard the laugh as it echoed among the great cliffs.
“What a dreadful young man!” she muttered, hurrying forward.
She thought of asking her driver who he was, but she had found Roderick to be a very taciturn Highlander57. He had not shown much disposition58 to converse59 on the way up, and his speech had not been very intelligible60 to her English—or Anglicised—ears. She re-entered the waggonette, therefore, in silence. Roderick drove on also in silence, although much surprised that the “young shentleman” had not returned with the “leddy.” But that was none of his business “what-?-ver.”
As the little old lady brooded over the matter, she resolved to say nothing of the meeting to Milly. She happened to possess a spice of humour, and thought it might be well to wait until the youth should call, and then, after forgiveness sought and obtained, introduce him at Kinlossie as the young man who ran her down in London!
Meanwhile Barret walked himself into a better state of mind, clambered to a nook on the face of one of the cliffs, and sat down to meditate61 and consider what was best to be done.
Although he had not gone out that day to shoot, but to botanise, he carried a light double-barrelled shot gun, in case he might get a chance at a hare, which was always acceptable to the lady of Kinlossie.
While the incidents just described were being enacted62 at the base of the Eagle Cliff higher up, on a distant part of the same cliff, MacRummle might have been seen prowling among the grey rocks, with the spirit of Nimrod, and the aspect of Bacchus.
It was the habit of MacRummle, being half blind, to supplement his vision with that peculiar kind of glasses which support—or refuse to support—themselves on the human countenance63 by means of the nose. These, although admirably adapted for reading, and even for quietly fishing by the river-side, he found to be miserably64 unsuited for sporting among the cliffs, for they were continually tumbling off as he stumbled along, or were twitched65 off by his rifle when he was in the act of making false points.
Perseverance66 was, however, the strong point in the old man’s character—if it had a strong point at all. He replaced the glasses perpetually, and kept pointing persistently67. He did little more than point, because the thing that he pointed42 at, whatever it was, usually got out of the way before MacRummle obtained a reliable aim. With a shot gun he might have done better, for that weapon admits of snap-shooting, with some chance of success, even in feeble hands. But the old man was ambitious. His object was to “pot” something, as he expressed it, with a single ball. Of course it was not all pointing. He did fire occasionally, with no other result than awaking the echoes and terrifying the rabbits. But the memory of his former success with the same weapon was strong upon him, and perseverance, as we have said, was rampant68. On the whole, the fusillade that he kept up was considerable, much to the amusement of Barret (before meeting Mrs Moss!), who rightly guessed the cause of all the noise.
About midday, like Barret, he prepared to comfort himself with lunch, and, unlike our unfortunate hero, he enjoyed it in comfort, sitting on a green patch or terrace, high up near the summit of the cliffs, and a full mile distant from the spot where the peculiar meeting took place.
Like a giant refreshed MacRummle rose from lunch, a good deal more like Bacchus, and much less like Nimrod. A rabbit had been watching him from the cliff above nearly all the time he was eating. It moved quietly into its burrow69 when he rose, though there was no occasion to do so, because, although within easy rifle shot, MacRummle did not see it. When the sportsman was past, the rabbit came out and looked after him.
Fixing his glasses firmly he advanced in that stooping posture70, with the rifle at the “ready,” which is so characteristic of keen sportsmen! Next moment a rabbit stood before him—an easy shot. It sat up on its hind71 legs even, as if inviting72 its fate, and gazed as though uncertain whether the man was going to advance or not. He did not advance, but took a steady, deadly aim, and was on the point of pulling the trigger when the glasses dropped off.
MacRummle was wonderfully patient. He said nothing. He merely replaced his glasses and looked. The rabbit was gone. Several surrounding rabbits saw it go, but did not follow its example. They evidently felt themselves safe.
Proceeding73 cautiously onward74, the sportsman again caught sight of one of the multitude that surrounded him. It was seated on the edge of its burrow, ready for retreat. Alas75! for that rabbit, if MacRummle had been an average shot, armed with a shot gun. But it was ignorant, and with the characteristic presumption76 of ignorance, it sat still. The sportsman took a careful and long—very long—aim, and fired! The rabbit’s nose pointed to the world’s centre, its tail to the sky, and when the smoke cleared away, it also was gone.
“Fallen into its hole! Dead, I suppose,” was the remark with which the sportsman sought to comfort himself. A bullet-mark on a rock, however, two feet to the left of the hole, and about a foot too high, shook his faith a little in this view.
It was impossible, however, that a man should expend77 so much ammunition78 in a region swarming79 with his particular prey80 without experiencing something in the shape of a fluke. He did, after a time, get one shot which was effectual. A young rabbit sat on the top of a mound81 looking at him with an air of impudence82 which is sometimes associated with extreme youth. A fat old kinsman83—or woman—was seated in a hollow some distance farther on. MacRummle fired at the young one, missed it, and shot the kinsman through the heart. The disappointment of the old man when he failed to find the young one, and his joy on discovering the kinsman, we leave to the reader’s imagination.
Thus he went on, occasionally securing something for the pot, continually alarming the whole rabbit fraternity, and disgusting the eagle, which watched him from a safe distance in the ambient atmosphere above.
By degrees he worked his way along till he came to the neighbourhood of the place where poor John Barret sat in meditative84 dejection. Although near, however, the two friends could neither see nor get at each other, being separated by an impassable gulf—the one being in a crevice30, as we have said, not far from the foot of the cliff, the other hidden among the crags near the summit. Thus it came to pass that although Barret knew of MacRummle’s position by his noise, the latter was quite ignorant of the presence of the former.
“This is horrible!” muttered the youth in his crevice below.
Such is life—viewed from different standpoints! Ay, and correctly estimated, too, according to these different standpoints; for the old man saw only the sunny surrounding of the Present, while the young one gazed into the gloomy wreck86 of the Future.
Being somewhat fatigued, MacRummle betook himself to a sequestered87 ledge88 among the cliffs, and sat down under a shrub89 to rest. It chanced to be a well concealed90 spot. He remained quietly there for a considerable time, discussing with himself the relative advantages of fishing and shooting. It is probable that his sudden disappearance91 and his prolonged absence induced the eagle to imagine that he had gone away, for that watchful92 bird, after several circlings on outstretched and apparently93 motionless wings, made a magnificent swoop94 downwards95, and again resumed its floating action in the lower strata96 of its atmospheric97 world. There it devoted98 its exclusive attention to the young man, whose position was clearly exposed to its view.
As he sat there in gloomy thought, Barret chanced to raise his eyes, and observed the bird high above him—far out of gunshot.
“Fortunate creature!” he said aloud; “whatever may be the troubles of your lot, you are at least safe from exasperating99 rencontres with your future mother-in-law!”
We need not point out to the intelligent reader that Barret, being quite ignorant of the eagle’s domestic relations, indulged in mere35 assumptions in the bitterness of his soul.
“Far beyond range,” he said, lowering the gun again; “but even if you were only four yards from the muzzle101, I would not fire, poor bird! Did not Milly say you were noble, and that it would be worse than murder to kill you? No, you are safe from me, at all events, even if you were not so wary102 as to keep yourself safe from everybody. And yet, methinks, if MacRummle were still up there, he would have the chance of giving you a severe fright, though he has not the skill to bring you down.”
Now it is well-known to trappers and backwoodsmen generally that the most wary of foxes, which cannot by any means be caught by one trap, may sometimes be circumvented103 by two traps. It is the same with decoys, whether these be placed intentionally104, or place themselves accidentally. On this occasion Barret acted the part of a decoy, all unwittingly to that eagle or to MacRummle.
In its extreme interest in the youth’s proceedings105 the great bird soared straight over his head, and slowly approached the old man’s position. MacRummle was not on the alert. He never was on the alert! but his eyes chanced to be gazing in the right direction, and his glasses happened to be on. He saw it coming—something big and black! He grasped his repeater and knocked his glasses off.
Bang!
The man who was half blind, who had scarcely used gun or rifle all his life, achieved that which dead shots and ardent108 sportsmen had tried in vain for years—he shot the eagle right through the heart, and that, too, with a single bullet!
Straight down it fell with a tremendous flutter, and disappeared over the edge of its native cliff.
MacRummle went on his knees, and, craning his neck, replaced his glasses; but nothing whatever could be seen, save the misty109 void below. Shrinking back from the giddy position, he rose and pulled out his watch.
“Let me see,” he muttered, “it will take me a full hour to go round so as to reach the bottom. No; too late. I’ll go home, and send the keeper for it in the morning. The eagle may have picked its bones by that time, to be sure; but after all, a raven is not much of a trophy.”
While he was thus debating, a very different scene was taking place below.
Barret had been gazing up at the eagle when the shot was fired. He saw the spout110 of smoke. He heard the crashing shot and echoes, and beheld111 the eagle descending like a thunder-bolt. After that he saw and heard no more, for, in reaching forward to see round a projecting rock that interfered112 with his vision, his foot slipped, and he fell headlong from the cliff. He had not far to fall, indeed, and a whin bush broke the force of the shock when he did strike; but he was rendered insensible, and rolled down the remainder of the slope to the bottom. There he lay bruised113, bleeding, and motionless on the grass, close to the road, with his bent114 and broken gun beneath him, and the dead eagle not more than a dozen yards from his side!
“It is not like Barret to be late,” observed the laird that evening, as he consulted his watch. “He is punctuality itself, as a rule. He must have fallen in with some unusually interesting plants. But we can’t wait. Order dinner, my dear, for I’m sure that my sister must be very hungry after her voyage.”
“Indeed I am,” returned the little old lady, with a peculiar smile. “Sea-sickness is the best tonic115 I know of, but it is an awful medicine to take.”
“Almost as good as mountain air,” remarked MacRummle, as they filed out of the drawing-room. “I do wish I had managed to bring that raven home.”
At first the party at dinner was as merry as usual. The sportsmen were graphic116 in recounting the various incidents of the day; Mrs Moss was equally graphic on the horrors of the sea; MacRummle was eulogistic117 of repeating rifles, and inclined to be boastful about the raven, which he hoped to show them on the morrow, while Milly proved herself, as usual, a beautiful and interested listener, as well as a most hearty118 laugher.
But as the feast went on they became less noisy. Then a feeling of uneasiness manifested itself, but no one ventured to suggest that anything might have occurred to the absentee until the evening had deepened into night. Then the laird started up suddenly. “Something must have happened to our friend,” he exclaimed, at the same time ringing the bell violently. “He has never been late before, and however far he may have gone a-field, there has been more than time for him to return at his slowest pace. Duncan,” (as the butler entered), “turn out all the men and boys as fast as you can. Tell Roderick to get lanterns ready—as many as you have. Gentlemen, we must all go on this search without another moment’s delay!”
There is little need to say that Barret’s friends and comrades were not slow to respond to the call. In less than a quarter of an hour they were dispersed119, searching every part of the Eagle Cliff, where he had been last seen by Giles Jackman.
They found him at last, pale and blood-stained, making ineffectual efforts to crawl from the spot where he had fallen, both the eagle and the broken gun being found beside him.
“No bones broken, thank God!” said Giles, after having examined him and bound up his wounds. “But he is too weak to be questioned. Now, lads, fetch the two poles and the plaid. I’ll soon contrive120 a litter.”
“All right, old fellow! God bless you!” said Barret, faintly, as his friend bent over him.
Roderick and Ivor raised him softly, and, with the eagle at his side, bore him towards Kinlossie House. Soon after, their heavy tramp was heard in the hall as they carried him to his room, and laid him gently in bed.
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catastrophes
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| n.灾祸( catastrophe的名词复数 )；灾难；不幸事件；困难 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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platitudes
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| n.平常的话，老生常谈，陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 )；滥套子 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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renouncing
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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belie
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| v.掩饰，证明为假 | |
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footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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diverged
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| 分开( diverge的过去式和过去分词 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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paraphrase
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| vt.将…释义，改写；n.释义，意义 | |
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paraphrases
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| n.释义，意译( paraphrase的名词复数 )v.释义，意译( paraphrase的第三人称单数 ) | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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32
brawling
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| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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33
bleating
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的现在分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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34
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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35
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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36
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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37
pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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38
precursor
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| n.先驱者；前辈；前任；预兆；先兆 | |
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39
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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40
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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41
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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42
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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43
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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44
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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45
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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46
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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47
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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48
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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49
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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50
bakers
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| n.面包师( baker的名词复数 )；面包店；面包店店主；十三 | |
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51
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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52
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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53
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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54
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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55
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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56
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
highlander
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| n.高地的人，苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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58
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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59
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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60
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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61
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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62
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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64
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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66
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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67
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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68
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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69
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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71
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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72
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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73
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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74
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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75
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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76
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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77
expend
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| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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78
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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79
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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80
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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81
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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82
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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83
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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84
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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85
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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86
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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87
sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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88
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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89
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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90
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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91
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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92
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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93
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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94
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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95
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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96
strata
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| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
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97
atmospheric
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| adj.大气的，空气的；大气层的；大气所引起的 | |
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98
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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99
exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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100
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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101
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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102
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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103
circumvented
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| v.设法克服或避免（某事物），回避( circumvent的过去式和过去分词 )；绕过，绕行，绕道旅行 | |
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104
intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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105
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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106
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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107
trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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108
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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109
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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110
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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111
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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112
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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113
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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114
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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115
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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116
graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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117
eulogistic
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| adj.颂扬的，颂词的 | |
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118
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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119
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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120
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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