Or, The House and the Brain
A friend of mine, who is a man of letters and a philosopher, said to me one day, as if between jest and earnest, "Fancy! since we last met I have discovered a haunted house in the midst of London."
"Really haunted,—and by what?—ghosts?"
"Well, I can't answer that question; all I know is this: six weeks ago my wife and I were in search of a furnished apartment. Passing a quiet street, we saw on the window of one of the houses a bill, 'Apartments, Furnished.' The situation suited us; we entered the house, liked the rooms, engaged them by the week,—and left them the third day. No power on earth could have reconciled my wife to stay longer; and I don't wonder at it."
"What did you see?"
"Excuse me; I have no desire to be ridiculed2 as a superstitious3 dreamer,—nor, on the other hand, could I ask you to accept on my affirmation what you would hold to be incredible without the evidence of your own senses. Let me only say this, it was not so much what we saw or heard (in which you might fairly suppose that we were the dupes of our own excited fancy, or the victims of imposture5 in others) that drove us away, as it was an indefinable terror which seized both of us whenever we passed by the door of a certain unfurnished room, in which we neither saw nor heard anything. And the strangest marvel6 of all was, that for once in my life I agreed with my wife, silly woman though she be,—and allowed, after the third night, that it was impossible to stay a fourth in that house. Accordingly, on the fourth morning I summoned the woman who kept the house and attended on us, and told her that the rooms did not quite suit us, and we would not stay out our week. She said dryly, 'I know why; you have stayed longer than any other lodger7. Few ever stayed a second night; none before you a third. But I take it they have been very kind to you.'
"'They,—who?' I asked, affecting to smile.
"'Why, they who haunt the house, whoever they are. I don't mind them. I remember them many years ago, when I lived in this house, not as a servant; but I know they will be the death of me some day. I don't care,—I'm old, and must die soon anyhow; and then I shall be with them, and in this house still.' The woman spoke8 with so dreary9 a calmness that really it was a sort of awe10 that prevented my conversing11 with her further. I paid for my week, and too happy were my wife and I to get off so cheaply."
"You excite my curiosity," said I; "nothing I should like better than to sleep in a haunted house. Pray give me the address of the one which you left so ignominiously12."
My friend gave me the address; and when we parted, I walked straight toward the house thus indicated.
It is situated13 on the north side of Oxford14 Street, in a dull but respectable thoroughfare. I found the house shut up,—no bill at the window, and no response to my knock. As I was turning away, a beer-boy, collecting pewter pots at the neighboring areas, said to me, "Do you want any one at that house, sir?"
"Yes, I heard it was to be let."
"Let!—why, the woman who kept it is dead,—has been dead these three weeks, and no one can be found to stay there, though Mr. J—— offered ever so much. He offered mother, who chars16 for him, one pound a week just to open and shut the windows, and she would not."
"Would not!—and why?"
"The house is haunted; and the old woman who kept it was found dead in her bed, with her eyes wide open. They say the devil strangled her."
"Pooh! You speak of Mr. J——. Is he the owner of the house?"
"Yes."
"Where does he live?"
"In G—— Street, No. —."
"What is he? In any business?"
"No, sir,—nothing particular; a single gentleman."
I gave the potboy the gratuity17 earned by his liberal information, and proceeded to Mr. J—— , in G—— Street, which was close by the street that boasted the haunted house. I was lucky enough to find Mr. J—— at home,—an elderly man with intelligent countenance18 and prepossessing manners.
I communicated my name and my business frankly19. I said I heard the house was considered to be haunted, that I had a strong desire to examine a house with so equivocal a reputation; that I should be greatly obliged if he would allow me to hire it, though only for a night. I was willing to pay for that privilege whatever he might be inclined to ask. "Sir," said Mr. J——, with great courtesy, "the house is at your service, for as short or as long a time as you please. Rent is out of the question,—the obligation will be on my side should you be able to discover the cause of the strange phenomena20 which at present deprive it of all value. I cannot let it, for I cannot even get a servant to keep it in order or answer the door. Unluckily the house is haunted, if I may use that expression, not only by night, but by day; though at night the disturbances21 are of a more unpleasant and sometimes of a more alarming character. The poor old woman who died in it three weeks ago was a pauper22 whom I took out of a workhouse; for in her childhood she had been known to some of my family, and had once been in such good circumstances that she had rented that house of my uncle. She was a woman of superior education and strong mind, and was the only person I could ever induce to remain in the house. Indeed, since her death, which was sudden, and the coroner's inquest, which gave it a notoriety in the neighborhood, I have so despaired of finding any person to take charge of the house, much more a tenant23, that I would willingly let it rent free for a year to anyone who would pay its rates and taxes."
"That I can scarcely tell you, but very many years since. The old woman I spoke of, said it was haunted when she rented it between thirty and forty years ago. The fact is, that my life has been spent in the East Indies, and in the civil service of the Company. I returned to England last year, on inheriting the fortune of an uncle, among whose possessions was the house in question. I found it shut up and uninhabited. I was told that it was haunted, that no one would inhabit it. I smiled at what seemed to me so idle a story. I spent some money in repairing it, added to its old- fashioned furniture a few modern articles,—advertised it, and obtained a lodger for a year. He was a colonel on half pay. He came in with his family, a son and a daughter, and four or five servants: they all left the house the next day; and, although each of them declared that he had seen something different from that which had scared the others, a something still was equally terrible to all. I really could not in conscience sue, nor even blame, the colonel for breach25 of agreement. Then I put in the old woman I have spoken of, and she was empowered to let the house in apartments. I never had one lodger who stayed more than three days. I do not tell you their stories,—to no two lodgers26 have there been exactly the same phenomena repeated. It is better that you should judge for yourself, than enter the house with an imagination influenced by previous narratives27; only be prepared to see and to hear something or other, and take whatever precautions you yourself please."
"Have you never had a curiosity yourself to pass a night in that house?"
"Yes. I passed not a night, but three hours in broad daylight alone in that house. My curiosity is not satisfied, but it is quenched28. I have no desire to renew the experiment. You cannot complain, you see, sir, that I am not sufficiently29 candid30; and unless your interest be exceedingly eager and your nerves unusually strong, I honestly add, that I advise you NOT to pass a night in that house.
"My interest IS exceedingly keen," said I; "and though only a coward will boast of his nerves in situations wholly unfamiliar31 to him, yet my nerves have been seasoned in such variety of danger that I have the right to rely on them,—even in a haunted house."
Mr. J—— said very little more; he took the keys of the house out of his bureau, gave them to me,—and, thanking him cordially for his frankness, and his urbane32 concession33 to my wish, I carried off my prize.
Impatient for the experiment, as soon as I reached home, I summoned my confidential34 servant,—a young man of gay spirits, fearless temper, and as free from superstitious prejudice as anyone I could think of.
F——," said I, "you remember in Germany how disappointed we were at not finding a ghost in that old castle, which was said to be haunted by a headless apparition36? Well, I have heard of a house in London which, I have reason to hope, is decidedly haunted. I mean to sleep there to-night. From what I hear, there is no doubt that something will allow itself to be seen or to be heard,—something, perhaps, excessively horrible. Do you think if I take you with me, I may rely on your presence of mind, whatever may happen?"
"Oh, sir, pray trust me," answered F——, grinning with delight.
"Very well; then here are the keys of the house,—this is the address. Go now,—select for me any bedroom you please; and since the house has not been inhabited for weeks, make up a good fire, air the bed well,—see, of course, that there are candles as well as fuel. Take with you my revolver and my dagger38,—so much for my weapons; arm yourself equally well; and if we are not a match for a dozen ghosts, we shall be but a sorry couple of Englishmen.
I was engaged for the rest of the day on business so urgent that I had not leisure to think much on the nocturnal adventure to which I had plighted39 my honor. I dined alone, and very late, and while dining, read, as is my habit. I selected one of the volumes of Macaulay's Essays. I thought to myself that I would take the book with me; there was so much of healthfulness in the style, and practical life in the subjects, that it would serve as an antidote40 against the influences of superstitious fancy.
Accordingly, about half-past nine, I put the book into my pocket, and strolled leisurely41 toward the haunted house. I took with me a favorite dog: an exceedingly sharp, bold, and vigilant42 bull terrier,—a dog fond of prowling about strange, ghostly corners and passages at night in search of rats; a dog of dogs for a ghost.
I reached the house, knocked, and my servant opened with a cheerful smile.
We did not stay long in the drawing-rooms,—in fact, they felt so damp and so chilly44 that I was glad to get to the fire upstairs. We locked the doors of the drawing-rooms,—a precaution which, I should observe, we had taken with all the rooms we had searched below. The bedroom my servant had selected for me was the best on the floor,—a large one, with two windows fronting the street. The four-posted bed, which took up no inconsiderable space, was opposite to the fire, which burned clear and bright; a door in the wall to the left, between the bed and the window, communicated with the room which my servant appropriated to himself. This last was a small room with a sofa bed, and had no communication with the landing place,—no other door but that which conducted to the bedroom I was to occupy. On either side of my fireplace was a cupboard without locks, flush with the wall, and covered with the same dull-brown paper. We examined these cupboards,—only hooks to suspend female dresses, nothing else; we sounded the walls,— evidently solid, the outer walls of the building. Having finished the survey of these apartments, warmed myself a few moments, and lighted my cigar, I then, still accompanied by F——, went forth45 to complete my reconnoiter. In the landing place there was another door; it was closed firmly. "Sir," said my servant, in surprise, "I unlocked this door with all the others when I first came; it cannot have got locked from the inside, for—"
Before he had finished his sentence, the door, which neither of us then was touching46, opened quietly of itself. We looked at each other a single instant. The same thought seized both,—some human agency might be detected here. I rushed in first, my servant followed. A small, blank, dreary room without furniture; a few empty boxes and hampers47 in a corner; a small window; the shutters48 closed; not even a fireplace; no other door but that by which we had entered; no carpet on the floor, and the floor seemed very old, uneven49, worm-eaten, mended here and there, as was shown by the whiter patches on the wood; but no living being, and no visible place in which a living being could have hidden. As we stood gazing round, the door by which we had entered closed as quietly as it had before opened; we were imprisoned51.
For the first time I felt a creep of indefinable horror. Not so my servant. "Why, they don't think to trap us, sir; I could break that trumpery52 door with a kick of my foot."
"Try first if it will open to your hand," said I, shaking off the vague apprehension54 that had seized me, "while I unclose the shutters and see what is without."
I unbarred the shutters,—the window looked on the little back yard I have before described; there was no ledge55 without,—nothing to break the sheer descent of the wall. No man getting out of that window would have found any footing till he had fallen on the stones below.
F——, meanwhile, was vainly attempting to open the door. He now turned round to me and asked my permission to use force. And I should here state, in justice to the servant, that, far from evincing any superstitious terrors, his nerve, composure, and even gayety amidst circumstances so extraordinary, compelled my admiration56, and made me congratulate myself on having secured a companion in every way fitted to the occasion. I willingly gave him the permission he required. But though he was a remarkably57 strong man, his force was as idle as his milder efforts; the door did not even shake to his stoutest58 kick. Breathless and panting, he desisted. I then tried the door myself, equally in vain. As I ceased from the effort, again that creep of horror came over me; but this time it was more cold and stubborn. I felt as if some strange and ghastly exhalation were rising up from the chinks of that rugged59 floor, and filling the atmosphere with a venomous influence hostile to human life. The door now very slowly and quietly opened as of its own accord. We precipitated60 ourselves into the landing place. We both saw a large, pale light—as large as the human figure, but shapeless and unsubstantial—move before us, and ascend61 the stairs that led from the landing into the attics62. I followed the light, and my servant followed me. It entered, to the right of the landing, a small garret, of which the door stood open. I entered in the same instant. The light then collapsed63 into a small globule, exceedingly brilliant and vivid, rested a moment on a bed in the corner, quivered, and vanished. We approached the bed and examined it,—a half-tester, such as is commonly found in attics devoted64 to servants. On the drawers that stood near it we perceived an old faded silk kerchief, with the needle still left in a rent half repaired. The kerchief was covered with dust; probably it had belonged to the old woman who had last died in that house, and this might have been her sleeping room. I had sufficient curiosity to open the drawers: there were a few odds65 and ends of female dress, and two letters tied round with a narrow ribbon of faded yellow. I took the liberty to possess myself of the letters. We found nothing else in the room worth noticing,—nor did the light reappear; but we distinctly heard, as we turned to go, a pattering footfall on the floor, just before us. We went through the other attics (in all four), the footfall still preceding us. Nothing to be seen,—nothing but the footfall heard. I had the letters in my hand; just as I was descending66 the stairs I distinctly felt my wrist seized, and a faint, soft effort made to draw the letters from my clasp. I only held them the more tightly, and the effort ceased.
We regained67 the bedchamber appropriated to myself, and I then remarked that my dog had not followed us when we had left it. He was thrusting himself close to the fire, and trembling. I was impatient to examine the letters; and while I read them, my servant opened a little box in which he had deposited the weapons I had ordered him to bring, took them out, placed them on a table close at my bed head, and then occupied himself in soothing69 the dog, who, however, seemed to heed70 him very little.
The letters were short,—they were dated; the dates exactly thirty- five years ago. They were evidently from a lover to his mistress, or a husband to some young wife. Not only the terms of expression, but a distinct reference to a former voyage, indicated the writer to have been a seafarer. The spelling and handwriting were those of a man imperfectly educated, but still the language itself was forcible. In the expressions of endearment72 there was a kind of rough, wild love; but here and there were dark unintelligible73 hints at some secret not of love,—some secret that seemed of crime. "We ought to love each other," was one of the sentences I remember, "for how everyone else would execrate74 us if all was known." Again: "Don't let anyone be in the same room with you at night,—you talk in your sleep." And again: "What's done can't be undone75; and I tell you there's nothing against us unless the dead could come to life." Here there was underlined in a better handwriting (a female's), "They do!" At the end of the letter latest in date the same female hand had written these words: "Lost at sea the 4th of June, the same day as—"
Fearing, however, that the train of thought into which I fell might unsteady my nerves, I fully77 determined78 to keep my mind in a fit state to cope with whatever of marvelous the advancing night might bring forth. I roused myself; laid the letters on the table; stirred up the fire, which was still bright and cheering; and opened my volume of Macaulay. I read quietly enough till about half past eleven. I then threw myself dressed upon the bed, and told my servant he might retire to his own room, but must keep himself awake. I bade him leave open the door between the two rooms. Thus alone, I kept two candles burning on the table by my bed head. I placed my watch beside the weapons, and calmly resumed my Macaulay. Opposite to me the fire burned clear; and on the hearth79 rug, seemingly asleep, lay the dog. In about twenty minutes I felt an exceedingly cold air pass by my cheek, like a sudden draught80. I fancied the door to my right, communicating with the landing place, must have got open; but no,—it was closed. I then turned my glance to my left, and saw the flame of the candles violently swayed as by a wind. At the same moment the watch beside the revolver softly slid from the table,—softly, softly; no visible hand,—it was gone. I sprang up, seizing the revolver with the one hand, the dagger with the other; I was not willing that my weapons should share the fate of the watch. Thus armed, I looked round the floor,—no sign of the watch. Three slow, loud, distinct knocks were now heard at the bed head; my servant called out, "Is that you, sir?"
"No; be on your guard."
The dog now roused himself and sat on his haunches, his ears moving quickly backward and forward. He kept his eyes fixed81 on me with a look so strange that he concentered all my attention on himself. Slowly he rose up, all his hair bristling82, and stood perfectly71 rigid83, and with the same wild stare. I had no time, however, to examine the dog. Presently my servant emerged from his room; and if ever I saw horror in the human face, it was then. I should not have recognized him had we met in the street, so altered was every lineament. He passed by me quickly, saying, in a whisper that seemed scarcely to come from his lips, "Run, run! it is after me!" He gained the door to the landing, pulled it open, and rushed forth. I followed him into the landing involuntarily, calling him to stop; but, without heeding84 me, he bounded down the stairs, clinging to the balusters, and taking several steps at a time. I heard, where I stood, the street door open,—heard it again clap to. I was left alone in the haunted house.
It was but for a moment that I remained undecided whether or not to follow my servant; pride and curiosity alike forbade so dastardly a flight. I re-entered my room, closing the door after me, and proceeded cautiously into the interior chamber68. I encountered nothing to justify85 my servant's terror. I again carefully examined the walls, to see if there were any concealed86 door. I could find no trace of one,—not even a seam in the dull-brown paper with which the room was hung. How, then, had the THING, whatever it was, which had so scared him, obtained ingress except though my own chamber?
I returned to my room, shut and locked the door that opened upon the interior one, and stood on the hearth, expectant and prepared. I now perceived that the dog had slunk into an angle of the wall, and was pressing himself close against it, as if literally87 striving to force his way into it. I approached the animal and spoke to it; the poor brute88 was evidently beside itself with terror. It showed all its teeth, the slaver dropping from its jaws90, and would certainly have bitten me if I had touched it. It did not seem to recognize me. Whoever has seen at the Zoological Gardens a rabbit, fascinated by a serpent, cowering91 in a corner, may form some idea of the anguish92 which the dog exhibited. Finding all efforts to soothe93 the animal in vain, and fearing that his bite might be as venomous in that state as in the madness of hydrophobia, I left him alone, placed my weapons on the table beside the fire, seated myself, and recommenced my Macaulay.
Perhaps, in order not to appear seeking credit for a courage, or rather a coolness, which the reader may conceive I exaggerate, I may be pardoned if I pause to indulge in one or two egotistical remarks.
As I hold presence of mind, or what is called courage, to be precisely94 proportioned to familiarity with the circumstances that lead to it, so I should say that I had been long sufficiently familiar with all experiments that appertain to the marvelous. I had witnessed many very extraordinary phenomena in various parts of the world,—phenomena that would be either totally disbelieved if I stated them, or ascribed to supernatural agencies. Now, my theory is that the supernatural is the impossible, and that what is called supernatural is only a something in the laws of Nature of which we have been hitherto ignorant. Therefore, if a ghost rise before me, I have not the right to say, "So, then, the supernatural is possible;" but rather, "So, then, the apparition of a ghost is, contrary to received opinion, within the laws of Nature,—that is, not supernatural."
Now, in all that I had hitherto witnessed, and indeed in all the wonders which the amateurs of mystery in our age record as facts, a material living agency is always required. On the Continent you will find still magicians who assert that they can raise spirits. Assume for the moment that they assert truly, still the living material form of the magician is present; and he is the material agency by which, from some constitutional peculiarities95, certain strange phenomena are represented to your natural senses.
Accept, again, as truthful97, the tales of spirit manifestation98 in America,—musical or other sounds; writings on paper, produced by no discernible hand; articles of furniture moved without apparent human agency; or the actual sight and touch of hands, to which no bodies seem to belong,—still there must be found the MEDIUM, or living being, with constitutional peculiarities capable of obtaining these signs. In fine, in all such marvels99, supposing even that there is no imposture, there must be a human being like ourselves by whom, or through whom, the effects presented to human beings are produced. It is so with the now familiar phenomena of mesmerism or electro-biology; the mind of the person operated on is affected100 through a material living agent. Nor, supposing it true that a mesmerized101 patient can respond to the will or passes of a mesmerizer102 a hundred miles distant, is the response less occasioned by a material being; it may be through a material fluid—call it Electric, call it Odic, call it what you will—which has the power of traversing space and passing obstacles, that the material effect is communicated from one to the other. Hence, all that I had hitherto witnessed, or expected to witness, in this strange house, I believed to be occasioned through some agency or medium as mortal as myself; and this idea necessarily prevented the awe with which those who regard as supernatural things that are not within the ordinary operations of Nature, might have been impressed by the adventures of that memorable103 night.
As, then, it was my conjecture104 that all that was presented, or would be presented to my senses, must originate in some human being gifted by constitution with the power so to present them, and having some motive105 so to do, I felt an interest in my theory which, in its way, was rather philosophical106 than superstitious. And I can sincerely say that I was in as tranquil107 a temper for observation as any practical experimentalist could be in awaiting the effects of some rare, though perhaps perilous108, chemical combination. Of course, the more I kept my mind detached from fancy, the more the temper fitted for observation would be obtained; and I therefore riveted110 eye and thought on the strong daylight sense in the page of my Macaulay.
I now became aware that something interposed between the page and the light,—the page was overshadowed. I looked up, and I saw what I shall find it very difficult, perhaps impossible, to describe.
It was a Darkness shaping itself forth from the air in very undefined outline. I cannot say it was of a human form, and yet it had more resemblance to a human form, or rather shadow, than to anything else. As it stood, wholly apart and distinct from the air and the light around it, its dimensions seemed gigantic, the summit nearly touching the ceiling. While I gazed, a feeling of intense cold seized me. An iceberg111 before me could not more have chilled me; nor could the cold of an iceberg have been more purely112 physical. I feel convinced that it was not the cold caused by fear. As I continued to gaze, I thought—but this I cannot say with precision—that I distinguished113 two eyes looking down on me from the height. One moment I fancied that I distinguished them clearly, the next they seemed gone; but still two rays of a pale- blue light frequently shot through the darkness, as from the height on which I half believed, half doubted, that I had encountered the eyes.
I strove to speak,—my voice utterly114 failed me; I could only think to myself, "Is this fear? It is NOT fear!" I strove to rise,—in vain; I felt as if weighed down by an irresistible115 force. Indeed, my impression was that of an immense and overwhelming Power opposed to my volition116,—that sense of utter inadequacy117 to cope with a force beyond man's, which one may feel PHYSICALLY118 in a storm at sea, in a conflagration119, or when confronting some terrible wild beast, or rather, perhaps, the shark of the ocean, I felt MORALLY. Opposed to my will was another will, as far superior to its strength as storm, fire, and shark are superior in material force to the force of man.
And now, as this impression grew on me,—now came, at last, horror, horror to a degree that no words can convey. Still I retained pride, if not courage; and in my own mind I said, "This is horror; but it is not fear; unless I fear I cannot be harmed; my reason rejects this thing; it is an illusion,—I do not fear." With a violent effort I succeeded at last in stretching out my hand toward the weapon on the table; as I did so, on the arm and shoulder I received a strange shock, and my arm fell to my side powerless. And now, to add to my horror, the light began slowly to wane120 from the candles,—they were not, as it were, extinguished, but their flame seemed very gradually withdrawn121; it was the same with the fire,—the light was extracted from the fuel; in a few minutes the room was in utter darkness. The dread123 that came over me, to be thus in the dark with that dark Thing, whose power was so intensely felt, brought a reaction of nerve. In fact, terror had reached that climax124, that either my senses must have deserted125 me, or I must have burst through the spell. I did burst through it. I found voice, though the voice was a shriek126. I remember that I broke forth with words like these, "I do not fear, my soul does not fear"; and at the same time I found strength to rise. Still in that profound gloom I rushed to one of the windows; tore aside the curtain; flung open the shutters; my first thought was—LIGHT. And when I saw the moon high, clear, and calm, I felt a joy that almost compensated127 for the previous terror. There was the moon, there was also the light from the gas lamps in the deserted slumberous128 street. I turned to look back into the room; the moon penetrated129 its shadow very palely and partially—but still there was light. The dark Thing, whatever it might be, was gone,—except that I could yet see a dim shadow, which seemed the shadow of that shade, against the opposite wall.
My eye now rested on the table, and from under the table (which was without cloth or cover,—an old mahogany round table) there rose a hand, visible as far as the wrist. It was a hand, seemingly, as much of flesh and blood as my own, but the hand of an aged1 person, lean, wrinkled, small too,—a woman's hand. That hand very softly closed on the two letters that lay on the table; hand and letters both vanished. There then came the same three loud, measured knocks I had heard at the bed head before this extraordinary drama had commenced.
As those sounds slowly ceased, I felt the whole room vibrate sensibly; and at the far end there rose, as from the floor, sparks or globules like bubbles of light, many colored,—green, yellow, fire-red, azure130. Up and down, to and fro, hither, thither131 as tiny Will-o'-the-Wisps, the sparks moved, slow or swift, each at its own caprice. A chair (as in the drawing-room below) was now advanced from the wall without apparent agency, and placed at the opposite side of the table. Suddenly, as forth from the chair, there grew a shape,—a woman's shape. It was distinct as a shape of life,— ghastly as a shape of death. The face was that of youth, with a strange, mournful beauty; the throat and shoulders were bare, the rest of the form in a loose robe of cloudy white. It began sleeking132 its long, yellow hair, which fell over its shoulders; its eyes were not turned toward me, but to the door; it seemed listening, watching, waiting. The shadow of the shade in the background grew darker; and again I thought I beheld133 the eyes gleaming out from the summit of the shadow,—eyes fixed upon that shape.
As if from the door, though it did not open, there grew out another shape, equally distinct, equally ghastly,—a man's shape, a young man's. It was in the dress of the last century, or rather in a likeness134 of such dress (for both the male shape and the female, though defined, were evidently unsubstantial, impalpable,— simulacra, phantasms); and there was something incongruous, grotesque135, yet fearful, in the contrast between the elaborate finery, the courtly precision of that old-fashioned garb136, with its ruffles137 and lace and buckles138, and the corpselike aspect and ghostlike stillness of the flitting wearer. Just as the male shape approached the female, the dark Shadow started from the wall, all three for a moment wrapped in darkness. When the pale light returned, the two phantoms140 were as if in the grasp of the Shadow that towered between them; and there was a blood stain on the breast of the female; and the phantom141 male was leaning on its phantom sword, and blood seemed trickling142 fast from the ruffles from the lace; and the darkness of the intermediate Shadow swallowed them up,—they were gone. And again the bubbles of light shot, and sailed, and undulated, growing thicker and thicker and more wildly confused in their movements.
The closet door to the right of the fireplace now opened, and from the aperture143 there came the form of an aged woman. In her hand she held letters,—the very letters over which I had seen THE Hand close; and behind her I heard a footstep. She turned round as if to listen, and then she opened the letters and seemed to read; and over her shoulder I saw a livid face, the face as of a man long drowned,—bloated, bleached144, seaweed tangled145 in its dripping hair; and at her feet lay a form as of a corpse139; and beside the corpse there cowered146 a child, a miserable147, squalid child, with famine in its cheeks and fear in its eyes. And as I looked in the old woman's face, the wrinkles and lines vanished, and it became a face of youth,—hard-eyed, stony148, but still youth; and the Shadow darted149 forth, and darkened over these phantoms as it had darkened over the last.
Nothing now was left but the Shadow, and on that my eyes were intently fixed, till again eyes grew out of the Shadow,—malignant150, serpent eyes. And the bubbles of light again rose and fell, and in their disordered, irregular, turbulent maze151, mingled152 with the wan15 moonlight. And now from these globules themselves, as from the shell of an egg, monstrous153 things burst out; the air grew filled with them: larvae154 so bloodless and so hideous155 that I can in no way describe them except to remind the reader of the swarming156 life which the solar microscope brings before his eyes in a drop of water,—things transparent157, supple158, agile159, chasing each other, devouring160 each other; forms like naught161 ever beheld by the naked eye. As the shapes were without symmetry, so their movements were without order. In their very vagrancies there was no sport; they came round me and round, thicker and faster and swifter, swarming over my head, crawling over my right arm, which was outstretched in involuntary command against all evil beings. Sometimes I felt myself touched, but not by them; invisible hands touched me. Once I felt the clutch as of cold, soft fingers at my throat. I was still equally conscious that if I gave way to fear I should be in bodily peril109; and I concentered all my faculties162 in the single focus of resisting stubborn will. And I turned my sight from the Shadow; above all, from those strange serpent eyes,—eyes that had now become distinctly visible. For there, though in naught else around me, I was aware that there was a WILL, and will of intense, creative, working evil, which might crush down my own.
The pale atmosphere in the room began now to redden as if in the air of some near conflagration. The larvae grew lurid163 as things that live in fire. Again the room vibrated; again were heard the three measured knocks; and again all things were swallowed up in the darkness of the dark Shadow, as if out of that darkness all had come, into that darkness all returned.
As the gloom receded164, the Shadow was wholly gone. Slowly, as it had been withdrawn, the flame grew again into the candles on the table, again into the fuel in the grate. The whole room came once more calmly, healthfully into sight.
The two doors were still closed, the door communicating with the servant's room still locked. In the corner of the wall, into which he had so convulsively niched himself, lay the dog. I called to him,—no movement; I approached,—the animal was dead: his eyes protruded165; his tongue out of his mouth; the froth gathered round his jaws. I took him in my arms; I brought him to the fire. I felt acute grief for the loss of my poor favorite,—acute self- reproach; I accused myself of his death; I imagined he had died of fright. But what was my surprise on finding that his neck was actually broken. Had this been done in the dark? Must it not have been by a hand human as mine; must there not have been a human agency all the while in that room? Good cause to suspect it. I cannot tell. I cannot do more than state the fact fairly; the reader may draw his own inference.
Another surprising circumstance,—my watch was restored to the table from which it had been so mysteriously withdrawn; but it had stopped at the very moment it was so withdrawn, nor, despite all the skill of the watchmaker, has it ever gone since,—that is, it will go in a strange, erratic166 way for a few hours, and then come to a dead stop; it is worthless.
Nothing more chanced for the rest of the night. Nor, indeed, had I long to wait before the dawn broke. Not till it was broad daylight did I quit the haunted house. Before I did so, I revisited the little blind room in which my servant and myself had been for a time imprisoned. I had a strong impression—for which I could not account—that from that room had originated the mechanism167 of the phenomena, if I may use the term, which had been experienced in my chamber. And though I entered it now in the clear day, with the sun peering through the filmy window, I still felt, as I stood on its floors, the creep of the horror which I had first there experienced the night before, and which had been so aggravated168 by what had passed in my own chamber. I could not, indeed, bear to stay more than half a minute within those walls. I descended169 the stairs, and again I heard the footfall before me; and when I opened the street door, I thought I could distinguish a very low laugh. I gained my own home, expecting to find my runaway170 servant there; but he had not presented himself, nor did I hear more of him for three days, when I received a letter from him, dated from Liverpool to this effect:—
"HONORED SIR,—I humbly171 entreat172 your pardon, though I can scarcely hope that you will think that I deserve it, unless—which Heaven forbid!—you saw what I did. I feel that it will be years before I can recover myself; and as to being fit for service, it is out of the question. I am therefore going to my brother-in-law at Melbourne. The ship sails to-morrow. Perhaps the long voyage may set me up. I do nothing now but start and tremble, and fancy it is behind me. I humbly beg you, honored sir, to order my clothes, and whatever wages are due to me, to be sent to my mother's, at Walworth,—John knows her address."
The letter ended with additional apologies, somewhat incoherent, and explanatory details as to effects that had been under the writer's charge.
This flight may perhaps warrant a suspicion that the man wished to go to Australia, and had been somehow or other fraudulently mixed up with the events of the night. I say nothing in refutation of that conjecture; rather, I suggest it as one that would seem to many persons the most probable solution of improbable occurrences. My belief in my own theory remained unshaken. I returned in the evening to the house, to bring away in a hack173 cab the things I had left there, with my poor dog's body. In this task I was not disturbed, nor did any incident worth note befall me, except that still, on ascending174 and descending the stairs, I heard the same footfall in advance. On leaving the house, I went to Mr. J——'s. He was at home. I returned him the keys, told him that my curiosity was sufficiently gratified, and was about to relate quickly what had passed, when he stopped me, and said, though with much politeness, that he had no longer any interest in a mystery which none had ever solved.
I determined at least to tell him of the two letters I had read, as well as of the extraordinary manner in which they had disappeared; and I then inquired if he thought they had been addressed to the woman who had died in the house, and if there were anything in her early history which could possibly confirm the dark suspicions to which the letters gave rise. Mr. J—— seemed startled, and, after musing175 a few moments, answered, "I am but little acquainted with the woman's earlier history, except as I before told you, that her family were known to mine. But you revive some vague reminiscences to her prejudice. I will make inquiries176, and inform you of their result. Still, even if we could admit the popular superstition177 that a person who had been either the perpetrator or the victim of dark crimes in life could revisit, as a restless spirit, the scene in which those crimes had been committed, I should observe that the house was infested178 by strange sights and sounds before the old woman died—you smile—what would you say?"
"I would say this, that I am convinced, if we could get to the bottom of these mysteries, we should find a living human agency."
"What! you believe it is all an imposture? For what object?"
"Not an imposture in the ordinary sense of the word. If suddenly I were to sink into a deep sleep, from which you could not awake me, but in that sleep could answer questions with an accuracy which I could not pretend to when awake,—tell you what money you had in your pocket, nay179, describe your very thoughts,—it is not necessarily an imposture, any more than it is necessarily supernatural. I should be, unconsciously to myself, under a mesmeric influence, conveyed to me from a distance by a human being who had acquired power over me by previous rapport180."
"But if a mesmerizer could so affect another living being, can you suppose that a mesmerizer could also affect inanimate objects: move chairs,—open and shut doors?"
"Or impress our senses with the belief in such effects,—we never having been en rapport with the person acting181 on us? No. What is commonly called mesmerism could not do this; but there may be a power akin53 to mesmerism, and superior to it,—the power that in the old days was called Magic. That such a power may extend to all inanimate objects of matter, I do not say; but if so, it would not be against Nature,—it would be only a rare power in Nature which might be given to constitutions with certain peculiarities, and cultivated by practice to an extraordinary degree. That such a power might extend over the dead,—that is, over certain thoughts and memories that the dead may still retain,—and compel, not that which ought properly to be called the SOUL, and which is far beyond human reach, but rather a phantom of what has been most earth- stained on earth, to make itself apparent to our senses, is a very ancient though obsolete182 theory upon which I will hazard no opinion. But I do not conceive the power would be supernatural. Let me illustrate183 what I mean from an experiment which Paracelsus describes as not difficult, and which the author of the 'Curiosities of Literature' cites as credible4: A flower perishes; you burn it. Whatever were the elements of that flower while it lived are gone, dispersed184, you know not whither; you can never discover nor re-collect them. But you can, by chemistry, out of the burned dust of that flower, raise a spectrum185 of the flower, just as it seemed in life. It may be the same with the human being. The soul has as much escaped you as the essence or elements of the flower. Still you may make a spectrum of it. And this phantom, though in the popular superstition it is held to be the soul of the departed, must not be confounded with the true soul; it is but the eidolon of the dead form. Hence, like the best-attested stories of ghosts or spirits, the thing that most strikes us is the absence of what we hold to be soul,—that is, of superior emancipated186 intelligence. These apparitions187 come for little or no object,—they seldom speak when they do come; if they speak, they utter no ideas above those of an ordinary person on earth. American spirit seers have published volumes of communications, in prose and verse, which they assert to be given in the names of the most illustrious dead: Shakespeare, Bacon,—Heaven knows whom. Those communications, taking the best, are certainly not a whit50 of higher order than would be communications from living persons of fair talent and education; they are wondrously188 inferior to what Bacon, Shakespeare, and Plato said and wrote when on earth. Nor, what is more noticeable, do they ever contain an idea that was not on the earth before. Wonderful, therefore, as such phenomena may be (granting them to be truthful), I see much that philosophy may question, nothing that it is incumbent189 on philosophy to deny,— namely, nothing supernatural. They are but ideas conveyed somehow or other (we have not yet discovered the means) from one mortal brain to another. Whether, in so doing, tables walk of their own accord, or fiendlike shapes appear in a magic circle, or bodiless hands rise and remove material objects, or a Thing of Darkness, such as presented itself to me, freeze our blood,—still am I persuaded that these are but agencies conveyed, as by electric wires, to my own brain from the brain of another. In some constitutions there is a natural chemistry, and those constitutions may produce chemic wonders,—in others a natural fluid, call it electricity, and these may produce electric wonders. But the wonders differ from Normal Science in this,—they are alike objectless, purposeless, puerile190, frivolous191. They lead on to no grand results; and therefore the world does not heed, and true sages43 have not cultivated them. But sure I am, that of all I saw or heard, a man, human as myself, was the remote originator; and I believe unconsciously to himself as to the exact effects produced, for this reason: no two persons, you say, have ever told you that they experienced exactly the same thing. Well, observe, no two persons ever experience exactly the same dream. If this were an ordinary imposture, the machinery192 would be arranged for results that would but little vary; if it were a supernatural agency permitted by the Almighty193, it would surely be for some definite end. These phenomena belong to neither class; my persuasion195 is, that they originate in some brain now far distant; that that brain had no distinct volition in anything that occurred; that what does occur reflects but its devious196, motley, ever-shifting, half-formed thoughts; in short, that it has been but the dreams of such a brain put into action and invested with a semisubstance. That this brain is of immense power, that it can set matter into movement, that it is malignant and destructive, I believe; some material force must have killed my dog; the same force might, for aught I know, have sufficed to kill myself, had I been as subjugated197 by terror as the dog,—had my intellect or my spirit given me no countervailing resistance in my will."
"It killed your dog,—that is fearful! Indeed it is strange that no animal can be induced to stay in that house; not even a cat. Rats and mice are never found in it."
"The instincts of the brute creation detect influences deadly to their existence. Man's reason has a sense less subtle, because it has a resisting power more supreme198. But enough; do you comprehend my theory?"
"Yes, though imperfectly,—and I accept any crotchet (pardon the word), however odd, rather than embrace at once the notion of ghosts and hobgoblins we imbibed199 in our nurseries. Still, to my unfortunate house, the evil is the same. What on earth can I do with the house?"
"I will tell you what I would do. I am convinced from my own internal feelings that the small, unfurnished room at right angles to the door of the bedroom which I occupied, forms a starting point or receptacle for the influences which haunt the house; and I strongly advise you to have the walls opened, the floor removed,— nay, the whole room pulled down. I observe that it is detached from the body of the house, built over the small backyard, and could be removed without injury to the rest of the building."
"And you think, if I did that—"
"You would cut off the telegraph wires. Try it. I am so persuaded that I am right, that I will pay half the expense if you will allow me to direct the operations."
"Nay, I am well able to afford the cost; for the rest allow me to write to you."
About ten days after I received a letter from Mr. J—— telling me that he had visited the house since I had seen him; that he had found the two letters I had described, replaced in the drawer from which I had taken them; that he had read them with misgivings200 like my own; that he had instituted a cautious inquiry201 about the woman to whom I rightly conjectured202 they had been written. It seemed that thirty-six years ago (a year before the date of the letters) she had married, against the wish of her relations, an American of very suspicions character; in fact, he was generally believed to have been a pirate. She herself was the daughter of very respectable tradespeople, and had served in the capacity of a nursery governess before her marriage. She had a brother, a widower203, who was considered wealthy, and who had one child of about six years old. A month after the marriage the body of this brother was found in the Thames, near London Bridge; there seemed some marks of violence about his throat, but they were not deemed sufficient to warrant the inquest in any other verdict that that of "found drowned."
The American and his wife took charge of the little boy, the deceased brother having by his will left his sister the guardian204 of his only child,—and in event of the child's death the sister inherited. The child died about six months afterwards,—it was supposed to have been neglected and ill-treated. The neighbors deposed205 to have heard it shriek at night. The surgeon who had examined it after death said that it was emaciated206 as if from want of nourishment207, and the body was covered with livid bruises208. It seemed that one winter night the child had sought to escape; crept out into the back yard; tried to scale the wall; fallen back exhausted209; and been found at morning on the stones in a dying state. But though there was some evidence of cruelty, there was none of murder; and the aunt and her husband had sought to palliate cruelty by alleging210 the exceeding stubbornness and perversity211 of the child, who was declared to be half-witted. Be that as it may, at the orphan's death the aunt inherited her brother's fortune. Before the first wedded212 year was out, the American quitted England abruptly213, and never returned to it. He obtained a cruising vessel214, which was lost in the Atlantic two years afterwards. The widow was left in affluence215, but reverses of various kinds had befallen her: a bank broke; an investment failed; she went into a small business and became insolvent216; then she entered into service, sinking lower and lower, from housekeeper217 down to maid-of-all-work,—never long retaining a place, though nothing decided37 against her character was ever alleged218. She was considered sober, honest, and peculiarly quiet in her ways; still nothing prospered219 with her. And so she had dropped into the workhouse, from which Mr. J—— had taken her, to be placed in charge of the very house which she had rented as mistress in the first year of her wedded life.
Mr. J—— added that he had passed an hour alone in the unfurnished room which I had urged him to destroy, and that his impressions of dread while there were so great, though he had neither heard nor seen anything, that he was eager to have the walls bared and the floors removed as I had suggested. He had engaged persons for the work, and would commence any day I would name.
The day was accordingly fixed. I repaired to the haunted house,— we went into the blind, dreary room, took up the skirting, and then the floors. Under the rafters, covered with rubbish, was found a trapdoor, quite large enough to admit a man. It was closely nailed down, with clamps and rivets220 of iron. On removing these we descended into a room below, the existence of which had never been suspected. In this room there had been a window and a flue, but they had been bricked over, evidently for many years. By the help of candles we examined this place; it still retained some moldering furniture,—three chairs, an oak settle, a table,—all of the fashion of about eighty years ago. There was a chest of drawers against the wall, in which we found, half rotted away, old- fashioned articles of a man's dress, such as might have been worn eighty or a hundred years ago by a gentleman of some rank; costly221 steel buckles and buttons, like those yet worn in court dresses, a handsome court sword; in a waistcoat which had once been rich with gold lace, but which was now blackened and foul222 with damp, we found five guineas, a few silver coins, and an ivory ticket, probably for some place of entertainment long since passed away. But our main discovery was in a kind of iron safe fixed to the wall, the lock of which it cost us much trouble to get picked.
In this safe were three shelves and two small drawers. Ranged on the shelves were several small bottles of crystal, hermetically stopped. They contained colorless, volatile223 essences, of the nature of which I shall only say that they were not poisons,— phosphor and ammonia entered into some of them. There were also some very curious glass tubes, and a small pointed35 rod of iron, with a large lump of rock crystal, and another of amber,—also a loadstone of great power.
In one of the drawers we found a miniature portrait set in gold, and retaining the freshness of its colors most remarkably, considering the length of time it had probably been there. The portrait was that of a man who might be somewhat advanced in middle life, perhaps forty-seven or forty-eight. It was a remarkable224 face,—a most impressive face. If you could fancy some mighty194 serpent transformed into man, preserving in the human lineaments the old serpent type, you would have a better idea of that countenance than long descriptions can convey: the width and flatness of frontal; the tapering225 elegance226 of contour disguising the strength of the deadly jaw89; the long, large, terrible eye, glittering and green as the emerald,—and withal a certain ruthless calm, as if from the consciousness of an immense power.
Mechanically I turned round the miniature to examine the back of it, and on the back was engraved227 a pentacle; in the middle of the pentacle a ladder, and the third step of the ladder was formed by the date 1765. Examining still more minutely, I detected a spring; this, on being pressed, opened the back of the miniature as a lid. Within-side the lid were engraved, "Marianna to thee. Be faithful in life and in death to ——." Here follows a name that I will not mention, but it was not unfamiliar to me. I had heard it spoken of by old men in my childhood as the name borne by a dazzling charlatan228 who had made a great sensation in London for a year or so, and had fled the country on the charge of a double murder within his own house,—that of his mistress and his rival. I said nothing of this to Mr. J——, to whom reluctantly I resigned the miniature.
We had found no difficulty in opening the first drawer within the iron safe; we found great difficulty in opening the second: it was not locked, but it resisted all efforts, till we inserted in the chinks the edge of a chisel229. When we had thus drawn122 it forth, we found a very singular apparatus230 in the nicest order. Upon a small, thin book, or rather tablet, was placed a saucer of crystal; this saucer was filled with a clear liquid,—on that liquid floated a kind of compass, with a needle shifting rapidly round; but instead of the usual points of a compass were seven strange characters, not very unlike those used by astrologers to denote the planets. A peculiar96 but not strong nor displeasing231 odor came from this drawer, which was lined with a wood that we afterwards discovered to be hazel. Whatever the cause of this odor, it produced a material effect on the nerves. We all felt it, even the two workmen who were in the room,—a creeping, tingling232 sensation from the tips of the fingers to the roots of the hair. Impatient to examine the tablet, I removed the saucer. As I did so the needle of the compass went round and round with exceeding swiftness, and I felt a shock that ran through my whole frame, so that I dropped the saucer on the floor. The liquid was spilled; the saucer was broken; the compass rolled to the end of the room, and at that instant the walls shook to and fro, as if a giant had swayed and rocked them.
The two workmen were so frightened that they ran up the ladder by which we had descended from the trapdoor; but seeing that nothing more happened, they were easily induced to return.
Meanwhile I had opened the tablet: it was bound in plain red leather, with a silver clasp; it contained but one sheet of thick vellum, and on that sheet were inscribed233, within a double pentacle, words in old monkish234 Latin, which are literally to be translated thus: "On all that it can reach within these walls, sentient235 or inanimate, living or dead, as moves the needle, so works my will! Accursed be the house, and restless be the dwellers236 therein."
We found no more. Mr. J—— burned the tablet and its anathema237. He razed238 to the foundations the part of the building containing the secret room with the chamber over it. He had then the courage to inhabit the house himself for a month, and a quieter, better- conditioned house could not be found in all London. Subsequently he let it to advantage, and his tenant has made no complaints.
A drowning man clutching at a straw—such is Dr. Fenwick, hero of Bulwer-Lytton's "Strange Story" when he determines to lend himself to alleged "magic" in the hope of saving his suffering wife from the physical dangers which have succeeded her mental disease. The proposition has been made to him by Margrave, a wanderer in many countries, who has followed the Fenwicks from England to Australia. Margrave declares that he needs an accomplice239 to secure an "elixir240 of life" which his own failing strength demands. His mysterious mesmeric or hypnotic influence over Mrs. Fenwick had in former days been marked; and on the basis of this undeniable fact, he has endeavored to show that his own welfare and Mrs. Fenwick's are, in some occult fashion, knit together, and that only by aiding him in some extraordinary experiment can the physician snatch his beloved Lilian from her impending241 doom242.
As the first chapter opens, Fenwick is learning his wife's condition from his friend, Dr. Faber.
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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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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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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chars
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| abbr.characters （复数）角色，人物（剧本中用语）v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的第三人称单数 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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gratuity
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| n.赏钱，小费 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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frankly
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phenomena
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disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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lodgers
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narratives
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| 记叙文( narrative的名词复数 )； 故事； 叙述； 叙述部分 | |
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quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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sufficiently
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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urbane
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| adj.温文尔雅的，懂礼的 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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36
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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37
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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38
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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39
plighted
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| vt.保证，约定（plight的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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40
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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41
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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42
vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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43
sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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44
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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45
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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46
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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47
hampers
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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48
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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49
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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50
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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51
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
trumpery
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| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
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53
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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54
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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55
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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56
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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57
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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58
stoutest
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| 粗壮的( stout的最高级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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59
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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60
precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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61
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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62
attics
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| n. 阁楼 | |
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63
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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64
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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65
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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66
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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67
regained
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|
| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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68
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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69
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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70
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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71
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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72
endearment
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| n.表示亲爱的行为 | |
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73
unintelligible
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|
| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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74
execrate
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| v.憎恶；厌恶；诅咒 | |
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75
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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76
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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77
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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78
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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79
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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80
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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81
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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82
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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83
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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84
heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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85
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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86
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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87
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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88
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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89
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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90
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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91
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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92
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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93
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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94
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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95
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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96
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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97
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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98
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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99
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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100
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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101
mesmerized
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| v.使入迷( mesmerize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
mesmerizer
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| 催眠者 | |
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103
memorable
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|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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104
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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105
motive
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|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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106
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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107
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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108
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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109
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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110
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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111
iceberg
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| n.冰山，流冰，冷冰冰的人 | |
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112
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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113
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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114
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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115
irresistible
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|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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116
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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117
inadequacy
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| n.无法胜任，信心不足 | |
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118
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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119
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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120
wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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121
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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122
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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123
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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124
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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125
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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126
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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127
compensated
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| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
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128
slumberous
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| a.昏昏欲睡的 | |
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129
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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130
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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131
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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132
sleeking
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| 使…光滑而发亮( sleek的现在分词 )； 修光 | |
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133
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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134
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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135
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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136
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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137
ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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138
buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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139
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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140
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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141
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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142
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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143
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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144
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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145
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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146
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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147
miserable
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|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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148
stony
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|
| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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149
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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150
malignant
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|
| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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151
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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152
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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153
monstrous
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|
| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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154
larvae
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| n.幼虫 | |
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155
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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156
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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157
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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158
supple
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|
| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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159
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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160
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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161
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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162
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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163
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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164
receded
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| 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 | |
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165
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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166
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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167
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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168
aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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169
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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170
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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171
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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172
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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173
hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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174
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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175
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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176
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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177
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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178
infested
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| adj.为患的，大批滋生的（常与with搭配）v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 )；遍布于 | |
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179
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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180
rapport
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| n.和睦，意见一致 | |
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181
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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182
obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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183
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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184
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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185
spectrum
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| n.谱，光谱，频谱；范围，幅度，系列 | |
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186
emancipated
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| adj.被解放的，不受约束的v.解放某人（尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚）( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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187
apparitions
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| n.特异景象( apparition的名词复数 )；幽灵；鬼；（特异景象等的）出现 | |
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188
wondrously
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| adv.惊奇地，非常，极其 | |
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189
incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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190
puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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191
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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192
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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193
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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194
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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195
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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196
devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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197
subjugated
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| v.征服，降伏( subjugate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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198
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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199
imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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200
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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201
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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202
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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203
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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204
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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205
deposed
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| v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 )；（在法庭上）宣誓作证 | |
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206
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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207
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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208
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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209
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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210
alleging
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| 断言，宣称，辩解( allege的现在分词 ) | |
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211
perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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212
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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213
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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214
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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215
affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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216
insolvent
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| adj.破产的，无偿还能力的 | |
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217
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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218
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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219
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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220
rivets
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| 铆钉( rivet的名词复数 ) | |
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221
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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222
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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223
volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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224
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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225
tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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226
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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227
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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228
charlatan
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| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
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229
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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230
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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231
displeasing
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| 不愉快的，令人发火的 | |
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232
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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233
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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234
monkish
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| adj.僧侣的，修道士的，禁欲的 | |
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235
sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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236
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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237
anathema
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| n.诅咒；被诅咒的人(物)，十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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238
razed
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| v.彻底摧毁，将…夷为平地( raze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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239
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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240
elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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241
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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242
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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