Still impassive, as behoves its breeding, the Dedlock town housecarries itself as usual towards the street of dismal1 grandeur2.
There are powdered heads from time to time in the little windows ofthe hall, looking out at the untaxed powder falling all day fromthe sky; and in the same conservatory3 there is peach blossomturning itself exotically to the great hall fire from the nippingweather out of doors. It is given out that my Lady has gone downinto Lincolnshire, but is expected to return presently.
Rumour4, busy overmuch, however, will not go down into Lincolnshire.
It persists in flitting and chattering5 about town. It knows thatthat poor unfortunate man, Sir Leicester, has been sadly used. Ithears, my dear child, all sorts of shocking things. It makes theworld of five miles round quite merry. Not to know that there issomething wrong at the Dedlocks' is to augur6 yourself unknown. Oneof the peachy-cheeked charmers with the skeleton throats is alreadyapprised of all the principal circumstances that will come outbefore the Lords on Sir Leicester's application for a bill ofdivorce.
At Blaze and Sparkle's the jewellers and at Sheen and Gloss7's themercers, it is and will be for several hours the topic of the age,the feature of the century. The patronesses of thoseestablishments, albeit8 so loftily inscrutable, being as nicelyweighed and measured there as any other article of the stock-in-trade, are perfectly9 understood in this new fashion by the rawesthand behind the counter. "Our people, Mr. Jones," said Blaze andSparkle to the hand in question on engaging him, "our people, sir,are sheep--mere sheep. Where two or three marked ones go, all therest follow. Keep those two or three in your eye, Mr. Jones, andyou have the flock." So, likewise, Sheen and Gloss to THEIR Jones,in reference to knowing where to have the fashionable people andhow to bring what they (Sheen and Gloss) choose into fashion. Onsimilar unerring principles, Mr. Sladdery the librarian, and indeedthe great farmer of gorgeous sheep, admits this very day, "Why yes,sir, there certainly ARE reports concerning Lady Dedlock, verycurrent indeed among my high connexion, sir. You see, my highconnexion must talk about something, sir; and it's only to get asubject into vogue10 with one or two ladies I could name to make itgo down with the whole. Just what I should have done with thoseladies, sir, in the case of any novelty you had left to me to bringin, they have done of themselves in this case through knowing LadyDedlock and being perhaps a little innocently jealous of her too,sir. You'll find, sir, that this topic will be very popular amongmy high connexion. If it had been a speculation11, sir, it wouldhave brought money. And when I say so, you may trust to my beingright, sir, for I have made it my business to study my highconnexion and to be able to wind it up like a clock, sir."Thus rumour thrives in the capital, and will not go down intoLincolnshire. By half-past five, post meridian12, Horse Guards'
time, it has even elicited13 a new remark from the Honourable14 Mr.
Stables, which bids fair to outshine the old one, on which he hasso long rested his colloquial15 reputation. This sparkling sally isto the effect that although he always knew she was the best-groomedwoman in the stud, he had no idea she was a bolter. It isimmensely received in turf-circles.
At feasts and festivals also, in firmaments she has often graced,and among constellations16 she outshone but yesterday, she is stillthe prevalent subject. What is it? Who is it? When was it?
Where was it? How was it? She is discussed by her dear friendswith all the genteelest slang in vogue, with the last new word, thelast new manner, the last new drawl, and the perfection of politeindifference. A remarkable18 feature of the theme is that it isfound to be so inspiring that several people come out upon it whonever came out before--positively19 say things! William Buffycarries one of these smartnesses from the place where he dines downto the House, where the Whip for his party hands it about with hissnuff-box to keep men together who want to be off, with such effectthat the Speaker (who has had it privately20 insinuated21 into his ownear under the corner of his wig) cries, "Order at the bar!" threetimes without making an impression.
And not the least amazing circumstance connected with her beingvaguely the town talk is that people hovering22 on the confines ofMr. Sladdery's high connexion, people who know nothing and ever didknow nothing about her, think it essential to their reputation topretend that she is their topic too, and to retail23 her at second-hand24 with the last new word and the last new manner, and the lastnew drawl, and the last new polite indifference17, and all the restof it, all at second-hand but considered equal to new in inferiorsystems and to fainter stars. If there be any man of letters, art,or science among these little dealers25, how noble in him to supportthe feeble sisters on such majestic26 crutches27!
So goes the wintry day outside the Dedlock mansion28. How within it?
Sir Leicester, lying in his bed, can speak a little, though withdifficulty and indistinctness. He is enjoined29 to silence and torest, and they have given him some opiate to lull30 his pain, for hisold enemy is very hard with him. He is never asleep, thoughsometimes he seems to fall into a dull waking doze31. He caused hisbedstead to be moved out nearer to the window when he heard it wassuch inclement32 weather, and his head to be so adjusted that hecould see the driving snow and sleet33. He watches it as it falls,throughout the whole wintry day.
Upon the least noise in the house, which is kept hushed, his handis at the pencil. The old housekeeper34, sitting by him, knows whathe would write and whispers, "No, he has not come back yet, SirLeicester. It was late last night when he went. He has been but alittle time gone yet."He withdraws his hand and falls to looking at the sleet and snowagain until they seem, by being long looked at, to fall so thickand fast that he is obliged to close his eyes for a minute on thegiddy whirl of white flakes35 and icy blots36.
He began to look at them as soon as it was light. The day is notyet far spent when he conceives it to be necessary that her roomsshould be prepared for her. It is very cold and wet. Let there begood fires. Let them know that she is expected. Please see to ityourself. He writes to this purpose on his slate37, and Mrs.
Rouncewell with a heavy heart obeys.
"For I dread38, George," the old lady says to her son, who waitsbelow to keep her company when she has a little leisure, "I dread,my dear, that my Lady will never more set foot within these walls.""That's a bad presentiment39, mother.""Nor yet within the walls of Chesney Wold, my dear.""That's worse. But why, mother?""When I saw my Lady yesterday, George, she looked to me--and I maysay at me too--as if the step on the Ghost's Walk had almost walkedher down.""Come, come! You alarm yourself with old-story fears, mother.""No I don't, my dear. No I don't. It's going on for sixty yearthat I have been in this family, and I never had any fears for itbefore. But it's breaking up, my dear; the great old Dedlockfamily is breaking up.""I hope not, mother.""I am thankful I have lived long enough to be with Sir Leicester inthis illness and trouble, for I know I am not too old nor toouseless to be a welcomer sight to him than anybody else in my placewould be. But the step on the Ghost's Walk will walk my Lady down,George; it has been many a day behind her, and now it will pass herand go on.""Well, mother dear, I say again, I hope not.""Ah, so do I, George," the old lady returns, shaking her head andparting her folded hands. "But if my fears come true, and he hasto know it, who will tell him!""Are these her rooms?""These are my Lady's rooms, just as she left them.""Why, now," says the trooper, glancing round him and speaking in alower voice, "I begin to understand how you come to think as you dothink, mother. Rooms get an awful look about them when they arefitted up, like these, for one person you are used to see in them,and that person is away under any shadow, let alone being God knowswhere."He is not far out. As all partings foreshadow the great final one,so, empty rooms, bereft41 of a familiar presence, mournfully whisperwhat your room and what mine must one day be. My Lady's state hasa hollow look, thus gloomy and abandoned; and in the innerapartment, where Mr. Bucket last night made his secretperquisition, the traces of her dresses and her ornaments42, even themirrors accustomed to reflect them when they were a portion ofherself, have a desolate43 and vacant air. Dark and cold as thewintry day is, it is darker and colder in these deserted44 chambersthan in many a hut that will barely exclude the weather; and thoughthe servants heap fires in the grates and set the couches and thechairs within the warm glass screens that let their ruddy lightshoot through to the furthest corners, there is a heavy cloud uponthe rooms which no light will dispel46.
The old housekeeper and her son remain until the preparations arecomplete, and then she returns upstairs. Volumnia has taken Mrs.
Rouncewell's place in the meantime, though pearl necklaces androuge pots, however calculated to embellish47 Bath, are butindifferent comforts to the invalid48 under present circumstances.
Volumnia, not being supposed to know (and indeed not knowing) whatis the matter, has found it a ticklish49 task to offer appropriateobservations and consequently has supplied their place withdistracting smoothings of the bed-linen50, elaborate locomotion51 ontiptoe, vigilant52 peeping at her kinsman's eyes, and oneexasperating whisper to herself of, "He is asleep." In disproof ofwhich superfluous53 remark Sir Leicester has indignantly written onthe slate, "I am not."Yielding, therefore, the chair at the bedside to the quaint54 oldhousekeeper, Volumnia sits at a table a little removed,sympathetically sighing. Sir Leicester watches the sleet and snowand listens for the returning steps that he expects. In the earsof his old servant, looking as if she had stepped out of an oldpicture-frame to attend a summoned Dedlock to another world, thesilence is fraught55 with echoes of her own words, "who will tellhim!"He has been under his valet's hands this morning to be madepresentable and is as well got up as the circumstances will allow.
He is propped56 with pillows, his grey hair is brushed in its usualmanner, his linen is arranged to a nicety, and he is wrapped in aresponsible dressing-gown. His eye-glass and his watch are readyto his hand. It is necessary--less to his own dignity now perhapsthan for her sake--that he should be seen as little disturbed andas much himself as may be. Women will talk, and Volumnia, though aDedlock, is no exceptional case. He keeps her here, there islittle doubt, to prevent her talking somewhere else. He is veryill, but he makes his present stand against distress57 of mind andbody most courageously58.
The fair Volumnia, being one of those sprightly59 girls who cannotlong continue silent without imminent60 peril61 of seizure62 by thedragon Boredom63, soon indicates the approach of that monster with aseries of undisguisable yawns. Finding it impossible to suppressthose yawns by any other process than conversation, she complimentsMrs. Rouncewell on her son, declaring that he positively is one ofthe finest figures she ever saw and as soldierly a looking person,she should think, as what's his name, her favourite Life Guardsman--the man she dotes on, the dearest of creatures--who was killed atWaterloo.
Sir Leicester hears this tribute with so much surprise and staresabout him in such a confused way that Mrs. Rouncewell feels itnecesary to explain.
"Miss Dedlock don't speak of my eldest64 son, Sir Leicester, but myyoungest. I have found him. He has come home."Sir Leicester breaks silence with a harsh cry. "George? Your sonGeorge come home, Mrs. Rouncewell?"The old housekeeper wipes her eyes. "Thank God. Yes, SirLeicester."Does this discovery of some one lost, this return of some one solong gone, come upon him as a strong confirmation65 of his hopes?
Does he think, "Shall I not, with the aid I have, recall her safelyafter this, there being fewer hours in her case than there areyears in his?"It is of no use entreating66 him; he is determined67 to speak now, andhe does. In a thick crowd of sounds, but still intelligibly68 enoughto be understood.
"Why did you not tell me, Mrs. Rouncewell?""It happened only yesterday, Sir Leicester, and I doubted yourbeing well enough to be talked to of such things."Besides, the giddy Volumnia now remembers with her little screamthat nobody was to have known of his being Mrs. Rouncewell's sonand that she was not to have told. But Mrs. Rouncewell protests,with warmth enough to swell69 the stomacher, that of course she wouldhave told Sir Leicester as soon as he got better.
"Where is your son George, Mrs. Rouncewell?" asks Sir Leicester,Mrs. Rouncewell, not a little alarmed by his disregard of thedoctor's injunctions, replies, in London.
"Where in London?"Mrs. Rouncewell is constrained70 to admit that he is in the house.
"Bring him here to my room. Bring him directly."The old lady can do nothing but go in search of him. SirLeicester, with such power of movement as he has, arranges himselfa little to receive him. When he has done so, he looks out againat the falling sleet and snow and listens again for the returningsteps. A quantity of straw has been tumbled down in the street todeaden the noises there, and she might be driven to the doorperhaps without his hearing wheels.
He is lying thus, apparently71 forgetful of his newer and minorsurprise, when the housekeeper returns, accompanied by her trooperson. Mr. George approaches softly to the bedside, makes his bow,squares his chest, and stands, with his face flushed, very heartilyashamed of himself.
"Good heaven, and it is really George Rouncewell!" exclaims SirLeicester. "Do you remember me, George?"The trooper needs to look at him and to separate this sound fromthat sound before he knows what he has said, but doing this andbeing a little helped by his mother, he replies, "I must have avery bad memory, indeed, Sir Leicester, if I failed to rememberyou.""When I look at you, George Rouncewell," Sir Leicester observeswith difficulty, "I see something of a boy at Chesney Wold--Iremember well--very well."He looks at the trooper until tears come into his eyes, and then helooks at the sleet and snow again.
"I ask your pardon, Sir Leicester," says the trooper, "but wouldyou accept of my arms to raise you up? You would lie easier, SirLeicester, if you would allow me to move you.""If you please, George Rouncewell; if you will be so good."The trooper takes him in his arms like a child, lightly raises him,and turns him with his face more towards the window. "Thank you.
You have your mother's gentleness," returns Sir Leicester, "andyour own strength. Thank you."He signs to him with his hand not to go away. George quietlyremains at the bedside, waiting to be spoken to.
"Why did you wish for secrecy72?" It takes Sir Leicester some timeto ask this.
"Truly I am not much to boast of, Sir Leicester, and I--I shouldstill, Sir Leicester, if you was not so indisposed--which I hopeyou will not be long--I should still hope for the favour of beingallowed to remain unknown in general. That involves explanationsnot very hard to be guessed at, not very well timed here, and notvery creditable to myself. However opinions may differ on avariety of subjects, I should think it would be universally agreed,Sir Leicester, that I am not much to boast of.""You have been a soldier," observes Sir Leicester, "and a faithfulone."George makes his military how. "As far as that goes, SirLeicester, I have done my duty under discipline, and it was theleast I could do.""You find me," says Sir Leicester, whose eyes are much attractedtowards him, "far from well, George Rouncewell.""I am very sorry both to hear it and to see it, Sir Leicester.""I am sure you are. No. In addition to my older malady73, I havehad a sudden and bad attack. Something that deadens," making anendeavour to pass one hand down one side, "and confuses," touchinghis lips.
George, with a look of assent74 and sympathy, makes another bow. Thedifferent times when they were both young men (the trooper much theyounger of the two) and looked at one another down at Chesney Woldarise before them both and soften75 both.
Sir Leicester, evidently with a great determination to say, in hisown manner, something that is on his mind before relapsing intosilence, tries to raise himself among his pillows a little more.
George, observant of the action, takes him in his arms again andplaces him as he desires to be. "Thank you, George. You areanother self to me. You have often carried my spare gun at ChesneyWold, George. You are familiar to me in these strangecircumstances, very familiar." He has put Sir Leicester's sounderarm over his shoulder in lifting him up, and Sir Leicester is slowin drawing it away again as he says these words.
"I was about to add," he presently goes on, "I was about to add,respecting this attack, that it was unfortunately simultaneous witha slight misunderstanding between my Lady and myself. I do notmean that there was any difference between us (for there has beennone), but that there was a misunderstanding of certaincircumstances important only to ourselves, which deprives me, for alittle while, of my Lady's society. She has found it necessary tomake a journey--I trust will shortly return. Volumnia, do I makemyself intelligible77? The words are not quite under my command inthe manner of pronouncing them."Volumnia understands him perfectly, and in truth be delivershimself with far greater plainness than could have been supposedpossible a minute ago. The effort by which he does so is writtenin the anxious and labouring expression of his face. Nothing butthe strength of his purpose enables him to make it.
"Therefore, Volumnia, I desire to say in your presence--and in thepresence of my old retainer and friend, Mrs. Rouncewell, whosetruth and fidelity78 no one can question, and in the presence of herson George, who comes back like a familiar recollection of my youthin the home of my ancestors at Chesney Wold--in case I shouldrelapse, in case I should not recover, in case I should lose bothmy speech and the power of writing, though I hope for betterthings--"The old housekeeper weeping silently; Volumnia in the greatestagitation, with the freshest bloom on her cheeks; the trooper withhis arms folded and his head a little bent79, respectfully attentive80.
"Therefore I desire to say, and to call you all to witness--beginning, Volumnia, with yourself, most solemnly--that I am onunaltered terms with Lady Dedlock. That I assert no cause whateverof complaint against her. That I have ever had the strongestaffection for her, and that I retain it undiminished. Say this toherself, and to every one. If you ever say less than this, youwill be guilty of deliberate falsehood to me."Volumnia tremblingly protests that she will observe his injunctionsto the letter.
"My Lady is too high in position, too handsome, too accomplished,too superior in most respects to the best of those by whom she issurrounded, not to have her enemies and traducers, I dare say. Letit be known to them, as I make it known to you, that being of soundmind, memory, and understanding, I revoke81 no disposition82 I havemade in her favour. I abridge83 nothing I have ever bestowed84 uponher. I am on unaltered terms with her, and I recall--having thefull power to do it if I were so disposed, as you see--no act Ihave done for her advantage and happiness."His formal array of words might have at any other time, as it hasoften had, something ludicrous in it, but at this time it isserious and affecting. His noble earnestness, his fidelity, hisgallant shielding of her, his generous conquest of his own wrongand his own pride for her sake, are simply honourable, manly85, andtrue. Nothing less worthy86 can be seen through the lustre87 of suchqualities in the commonest mechanic, nothing less worthy can beseen in the best-born gentleman. In such a light both aspirealike, both rise alike, both children of the dust shine equally.
Overpowered by his exertions88, he lays his head back on his pillowsand closes his eyes for not more than a minute, when he againresumes his watching of the weather and his attention to themuffled sounds. In the rendering89 of those little services, and inthe manner of their acceptance, the trooper has become installed asnecessary to him. Nothing has been said, but it is quiteunderstood. He falls a step or two backward to be out of sight andmounts guard a little behind his mother's chair.
The day is now beginning to decline. The mist and the sleet intowhich the snow has all resolved itself are darker, and the blazebegins to tell more vividly90 upon the room walls and furniture. Thegloom augments91; the bright gas springs up in the streets; and thepertinacious oil lamps which yet hold their ground there, withtheir source of life half frozen and half thawed92, twinkle gaspinglylike fiery93 fish out of water--as they are. The world, which hasbeen rumbling94 over the straw and pulling at the bell, "to inquire,"begins to go home, begins to dress, to dine, to discuss its dearfriend with all the last new modes, as already mentioned.
Now does Sir Leicester become worse, restless, uneasy, and in greatpain. Volumnia, lighting95 a candle (with a predestined aptitude96 fordoing something objectionable), is bidden to put it out again, forit is not yet dark enough. Yet it is very dark too, as dark as itwill be all night. By and by she tries again. No! Put it out.
It is not dark enough yet.
His old housekeeper is the first to understand that he is strivingto uphold the fiction with himself that it is not growing late.
"Dear Sir Leicester, my honoured master," she softly whispers, "Imust, for your own good, and my duty, take the freedom of beggingand praying that you will not lie here in the lone40 darknesswatching and waiting and dragging through the time. Let me drawthe curtains, and light the candles, and make things morecomfortable about you. The church-clocks will strike the hoursjust the same, Sir Leicester, and the night will pass away just thesame. My Lady will come back, just the same.""I know it, Mrs. Rouncewell, but I am weak--and he has been so longgone.""Not so very long, Sir Leicester. Not twenty-four hours yet.""But that is a long time. Oh, it is a long time!"He says it with a groan97 that wrings98 her heart.
She knows that this is not a period for bringing the rough lightupon him; she thinks his tears too sacred to be seen, even by her.
Therefore she sits in the darkness for a while without a word, thengently begins to move about, now stirring the fire, now standing76 atthe dark window looking out. Finally he tells her, with recoveredself-command, "As you say, Mrs. Rouncewell, it is no worse forbeing confessed. It is getting late, and they are not come. Lightthe room!" When it is lighted and the weather shut out, it is onlyleft to him to listen.
But they find that however dejected and ill he is, he brightenswhen a quiet pretence99 is made of looking at the fires in her roomsand being sure that everything is ready to receive her. Poorpretence as it is, these allusions100 to her being expected keep uphope within him.
Midnight comes, and with it the same blank. The carriages in thestreets are few, and other late sounds in that neighbourhood thereare none, unless a man so very nomadically101 drunk as to stray intothe frigid102 zone goes brawling103 and bellowing104 along the pavement.
Upon this wintry night it is so still that listening to the intensesilence is like looking at intense darkness. If any distant soundbe audible in this case, it departs through the gloom like a feeblelight in that, and all is heavier than before.
The corporation of servants are dismissed to bed (not unwilling105 togo, for they were up all last night), and only Mrs. Rouncewell andGeorge keep watch in Sir Leicester's room. As the night lagstardily on--or rather when it seems to stop altogether, at betweentwo and three o'clock--they find a restless craving106 on him to knowmore about the weather, now he cannot see it. Hence George,patrolling regularly every half-hour to the rooms so carefullylooked after, extends his march to the hall-door, looks about him,and brings back the best report he can make of the worst of nights,the sleet still falling and even the stone footways lying ankle-deep in icy sludge.
Volumnia, in her room up a retired107 landing on the stair-case--thesecond turning past the end of the carving108 and gilding109, a cousinlyroom containing a fearful abortion110 of a portrait of Sir Leicesterbanished for its crimes, and commanding in the day a solemn yardplanted with dried-up shrubs111 like antediluvian112 specimens113 of blacktea--is a prey114 to horrors of many kinds. Not last nor least amongthem, possibly, is a horror of what may befall her little income inthe event, as she expresses it, "of anything happening" to SirLeicester. Anything, in this sense, meaning one thing only; andthat the last thing that can happen to the consciousness of anybaronet in the known world.
An effect of these horrors is that Volumnia finds she cannot go tobed in her own room or sit by the fire in her own room, but mustcome forth115 with her fair head tied up in a profusion116 of shawl, andher fair form enrobed in drapery, and parade the mansion like aghost, particularly haunting the rooms, warm and luxurious,prepared for one who still does not return. Solitude117 under suchcircumstances being not to be thought of, Volumnia is attended byher maid, who, impressed from her own bed for that purpose,extremely cold, very sleepy, and generally an injured maid ascondemned by circumstances to take office with a cousin, when shehad resolved to be maid to nothing less than ten thousand a year,has not a sweet expression of countenance118.
The periodical visits of the trooper to these rooms, however, inthe course of his patrolling is an assurance of protection andcompany both to mistress and maid, which renders them veryacceptable in the small hours of the night. Whenever he is heardadvancing, they both make some little decorative119 preparation toreceive him; at other times they divide their watches into shortscraps of oblivion and dialogues not wholly free from acerbity120, asto whether Miss Dedlock, sitting with her feet upon the fender, wasor was not falling into the fire when rescued (to her greatdispleasure) by her guardian121 genius the maid.
"How is Sir Leicester now, Mr. George?" inquires Volumnia,adjusting her cowl over her head.
"Why, Sir Leicester is much the same, miss. He is very low andill, and he even wanders a little sometimes.""Has he asked for me?" inquires Volumnia tenderly.
"Why, no, I can't say he has, miss. Not within my hearing, that isto say.""This is a truly sad time, Mr. George.""It is indeed, miss. Hadn't you better go to bed?""You had a deal better go to bed, Miss Dedlock," quoth the maidsharply.
But Volumnia answers No! No! She may be asked for, she may bewanted at a moment's notice. She never should forgive herself "ifanything was to happen" and she was not on the spot. She declinesto enter on the question, mooted122 by the maid, how the spot comes tobe there, and not in her room (which is nearer to Sir Leicester's),but staunchly declares that on the spot she will remain. Volumniafurther makes a merit of not having "closed an eye"--as if she hadtwenty or thirty--though it is hard to reconcile this statementwith her having most indisputably opened two within five minutes.
But when it comes to four o'clock, and still the same blank,Volumnia's constancy begins to fail her, or rather it begins tostrengthen, for she now considers that it is her duty to be readyfor the morrow, when much may be expected of her, that, in fact,howsoever anxious to remain upon the spot, it may be required ofher, as an act of self-devotion, to desert the spot. So when thetrooper reappears with his, "Hadn't you better go to bed, miss?"and when the maid protests, more sharply than before, "You had adeal better go to bed, Miss Dedlock!" she meekly123 rises and says,"Do with me what you think best!"Mr. George undoubtedly124 thinks it best to escort her on his arm tothe door of her cousinly chamber45, and the maid as undoubtedlythinks it best to hustle125 her into bed with mighty126 little ceremony.
Accordingly, these steps are taken; and now the trooper, in hisrounds, has the house to himself.
There is no improvement in the weather. From the portico127, from theeaves, from the parapet, from every ledge128 and post and pillar,drips the thawed snow. It has crept, as if for shelter, into thelintels of the great door--under it, into the corners of thewindows, into every chink and crevice129 of retreat, and there wastesand dies. It is falling still; upon the roof, upon the skylight,even through the skylight, and drip, drip, drip, with theregularity of the Ghost's Walk, on the stone floor below.
The trooper, his old recollections awakened130 by the solitarygrandeur of a great house--no novelty to him once at Chesney Wold--goes up the stairs and through the chief rooms, holding up hislight at arm's length. Thinking of his varied131 fortunes within thelast few weeks, and of his rustic132 boyhood, and of the two periodsof his life so strangely brought together across the wideintermediate space; thinking of the murdered man whose image isfresh in his mind; thinking of the lady who has disappeared fromthese very rooms and the tokens of whose recent presence are allhere; thinking of the master of the house upstairs and of theforeboding, "Who will tell him!" he looks here and looks there, andreflects how he MIGHT see something now, which it would tax hisboldness to walk up to, lay his hand upon, and prove to be a fancy.
But it is all blank, blank as the darkness above and below, whilehe goes up the great staircase again, blank as the oppressivesilence.
"All is still in readiness, George Rouncewell?""Quite orderly and right, Sir Leicester.""No word of any kind?"The trooper shakes his head.
"No letter that can possibly have been overlooked?"But he knows there is no such hope as that and lays his head downwithout looking for an answer.
Very familiar to him, as he said himself some hours ago, GeorgeRouncewell lifts him into easier positions through the longremainder of the blank wintry night, and equally familiar with hisunexpressed wish, extinguishes the light and undraws the curtainsat the first late break of day. The day comes like a phantom133.
Cold, colourless, and vague, it sends a warning streak134 before it ofa deathlike hue135, as if it cried out, "Look what I am bringing youwho watch there! Who will tell him!"
收听单词发音 |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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6
augur
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| n.占卦师；v.占卦 | |
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gloss
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| n.光泽，光滑；虚饰；注释；vt.加光泽于；掩饰 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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9
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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10
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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11
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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12
meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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13
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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15
colloquial
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| adj.口语的，会话的 | |
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16
constellations
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| n.星座( constellation的名词复数 )；一群杰出人物；一系列（相关的想法、事物）；一群（相关的人） | |
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17
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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18
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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19
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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20
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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21
insinuated
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| v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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22
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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23
retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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24
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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25
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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26
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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27
crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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28
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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29
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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31
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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32
inclement
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| adj.严酷的，严厉的，恶劣的 | |
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33
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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34
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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35
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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36
blots
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| 污渍( blot的名词复数 )； 墨水渍； 错事； 污点 | |
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37
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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38
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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39
presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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40
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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41
bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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42
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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43
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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44
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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45
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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46
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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47
embellish
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| v.装饰，布置；给…添加细节，润饰 | |
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48
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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49
ticklish
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| adj.怕痒的；问题棘手的；adv.怕痒地；n.怕痒，小心处理 | |
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50
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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51
locomotion
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| n.运动，移动 | |
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52
vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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53
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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54
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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55
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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56
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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58
courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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59
sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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60
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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61
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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62
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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63
boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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64
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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65
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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66
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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67
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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68
intelligibly
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| adv.可理解地，明了地，清晰地 | |
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69
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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70
constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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71
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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72
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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73
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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74
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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75
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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76
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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77
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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78
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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79
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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80
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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81
revoke
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| v.废除，取消，撤回 | |
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82
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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83
abridge
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| v.删减，删节，节略，缩短 | |
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84
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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86
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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87
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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88
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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89
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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90
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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91
augments
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| 增加，提高，扩大( augment的名词复数 ) | |
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92
thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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93
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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94
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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95
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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96
aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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97
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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98
wrings
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| 绞( wring的第三人称单数 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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99
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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100
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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101
nomadically
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| adv.游牧地；流浪地 | |
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102
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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103
brawling
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| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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104
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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105
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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106
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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107
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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108
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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109
gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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110
abortion
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| n.流产，堕胎 | |
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111
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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112
antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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113
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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114
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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115
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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116
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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117
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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118
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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119
decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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120
acerbity
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| n.涩，酸，刻薄 | |
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121
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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122
mooted
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| adj.未决定的，有争议的，有疑问的v.提出…供讨论( moot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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124
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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125
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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126
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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127
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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128
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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129
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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130
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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131
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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132
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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133
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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134
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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135
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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