There is no month in the whole year in which nature wears a more beautiful appearance than in the month of August. Spring has many beauties, and May is a fresh and blooming month, but the charms of this time of year are enhanced by their contrast with the winter season. August has no such advantage. It comes when we remember nothing but clear skies, green fields, and sweet-smelling flowers — when the recollection of snow, and ice, and bleak2 winds, has faded from our minds as completely as they have disappeared from the earth — and yet what a pleasant time it is! Orchards3 and cornfields ring with the hum of labour; trees bend beneath the thick clusters of rich fruit which bow their branches to the ground; and the corn, piled in graceful4 sheaves, or waving in every light breath that sweeps above it, as if it wooed the sickle5, tinges6 the landscape with a golden hue7. A mellow8 softness appears to hang over the whole earth; the influence of the season seems to extend itself to the very wagon9, whose slow motion across the well-reaped field is perceptible only to the eye, but strikes with no harsh sound upon the ear.
As the coach rolls swiftly past the fields and orchards which skirt the road, groups of women and children, piling the fruit in sieves10, or gathering11 the scattered12 ears of corn, pause for an instant from their labour, and shading the sun-burned face with a still browner hand, gaze upon the passengers with curious eyes, while some stout13 urchin14, too small to work, but too mischievous15 to be left at home, scrambles16 over the side of the basket in which he has been deposited for security, and kicks and screams with delight. The reaper17 stops in his work, and stands with folded arms, looking at the vehicle as it whirls past; and the rough cart-horses bestow18 a sleepy glance upon the smart coach team, which says as plainly as a horse’s glance can, ‘It’s all very fine to look at, but slow going, over a heavy field, is better than warm work like that, upon a dusty road, after all.’ You cast a look behind you, as you turn a corner of the road. The women and children have resumed their labour; the reaper once more stoops to his work; the cart-horses have moved on; and all are again in motion. The influence of a scene like this, was not lost upon the well-regulated mind of Mr. Pickwick. Intent upon the resolution he had formed, of exposing the real character of the nefarious20 Jingle21, in any quarter in which he might be pursuing his fraudulent designs, he sat at first taciturn and contemplative, brooding over the means by which his purpose could be best attained22. By degrees his attention grew more and more attracted by the objects around him; and at last he derived23 as much enjoyment24 from the ride, as if it had been undertaken for the pleasantest reason in the world.
‘Delightful prospect25, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Beats the chimbley-pots, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, touching26 his hat.
‘I suppose you have hardly seen anything but chimney-pots and bricks and mortar27 all your life, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, smiling.
‘I worn’t always a boots, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, with a shake of the head. ‘I wos a vaginer’s boy, once.’
‘When was that?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘When I wos first pitched neck and crop into the world, to play at leap-frog with its troubles,’ replied Sam. ‘I wos a carrier’s boy at startin’; then a vaginer’s, then a helper, then a boots. Now I’m a gen’l’m’n’s servant. I shall be a gen’l’m’n myself one of these days, perhaps, with a pipe in my mouth, and a summer-house in the back-garden. Who knows? I shouldn’t be surprised for one.’
‘You are quite a philosopher, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘It runs in the family, I b’lieve, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘My father’s wery much in that line now. If my mother-in-law blows him up, he whistles. She flies in a passion, and breaks his pipe; he steps out, and gets another. Then she screams wery loud, and falls into ‘sterics; and he smokes wery comfortably till she comes to agin. That’s philosophy, Sir, ain’t it?’
‘A very good substitute for it, at all events,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, laughing. ‘It must have been of great service to you, in the course of your rambling28 life, Sam.’
‘Service, sir,’ exclaimed Sam. ‘You may say that. Arter I run away from the carrier, and afore I took up with the vaginer, I had unfurnished lodgin’s for a fortnight.’
‘Unfurnished lodgings29?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Yes — the dry arches of Waterloo Bridge. Fine sleeping-place — vithin ten minutes’ walk of all the public offices — only if there is any objection to it, it is that the sitivation’s rayther too airy. I see some queer sights there.’ ‘Ah, I suppose you did,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with an air of considerable interest.
‘Sights, sir,’ resumed Mr. Weller, ‘as ’ud penetrate30 your benevolent31 heart, and come out on the other side. You don’t see the reg’lar wagrants there; trust ’em, they knows better than that. Young beggars, male and female, as hasn’t made a rise in their profession, takes up their quarters there sometimes; but it’s generally the worn-out, starving, houseless creeturs as roll themselves in the dark corners o’ them lonesome places — poor creeturs as ain’t up to the twopenny rope.’
‘And pray, Sam, what is the twopenny rope?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘The twopenny rope, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘is just a cheap lodgin’ house, where the beds is twopence a night.’
‘What do they call a bed a rope for?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Bless your innocence32, sir, that ain’t it,’ replied Sam. ‘Ven the lady and gen’l’m’n as keeps the hot-el first begun business, they used to make the beds on the floor; but this wouldn’t do at no price, ‘cos instead o’ taking a moderate twopenn’orth o’ sleep, the lodgers33 used to lie there half the day. So now they has two ropes, ‘bout six foot apart, and three from the floor, which goes right down the room; and the beds are made of slips of coarse sacking, stretched across ’em.’
‘Well,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Well,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘the adwantage o’ the plan’s hobvious. At six o’clock every mornin’ they let’s go the ropes at one end, and down falls the lodgers. Consequence is, that being thoroughly34 waked, they get up wery quietly, and walk away! Beg your pardon, sir,’ said Sam, suddenly breaking off in his loquacious35 discourse36. ‘Is this Bury St. Edmunds?’
‘It is,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
The coach rattled37 through the well-paved streets of a handsome little town, of thriving and cleanly appearance, and stopped before a large inn situated38 in a wide open street, nearly facing the old abbey.
‘And this,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking up. ‘Is the Angel! We alight here, Sam. But some caution is necessary. Order a private room, and do not mention my name. You understand.’
‘Right as a trivet, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, with a wink39 of intelligence; and having dragged Mr. Pickwick’s portmanteau from the hind19 boot, into which it had been hastily thrown when they joined the coach at Eatanswill, Mr. Weller disappeared on his errand. A private room was speedily engaged; and into it Mr. Pickwick was ushered40 without delay. ‘Now, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘the first thing to be done is to —’ ‘Order dinner, Sir,’ interposed Mr. Weller. ‘It’s wery late, sir.”
‘Ah, so it is,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch. ‘You are right, Sam.’
‘And if I might adwise, Sir,’ added Mr. Weller, ‘I’d just have a good night’s rest arterwards, and not begin inquiring arter this here deep ’un till the mornin’. There’s nothin’ so refreshen’ as sleep, sir, as the servant girl said afore she drank the egg-cupful of laudanum.’
‘I think you are right, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘But I must first ascertain41 that he is in the house, and not likely to go away.’
‘Leave that to me, Sir,’ said Sam. ‘Let me order you a snug42 little dinner, and make my inquiries43 below while it’s a-getting ready; I could worm ev’ry secret out O’ the boots’s heart, in five minutes, Sir.’ ‘Do so,’ said Mr. Pickwick; and Mr. Weller at once retired44.
In half an hour, Mr. Pickwick was seated at a very satisfactory dinner; and in three-quarters Mr. Weller returned with the intelligence that Mr. Charles Fitz–Marshall had ordered his private room to be retained for him, until further notice. He was going to spend the evening at some private house in the neighbourhood, had ordered the boots to sit up until his return, and had taken his servant with him.
‘Now, sir,’ argued Mr. Weller, when he had concluded his report, ‘if I can get a talk with this here servant in the mornin’, he’ll tell me all his master’s concerns.’
‘How do you know that?’ interposed Mr. Pickwick.
‘Bless your heart, sir, servants always do,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘Oh, ah, I forgot that,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Well.’
‘Then you can arrange what’s best to be done, sir, and we can act accordingly.’
As it appeared that this was the best arrangement that could be made, it was finally agreed upon. Mr. Weller, by his master’s permission, retired to spend the evening in his own way; and was shortly afterwards elected, by the unanimous voice of the assembled company, into the taproom chair, in which honourable45 post he acquitted46 himself so much to the satisfaction of the gentlemen-frequenters, that their roars of laughter and approbation47 penetrated48 to Mr. Pickwick’s bedroom, and shortened the term of his natural rest by at least three hours.
Early on the ensuing morning, Mr. Weller was dispelling49 all the feverish50 remains51 of the previous evening’s conviviality52, through the instrumentality of a halfpenny shower-bath (having induced a young gentleman attached to the stable department, by the offer of that coin, to pump over his head and face, until he was perfectly53 restored), when he was attracted by the appearance of a young fellow in mulberry-coloured livery, who was sitting on a bench in the yard, reading what appeared to be a hymn-book, with an air of deep abstraction, but who occasionally stole a glance at the individual under the pump, as if he took some interest in his proceedings55, nevertheless.
‘You’re a rum ’un to look at, you are!’ thought Mr. Weller, the first time his eyes encountered the glance of the stranger in the mulberry suit, who had a large, sallow, ugly face, very sunken eyes, and a gigantic head, from which depended a quantity of lank56 black hair. ‘You’re a rum ’un!’ thought Mr. Weller; and thinking this, he went on washing himself, and thought no more about him.
Still the man kept glancing from his hymn-book to Sam, and from Sam to his hymn-book, as if he wanted to open a conversation. So at last, Sam, by way of giving him an opportunity, said with a familiar nod —
‘How are you, governor?’
‘I am happy to say, I am pretty well, Sir,’ said the man, speaking with great deliberation, and closing the book. ‘I hope you are the same, Sir?’
‘Why, if I felt less like a walking brandy-bottle I shouldn’t be quite so staggery this mornin’,’ replied Sam. ‘Are you stoppin’ in this house, old ’un?’
The mulberry man replied in the affirmative.
‘How was it you worn’t one of us, last night?’ inquired Sam, scrubbing his face with the towel. ‘You seem one of the jolly sort — looks as conwivial as a live trout57 in a lime basket,’ added Mr. Weller, in an undertone.
‘I was out last night with my master,’ replied the stranger.
‘What’s his name?’ inquired Mr. Weller, colouring up very red with sudden excitement, and the friction58 of the towel combined.
‘Fitz–Marshall,’ said the mulberry man.
‘Give us your hand,’ said Mr. Weller, advancing; ‘I should like to know you. I like your appearance, old fellow.’
‘Well, that is very strange,’ said the mulberry man, with great simplicity59 of manner. ‘I like yours so much, that I wanted to speak to you, from the very first moment I saw you under the pump.’ ‘Did you though?’
‘Upon my word. Now, isn’t that curious?’
‘Wery sing’ler,’ said Sam, inwardly congratulating himself upon the softness of the stranger. ‘What’s your name, my patriarch?’
‘Job.’
‘And a wery good name it is; only one I know that ain’t got a nickname to it. What’s the other name?’
‘Trotter,’ said the stranger. ‘What is yours?’
Sam bore in mind his master’s caution, and replied —
‘My name’s Walker; my master’s name’s Wilkins. Will you take a drop o’ somethin’ this mornin’, Mr. Trotter?’
Mr. Trotter acquiesced61 in this agreeable proposal; and having deposited his book in his coat pocket, accompanied Mr. Weller to the tap, where they were soon occupied in discussing an exhilarating compound, formed by mixing together, in a pewter vessel62, certain quantities of British Hollands and the fragrant63 essence of the clove64.
‘And what sort of a place have you got?’ inquired Sam, as he filled his companion’s glass, for the second time.
‘Bad,’ said Job, smacking65 his lips, ‘very bad.’
‘You don’t mean that?’ said Sam.
‘I do, indeed. Worse than that, my master’s going to be married.’
‘No.’
‘Yes; and worse than that, too, he’s going to run away with an immense rich heiress, from boarding-school.’
‘What a dragon!’ said Sam, refilling his companion’s glass. ‘It’s some boarding-school in this town, I suppose, ain’t it?’ Now, although this question was put in the most careless tone imaginable, Mr. Job Trotter plainly showed by gestures that he perceived his new friend’s anxiety to draw forth66 an answer to it. He emptied his glass, looked mysteriously at his companion, winked67 both of his small eyes, one after the other, and finally made a motion with his arm, as if he were working an imaginary pump-handle; thereby68 intimating that he (Mr. Trotter) considered himself as undergoing the process of being pumped by Mr. Samuel Weller.
‘No, no,’ said Mr. Trotter, in conclusion, ‘that’s not to be told to everybody. That is a secret — a great secret, Mr. Walker.’ As the mulberry man said this, he turned his glass upside down, by way of reminding his companion that he had nothing left wherewith to slake69 his thirst. Sam observed the hint; and feeling the delicate manner in which it was conveyed, ordered the pewter vessel to be refilled, whereat the small eyes of the mulberry man glistened70.
‘And so it’s a secret?’ said Sam.
‘I should rather suspect it was,’ said the mulberry man, sipping71 his liquor, with a complacent72 face.
‘i suppose your mas’r’s wery rich?’ said Sam.
Mr. Trotter smiled, and holding his glass in his left hand, gave four distinct slaps on the pockets of his mulberry indescribables with his right, as if to intimate that his master might have done the same without alarming anybody much by the chinking of coin.
‘Ah,’ said Sam, ‘that’s the game, is it?’
The mulberry man nodded significantly.
‘Well, and don’t you think, old feller,’ remonstrated73 Mr. Weller, ‘that if you let your master take in this here young lady, you’re a precious rascal74?’
‘I know that,’ said Job Trotter, turning upon his companion a countenance75 of deep contrition76, and groaning77 slightly, ‘I know that, and that’s what it is that preys78 upon my mind. But what am I to do?’
‘Do!’ said Sam; ‘di-wulge to the missis, and give up your master.’
‘Who’d believe me?’ replied Job Trotter. ‘The young lady’s considered the very picture of innocence and discretion79. She’d deny it, and so would my master. Who’d believe me? I should lose my place, and get indicted80 for a conspiracy81, or some such thing; that’s all I should take by my motion.’
‘There’s somethin’ in that,’ said Sam, ruminating82; ‘there’s somethin’ in that.’
‘If I knew any respectable gentleman who would take the matter up,’ continued Mr. Trotter. ‘I might have some hope of preventing the elopement; but there’s the same difficulty, Mr. Walker, just the same. I know no gentleman in this strange place; and ten to one if I did, whether he would believe my story.’
‘Come this way,’ said Sam, suddenly jumping up, and grasping the mulberry man by the arm. ‘My mas’r’s the man you want, I see.’ And after a slight resistance on the part of Job Trotter, Sam led his newly-found friend to the apartment of Mr. Pickwick, to whom he presented him, together with a brief summary of the dialogue we have just repeated.
‘I am very sorry to betray my master, sir,’ said Job Trotter, applying to his eyes a pink checked pocket-handkerchief about six inches square.
‘The feeling does you a great deal of honour,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘but it is your duty, nevertheless.’
‘I know it is my duty, Sir,’ replied Job, with great emotion. ‘We should all try to discharge our duty, Sir, and I humbly83 endeavour to discharge mine, Sir; but it is a hard trial to betray a master, Sir, whose clothes you wear, and whose bread you eat, even though he is a scoundrel, Sir.’
‘You are a very good fellow,’ said Mr. Pickwick, much affected84; ‘an honest fellow.’
‘Come, come,’ interposed Sam, who had witnessed Mr. Trotter’s tears with considerable impatience85, ‘blow this ‘ere water-cart bis’ness. It won’t do no good, this won’t.’
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick reproachfully. ‘I am sorry to find that you have so little respect for this young man’s feelings.’
‘His feelin’s is all wery well, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘and as they’re so wery fine, and it’s a pity he should lose ’em, I think he’d better keep ’em in his own buzzum, than let ’em ewaporate in hot water, ‘specially as they do no good. Tears never yet wound up a clock, or worked a steam ingin’. The next time you go out to a smoking party, young fellow, fill your pipe with that ‘ere reflection; and for the present just put that bit of pink gingham into your pocket. ‘Tain’t so handsome that you need keep waving it about, as if you was a tight-rope dancer.’
‘My man is in the right,’ said Mr. Pickwick, accosting86 Job, ‘although his mode of expressing his opinion is somewhat homely87, and occasionally incomprehensible.’
‘He is, sir, very right,’ said Mr. Trotter, ‘and I will give way no longer.’ ‘Very well,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Now, where is this boarding-school?’
‘It is a large, old, red brick house, just outside the town, Sir,’ replied Job Trotter.
‘And when,’ said Mr. Pickwick —‘when is this villainous design to be carried into execution — when is this elopement to take place?’
‘To-night, Sir,’ replied Job.
‘To-night!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. ‘This very night, sir,’ replied Job Trotter. ‘That is what alarms me so much.’
‘Instant measures must be taken,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I will see the lady who keeps the establishment immediately.’
‘I beg your pardon, Sir,’ said Job, ‘but that course of proceeding54 will never do.’
‘Why not?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘My master, sir, is a very artful man.’
‘I know he is,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘And he has so wound himself round the old lady’s heart, Sir,’ resumed Job, ‘that she would believe nothing to his prejudice, if you went down on your bare knees, and swore it; especially as you have no proof but the word of a servant, who, for anything she knows (and my master would be sure to say so), was discharged for some fault, and does this in revenge.’
‘What had better be done, then?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Nothing but taking him in the very act of eloping, will convince the old lady, sir,’ replied Job.
‘All them old cats WILL run their heads agin milestones,’ observed Mr. Weller, in a parenthesis89.
‘But this taking him in the very act of elopement, would be a very difficult thing to accomplish, I fear,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Mr. Trotter, after a few moments’ reflection. ‘I think it might be very easily done.’
‘How?’ was Mr. Pickwick’s inquiry90.
‘Why,’ replied Mr. Trotter, ‘my master and I, being in the confidence of the two servants, will be secreted91 in the kitchen at ten o’clock. When the family have retired to rest, we shall come out of the kitchen, and the young lady out of her bedroom. A post-chaise will be waiting, and away we go.’
‘Well?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Well, sir, I have been thinking that if you were in waiting in the garden behind, alone —’
‘Alone,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Why alone?’
‘I thought it very natural,’ replied Job, ‘that the old lady wouldn’t like such an unpleasant discovery to be made before more persons than can possibly be helped. The young lady, too, sir — consider her feelings.’
‘You are very right,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘The consideration evinces your delicacy92 of feeling. Go on; you are very right.’
‘Well, sir, I have been thinking that if you were waiting in the back garden alone, and I was to let you in, at the door which opens into it, from the end of the passage, at exactly half-past eleven o’clock, you would be just in the very moment of time to assist me in frustrating93 the designs of this bad man, by whom I have been unfortunately ensnared.’ Here Mr. Trotter sighed deeply.
‘Don’t distress94 yourself on that account,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘if he had one grain of the delicacy of feeling which distinguishes you, humble95 as your station is, I should have some hopes of him.’
Job Trotter bowed low; and in spite of Mr. Weller’s previous remonstrance96, the tears again rose to his eyes.
‘I never see such a feller,’ said Sam, ‘Blessed if I don’t think he’s got a main in his head as is always turned on.’
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great severity, ‘hold your tongue.’
‘Wery well, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘I don’t like this plan,’ said Mr. Pickwick, after deep meditation97. ‘Why cannot I communicate with the young lady’s friends?’
‘Because they live one hundred miles from here, sir,’ responded Job Trotter.
‘That’s a clincher,’ said Mr. Weller, aside.
‘Then this garden,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick. ‘How am I to get into it?’
‘The wall is very low, sir, and your servant will give you a leg up.’ ‘My servant will give me a leg up,’ repeated Mr. Pickwick mechanically. ‘You will be sure to be near this door that you speak of?’
‘You cannot mistake it, Sir; it’s the only one that opens into the garden. Tap at it when you hear the clock strike, and I will open it instantly.’
‘I don’t like the plan,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but as I see no other, and as the happiness of this young lady’s whole life is at stake, I adopt it. I shall be sure to be there.’
Thus, for the second time, did Mr. Pickwick’s innate98 good-feeling involve him in an enterprise from which he would most willingly have stood aloof99.
‘What is the name of the house?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘Westgate House, Sir. You turn a little to the right when you get to the end of the town; it stands by itself, some little distance off the high road, with the name on a brass100 plate on the gate.’
‘I know it,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I observed it once before, when I was in this town. You may depend upon me.’
Mr. Trotter made another bow, and turned to depart, when Mr. Pickwick thrust a guinea into his hand.
‘You’re a fine fellow,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and I admire your goodness of heart. No thanks. Remember — eleven o’clock.’
‘There is no fear of my forgetting it, sir,’ replied Job Trotter. With these words he left the room, followed by Sam.
‘I say,’ said the latter, ‘not a bad notion that ‘ere crying. I’d cry like a rain-water spout101 in a shower on such good terms. How do you do it?’
‘It comes from the heart, Mr. Walker,’ replied Job solemnly. ‘Good-morning, sir.’
‘You’re a soft customer, you are; we’ve got it all out o’ you, anyhow,’ thought Mr. Weller, as Job walked away.
We cannot state the precise nature of the thoughts which passed through Mr. Trotter’s mind, because we don’t know what they were.
The day wore on, evening came, and at a little before ten o’clock Sam Weller reported that Mr. Jingle and Job had gone out together, that their luggage was packed up, and that they had ordered a chaise. The plot was evidently in execution, as Mr. Trotter had foretold102.
Half-past ten o’clock arrived, and it was time for Mr. Pickwick to issue forth on his delicate errand. Resisting Sam’s tender of his greatcoat, in order that he might have no encumbrance103 in scaling the wall, he set forth, followed by his attendant.
There was a bright moon, but it was behind the clouds. it was a fine dry night, but it was most uncommonly104 dark. Paths, hedges, fields, houses, and trees, were enveloped105 in one deep shade. The atmosphere was hot and sultry, the summer lightning quivered faintly on the verge106 of the horizon, and was the only sight that varied107 the dull gloom in which everything was wrapped — sound there was none, except the distant barking of some restless house-dog.
They found the house, read the brass plate, walked round the wall, and stopped at that portion of it which divided them from the bottom of the garden.
‘You will return to the inn, Sam, when you have assisted me over,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Wery well, Sir.’
‘And you will sit up, till I return.’
‘Cert’nly, Sir.’
‘Take hold of my leg; and, when I say “Over,” raise me gently.’
‘All right, sir.’
Having settled these preliminaries, Mr. Pickwick grasped the top of the wall, and gave the word ‘Over,’ which was literally108 obeyed. Whether his body partook in some degree of the elasticity109 of his mind, or whether Mr. Weller’s notions of a gentle push were of a somewhat rougher description than Mr. Pickwick’s, the immediate88 effect of his assistance was to jerk that immortal110 gentleman completely over the wall on to the bed beneath, where, after crushing three gooseberry-bushes and a rose-tree, he finally alighted at full length.
‘You ha’n’t hurt yourself, I hope, Sir?’ said Sam, in a loud whisper, as soon as he had recovered from the surprise consequent upon the mysterious disappearance111 of his master.
‘I have not hurt MYSELF, Sam, certainly,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, from the other side of the wall, ‘but I rather think that YOU have hurt me.’
‘I hope not, Sir,’ said Sam.
‘Never mind,’ said Mr. Pickwick, rising, ‘it’s nothing but a few scratches. Go away, or we shall be overheard.’
‘Good-bye, Sir.’
‘Good-bye.’
With stealthy steps Sam Weller departed, leaving Mr. Pickwick alone in the garden.
Lights occasionally appeared in the different windows of the house, or glanced from the staircases, as if the inmates112 were retiring to rest. Not caring to go too near the door, until the appointed time, Mr. Pickwick crouched113 into an angle of the wall, and awaited its arrival.
It was a situation which might well have depressed114 the spirits of many a man. Mr. Pickwick, however, felt neither depression nor misgiving115. He knew that his purpose was in the main a good one, and he placed implicit60 reliance on the high-minded Job. it was dull, certainly; not to say dreary116; but a contemplative man can always employ himself in meditation. Mr. Pickwick had meditated117 himself into a doze118, when he was roused by the chimes of the neighbouring church ringing out the hour — half-past eleven.
‘That’s the time,’ thought Mr. Pickwick, getting cautiously on his feet. He looked up at the house. The lights had disappeared, and the shutters119 were closed — all in bed, no doubt. He walked on tiptoe to the door, and gave a gentle tap. Two or three minutes passing without any reply, he gave another tap rather louder, and then another rather louder than that.
At length the sound of feet was audible upon the stairs, and then the light of a candle shone through the keyhole of the door. There was a good deal of unchaining and unbolting, and the door was slowly opened.
Now the door opened outwards120; and as the door opened wider and wider, Mr. Pickwick receded121 behind it, more and more. What was his astonishment122 when he just peeped out, by way of caution, to see that the person who had opened it was — not Job Trotter, but a servant-girl with a candle in her hand! Mr. Pickwick drew in his head again, with the swiftness displayed by that admirable melodramatic performer, Punch, when he lies in wait for the flat-headed comedian123 with the tin box of music.
‘It must have been the cat, Sarah,’ said the girl, addressing herself to some one in the house. ‘Puss, puss, puss — tit, tit, tit.’
But no animal being decoyed by these blandishments, the girl slowly closed the door, and re-fastened it; leaving Mr. Pickwick drawn124 up straight against the wall.
‘This is very curious,’ thought Mr. Pickwick. ‘They are sitting up beyond their usual hour, I suppose. Extremely unfortunate, that they should have chosen this night, of all others, for such a purpose — exceedingly.’ And with these thoughts, Mr. Pickwick cautiously retired to the angle of the wall in which he had been before ensconced; waiting until such time as he might deem it safe to repeat the signal.
He had not been here five minutes, when a vivid flash of lightning was followed by a loud peal125 of thunder that crashed and rolled away in the distance with a terrific noise — then came another flash of lightning, brighter than the other, and a second peal of thunder louder than the first; and then down came the rain, with a force and fury that swept everything before it.
Mr. Pickwick was perfectly aware that a tree is a very dangerous neighbour in a thunderstorm. He had a tree on his right, a tree on his left, a third before him, and a fourth behind. If he remained where he was, he might fall the victim of an accident; if he showed himself in the centre of the garden, he might be consigned126 to a constable127. Once or twice he tried to scale the wall, but having no other legs this time, than those with which Nature had furnished him, the only effect of his struggles was to inflict128 a variety of very unpleasant gratings on his knees and shins, and to throw him into a state of the most profuse129 perspiration130.
‘What a dreadful situation,’ said Mr. Pickwick, pausing to wipe his brow after this exercise. He looked up at the house — all was dark. They must be gone to bed now. He would try the signal again.
He walked on tiptoe across the moist gravel131, and tapped at the door. He held his breath, and listened at the key-hole. No reply: very odd. Another knock. He listened again. There was a low whispering inside, and then a voice cried —
‘Who’s there?’
‘That’s not Job,’ thought Mr. Pickwick, hastily drawing himself straight up against the wall again. ‘It’s a woman.’
He had scarcely had time to form this conclusion, when a window above stairs was thrown up, and three or four female voices repeated the query132 —‘Who’s there?’
Mr. Pickwick dared not move hand or foot. It was clear that the whole establishment was roused. He made up his mind to remain where he was, until the alarm had subsided133; and then by a supernatural effort, to get over the wall, or perish in the attempt.
Like all Mr. Pickwick’s determinations, this was the best that could be made under the circumstances; but, unfortunately, it was founded upon the assumption that they would not venture to open the door again. What was his discomfiture134, when he heard the chain and bolts withdrawn135, and saw the door slowly opening, wider and wider! He retreated into the corner, step by step; but do what he would, the interposition of his own person, prevented its being opened to its utmost width.
‘Who’s there?’ screamed a numerous chorus of treble voices from the staircase inside, consisting of the spinster lady of the establishment, three teachers, five female servants, and thirty boarders, all half-dressed and in a forest of curl-papers.
Of course Mr. Pickwick didn’t say who was there: and then the burden of the chorus changed into —‘Lor! I am so frightened.’
‘Cook,’ said the lady abbess, who took care to be on the top stair, the very last of the group —‘cook, why don’t you go a little way into the garden?’ ‘Please, ma’am, I don’t like,’ responded the cook.
‘Lor, what a stupid thing that cook is!’ said the thirty boarders.
‘Cook,’ said the lady abbess, with great dignity; ‘don’t answer me, if you please. I insist upon your looking into the garden immediately.’
Here the cook began to cry, and the housemaid said it was ‘a shame!’ for which partisanship136 she received a month’s warning on the spot.
‘Do you hear, cook?’ said the lady abbess, stamping her foot impatiently.
‘Don’t you hear your missis, cook?’ said the three teachers.
‘What an impudent137 thing that cook is!’ said the thirty boarders.
The unfortunate cook, thus strongly urged, advanced a step or two, and holding her candle just where it prevented her from seeing at all, declared there was nothing there, and it must have been the wind. The door was just going to be closed in consequence, when an inquisitive138 boarder, who had been peeping between the hinges, set up a fearful screaming, which called back the cook and housemaid, and all the more adventurous139, in no time.
‘What is the matter with Miss Smithers?’ said the lady abbess, as the aforesaid Miss Smithers proceeded to go into hysterics of four young lady power.
‘Lor, Miss Smithers, dear,’ said the other nine-and-twenty boarders.
‘Oh, the man — the man — behind the door!’ screamed Miss Smithers.
The lady abbess no sooner heard this appalling140 cry, than she retreated to her own bedroom, double-locked the door, and fainted away comfortably. The boarders, and the teachers, and the servants, fell back upon the stairs, and upon each other; and never was such a screaming, and fainting, and struggling beheld141. In the midst of the tumult142, Mr. Pickwick emerged from his concealment143, and presented himself amongst them.
‘Ladies — dear ladies,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Oh. he says we’re dear,’ cried the oldest and ugliest teacher. ‘Oh, the wretch144!’
‘Ladies,’ roared Mr. Pickwick, rendered desperate by the danger of his situation. ‘Hear me. I am no robber. I want the lady of the house.’
‘Oh, what a ferocious145 monster!’ screamed another teacher. ‘He wants Miss Tomkins.’
Here there was a general scream.
‘Ring the alarm bell, somebody!’ cried a dozen voices.
‘Don’t — don’t,’ shouted Mr. Pickwick. ‘Look at me. Do I look like a robber! My dear ladies — you may bind146 me hand and leg, or lock me up in a closet, if you like. Only hear what I have got to say — only hear me.’
‘How did you come in our garden?’ faltered147 the housemaid.
‘Call the lady of the house, and I’ll tell her everything,’ said Mr. Pickwick, exerting his lungs to the utmost pitch. ‘Call her — only be quiet, and call her, and you shall hear everything .’
It might have been Mr. Pickwick’s appearance, or it might have been his manner, or it might have been the temptation — irresistible148 to a female mind — of hearing something at present enveloped in mystery, that reduced the more reasonable portion of the establishment (some four individuals) to a state of comparative quiet. By them it was proposed, as a test of Mr. Pickwick’s sincerity149, that he should immediately submit to personal restraint; and that gentleman having consented to hold a conference with Miss Tomkins, from the interior of a closet in which the day boarders hung their bonnets150 and sandwich-bags, he at once stepped into it, of his own accord, and was securely locked in. This revived the others; and Miss Tomkins having been brought to, and brought down, the conference began.
‘What did you do in my garden, man?’ said Miss Tomkins, in a faint voice.
‘I came to warn you that one of your young ladies was going to elope to-night,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, from the interior of the closet.
‘Elope!’ exclaimed Miss Tomkins, the three teachers, the thirty boarders, and the five servants. ‘Who with?’ ‘Your friend, Mr. Charles Fitz–Marshall.’
‘MY friend! I don’t know any such person.’
‘Well, Mr. Jingle, then.’
‘I never heard the name in my life.’
‘Then, I have been deceived, and deluded,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I have been the victim of a conspiracy — a foul151 and base conspiracy. Send to the Angel, my dear ma’am, if you don’t believe me. Send to the Angel for Mr. Pickwick’s manservant, I implore152 you, ma’am.’
‘He must be respectable — he keeps a manservant,’ said Miss Tomkins to the writing and ciphering governess.
‘It’s my opinion, Miss Tomkins,’ said the writing and ciphering governess, ‘that his manservant keeps him, I think he’s a madman, Miss Tomkins, and the other’s his keeper.’
‘I think you are very right, Miss Gwynn,’ responded Miss Tomkins. ‘Let two of the servants repair to the Angel, and let the others remain here, to protect us.’
So two of the servants were despatched to the Angel in search of Mr. Samuel Weller; and the remaining three stopped behind to protect Miss Tomkins, and the three teachers, and the thirty boarders. And Mr. Pickwick sat down in the closet, beneath a grove153 of sandwich-bags, and awaited the return of the messengers, with all the philosophy and fortitude154 he could summon to his aid.
An hour and a half elapsed before they came back, and when they did come, Mr. Pickwick recognised, in addition to the voice of Mr. Samuel Weller, two other voices, the tones of which struck familiarly on his ear; but whose they were, he could not for the life of him call to mind.
A very brief conversation ensued. The door was unlocked. Mr. Pickwick stepped out of the closet, and found himself in the presence of the whole establishment of Westgate House, Mr Samuel Weller, and — old Wardle, and his destined155 son-in-law, Mr. Trundle!
‘My dear friend,’ said Mr. Pickwick, running forward and grasping Wardle’s hand, ‘my dear friend, pray, for Heaven’s sake, explain to this lady the unfortunate and dreadful situation in which I am placed. You must have heard it from my servant; say, at all events, my dear fellow, that I am neither a robber nor a madman.’
‘I have said so, my dear friend. I have said so already,’ replied Mr. Wardle, shaking the right hand of his friend, while Mr. Trundle shook the left. ‘And whoever says, or has said, he is,’ interposed Mr. Weller, stepping forward, ‘says that which is not the truth, but so far from it, on the contrary, quite the rewerse. And if there’s any number o’ men on these here premises156 as has said so, I shall be wery happy to give ’em all a wery convincing proof o’ their being mistaken, in this here wery room, if these wery respectable ladies ‘ll have the goodness to retire, and order ’em up, one at a time.’ Having delivered this defiance157 with great volubility, Mr. Weller struck his open palm emphatically with his clenched158 fist, and winked pleasantly on Miss Tomkins, the intensity159 of whose horror at his supposing it within the bounds of possibility that there could be any men on the premises of Westgate House Establishment for Young Ladies, it is impossible to describe.
Mr. Pickwick’s explanation having already been partially160 made, was soon concluded. But neither in the course of his walk home with his friends, nor afterwards when seated before a blazing fire at the supper he so much needed, could a single observation be drawn from him. He seemed bewildered and amazed. Once, and only once, he turned round to Mr. Wardle, and said —
‘How did you come here?’
‘Trundle and I came down here, for some good shooting on the first,’ replied Wardle. ‘We arrived to-night, and were astonished to hear from your servant that you were here too. But I am glad you are,’ said the old fellow, slapping him on the back —‘I am glad you are. We shall have a jovial161 party on the first, and we’ll give Winkle another chance — eh, old boy?’
Mr. Pickwick made no reply, he did not even ask after his friends at Dingley Dell, and shortly afterwards retired for the night, desiring Sam to fetch his candle when he rung. The bell did ring in due course, and Mr. Weller presented himself.
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking out from under the bed-clothes.
‘Sir,’ said Mr. Weller.
Mr. Pickwick paused, and Mr. Weller snuffed the candle.
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick again, as if with a desperate effort.
‘Sir,’ said Mr. Weller, once more.
‘Where is that Trotter?’
‘Job, sir?’
‘Yes.
‘Gone, sir.’
‘With his master, I suppose?’
‘Friend or master, or whatever he is, he’s gone with him,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘There’s a pair on ’em, sir.’
‘Jingle suspected my design, and set that fellow on you, with this story, I suppose?’ said Mr. Pickwick, half choking.
‘Just that, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘It was all false, of course?’
‘All, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Reg’lar do, sir; artful dodge162.’
‘I don’t think he’ll escape us quite so easily the next time, Sam!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘I don’t think he will, Sir.’
‘Whenever I meet that Jingle again, wherever it is,’ said Mr. Pickwick, raising himself in bed, and indenting163 his pillow with a tremendous blow, ‘I’ll inflict personal chastisement164 on him, in addition to the exposure he so richly merits. I will, or my name is not Pickwick.’
‘And venever I catches hold o’ that there melan-cholly chap with the black hair,’ said Sam, ‘if I don’t bring some real water into his eyes, for once in a way, my name ain’t Weller. Good-night, Sir!’
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收听单词发音
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1
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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2
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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4
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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5
sickle
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| n.镰刀 | |
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tinges
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| n.细微的色彩，一丝痕迹( tinge的名词复数 ) | |
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7
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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8
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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10
sieves
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| 筛，漏勺( sieve的名词复数 ) | |
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11
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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14
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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15
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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16
scrambles
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| n.抢夺( scramble的名词复数 )v.快速爬行( scramble的第三人称单数 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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17
reaper
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| n.收割者，收割机 | |
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18
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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19
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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20
nefarious
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| adj.恶毒的，极坏的 | |
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21
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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22
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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23
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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24
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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25
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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26
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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27
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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28
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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29
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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30
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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31
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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32
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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33
lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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34
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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35
loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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36
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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37
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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38
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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39
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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40
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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42
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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43
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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44
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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45
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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46
acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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47
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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48
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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49
dispelling
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的现在分词 ) | |
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50
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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51
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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52
conviviality
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| n.欢宴，高兴，欢乐 | |
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53
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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54
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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55
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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56
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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57
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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58
friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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59
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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60
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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61
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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63
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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64
clove
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| n.丁香味 | |
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65
smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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66
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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67
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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68
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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69
slake
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| v.解渴，使平息 | |
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70
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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72
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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73
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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74
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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75
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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76
contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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77
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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78
preys
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| v.掠食( prey的第三人称单数 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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79
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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80
indicted
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| 控告，起诉( indict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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82
ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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83
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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84
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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85
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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86
accosting
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的现在分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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87
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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88
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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89
parenthesis
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| n.圆括号，插入语，插曲，间歇，停歇 | |
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90
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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91
secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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92
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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93
frustrating
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| adj.产生挫折的，使人沮丧的，令人泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的现在分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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94
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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95
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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96
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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97
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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98
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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99
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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100
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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101
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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102
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
encumbrance
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| n.妨碍物，累赘 | |
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104
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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105
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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107
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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108
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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109
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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110
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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111
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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112
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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113
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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115
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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116
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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117
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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118
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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119
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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120
outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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121
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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122
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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123
comedian
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| n.喜剧演员；滑稽演员 | |
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124
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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125
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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126
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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127
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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128
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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129
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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130
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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131
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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132
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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133
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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134
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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135
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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136
Partisanship
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| n. 党派性, 党派偏见 | |
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137
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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138
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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139
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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140
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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141
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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142
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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143
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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144
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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145
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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146
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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147
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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148
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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149
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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150
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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151
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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152
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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153
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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154
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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155
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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156
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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157
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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158
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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160
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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161
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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162
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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163
indenting
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| n.成穴的v.切割…使呈锯齿状( indent的现在分词 )；缩进排版 | |
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164
chastisement
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| n.惩罚 | |
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