I took covert1 means of finding out that father and Reuben had seen him, and that he was well; and I am quite sure that I blushed with pleasure when, on the morning of the third day, mother said that she was certain the white curtains at "The Elms" must be getting soiled, and suggested that I should carry up a new pair. Harrod was becoming quite a favorite with her, or she would never have taken so much trouble for his comforts—it was no necessary duty on her part. I blushed, but I did not think that any one had noticed it.
When mother had left the kitchen, however, with the key of the linen2 press, I saw that two little black eyes were fixed3 on me with a merry twinkle. They made me angry for a moment, I don't know why; but it was a shame to be angry with old Deb, especially when her dear old red face was so kindly4 and affectionate: it was not always wont5 to be so.
"Well, well, I'm glad to see folk are for forgiving that poor young man for being bailiff at Knellestone," said she, with good-humored banter6. "When I see'd what a fine masterful chap it were, I had my doubts it ud end that way."
Deborah laughed. "What do you say, Joyce?" said she, turning to my sister, who was intent upon some one of the household duties that she was so glad to be back at. "They aren't quite so hard on the young man as they were for going to be, are they?"
"I don't quite understand," said Joyce, with perfectly8 genuine innocence9. "Why should mother be hard upon him? It isn't his fault if he's father's bailiff. Besides, I'm sure mother sees how useful he is to father."
Deb laughed louder than ever. "There, bless you, my dear," said she; "you never could see round a corner; but you've more common-sense than the lot of 'em. Why should folk owe the man a grudge10, to be sure? All the same, your mother'll spoil him afore she's done with him. Curtains, indeed! I never knowed a bailiff as needed 'em before."
Mother came back at that moment with the things, and I hastened to beg Joyce to accompany me up to "The Elms" after dinner. Somehow, although in my heart I knew that I was longing11 to see Trayton Harrod again, a sudden shyness had come over me at the thought of meeting him, and I wanted Joyce to be there.
Joyce, however, would not come; she begged off on the score of many household jobs that had got behind-hand in her absence, and mother said that I might just as well go alone and get the thing done with Dorcas's help, for that of course the bailiff was sure to be out at that time of day.
So alone I was forced to go. Most likely, as mother said, Mr. Harrod would be out; but I took Taff with me—a dog was better than most human beings; and with Taff at my heels I felt my self-consciousness evaporate.
I crossed the lane and skirted the brow of the hill behind the pine-tree lane; the mill-arms faced the village with a west wind, but the breeze had dropped since morning, and the air was heavy and thunderous. I thought I would go round by the new reservoir and see how the work was getting on. Mr. Harrod would very likely be there: it was that one among his new ventures about which at the moment he was the most excited, and the pipes were just about to be laid; even if I met him he was not obliged to know that I was going to "The Elms."
My heart began to beat a little as I drew near the group, but the bailiff was not there; only old Luck, the sheep-dog, ambled12 towards me wagging his tail, and I knew that Reuben could not be far off. Sure enough, there he was among the men, who were just leaving off work, talking to Jack13 Barnstaple.
"I want to know whatever he needs to come stuffing his new-fangled notions down folk's throats as have thriven on the old ones all their lives?" the latter was saying. "We don't understand such things hereabouts. We haven't been so well brought up. He'd best let us alone."
"Yes, I telled him so," said Reuben, sagely14, shaking his stately white head, that looked for all the world like parson's when he had his hat off; "but these young folk they must always be thinking they knows better than them as has a life's experience. But look 'ere, lads, we hain't been educated at the Agricultural College at Ashford, ye know."
"Blow the Agricultural College," muttered Jack Barnstaple.
"Yes; and so he'll say when he finds out he's none so sure about these Golding 'ops. And so master'll say when he finds as he's dropped all his money over pipes and wells as was never meant to answer."
"What do you mean by that, Reuben?" said I, coming up behind him. And I am sure that my cheeks were red, and my eyes black, as father would declare they were when the devil got into me. "What was never meant to answer?"
Reuben looked crestfallen15, for of course I know he had not expected me to be within hearing, and the other men began to pack up their tools for going home.
"Well, miss, it don't stand to reason that a man can expect water to go uphill to please him," said Reuben, with a grim smile.
"Water finds its own level, Reuben," explained I, sagaciously; "Mr. Harrod told me that, and father said so too. The spring is on yonder hill, and if the pipes are laid through the valley to this hill, the water is bound to come to the same level."
I saw smiles upon the men's faces, and Reuben shook his head.
"There's nothing will bring water uphill saving a pump, miss," said Jack Barnstaple, gloomily. He always said everything gloomily—it was a way he had.
"Nay," added Reuben, looking at me with those pathetic eyes of his that seemed to say so much that he can never have intended; "it may be a man or it may be a beast, but some one has got to draw the water uphill afore it'll come. It may run down yonder hill, but it won't run up this un of its own self. 'Tain't in nature."
"Well, Reuben, I advise you to keep to talking of what you can understand," said I, crossly. "I should have thought you would have had sense enough to know that Mr. Harrod must needs know better than you."
A faint provoking smile spread over Reuben's lips. "Young folk holds together," said he, laconically16. "'Tis in nature."
I flashed an angry glance at the old man, but I saw a lurking17 smile—for the first time in my experience—on the face of stolid18 Jack Barnstaple, who had lingered behind the others. My face went red, as red as my red hair, and I stooped down to caress19 the dog. What did the man mean? what had Deb meant that morning in the kitchen? But I raised my head defiantly20.
"Well, I think you had just best all of you wait and see," said I, severely21. "You'll feel great fools when you find you have made a mistake."
I was alluding22 to the water scheme; but it struck me afterwards that the men might have misunderstood me. But it was too late to correct the mistake, and without another word I ran down the hill to the path that led to "The Elms."
My cheeks were hot with the consciousness that I had a secret that could be guessed even by Reuben Ruck; the consciousness made my heart beat again very fast; but it need not have done so: as was to have been expected, Mr. Harrod was not at home.
Dorcas and I put up the curtains together, and then I was left alone in the little parlor23 while she went to make me a cup of tea. It was the first time I had been alone in that room—his room.
A bare, comfortless, countryman's and bachelor's room, but more interesting to me than the daintiest lady's parlor. By the empty hearth24 the high-backed wooden chair in which he sat; beside the wide old-fashioned grate the hob upon which sang the kettle for his lonely breakfast; in the centre of the rough brick floor the large square oaken table at which he ate; on the high chimney-piece the pipes that he smoked, the tobacco-jar from which he filled them, a revolver, and an almanac; on the walls two water-color drawings, one representing an old gentleman in an arm-chair, the other the outside of a country house overgrown with wistaria; standing25 in the corner a handsome fowling-piece, which I had seen him carry; in the bookshelf between the windows the books that he read.
I wandered up and looked at them: a curious assemblage of shabby volumes, although at that time they embodied27 to me all that was highest in culture. That was ten years ago, and I was in love. Had it not been so I might have remembered that father's library was at least as good.
Milton, a twelve-volumed edition of Shakespeare, a Bible, a Pilgrim's Progress, a volume of Cowper's Poems, a volume of Percy's Reliques, Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Sir Walter Scott's Novels, Byron, Burns, some odd volumes of Dickens, and then books on Agriculture, the authors and their titles strange to me; this is all I remember. A mixed collection—probably the result of several generations, but not a bad one if Trayton Harrod read it all and read it well.
I looked at it sadly. Save the Walter Scott Novels, the Burns Poems, the Bible, and the Pilgrim's Progress, I knew none of them excepting by name, and not all of them even then. I felt very ignorant and very much ashamed of myself; for I never doubted that Harrod read and knew all these books, and how could a man who knew so much have anything in common with a girl who knew so little? I resolved to read, to learn, to grow clever. Joyce had said that I was clever, Joyce might know; why not?
I took the volume of Milton down and sat upon the low window-seat reading it. It was rather dreadful to be immediately confronted with Satan as an orator28, for I had never been used to consider him as a personage, but rather as a grim embodiment of evil too horrible to be named aloud. But the rich and sonorous29 flow of the splendid verse fascinated me and I read on, although I didn't understand much that I read.
My thoughts wandered often to notice that the square of carpet was threadbare, and that I must persuade mother to get a new one; or to gaze out of the window upon the sloping bosom30 of the downs whereon this house stood lonely—a mark for all the winds of heaven; in the serene31 solitude32 the sleepy sheep strayed idly—cropping as they went—white blots33 upon the yellow pastures. And all the while I was listening for a footstep that I feared yet hoped would come, longing to be away and yet incapable34 of the determination which should take me from that chance of a possible meeting. But, long as I have taken to tell it, the time that I waited was not ten minutes before a heavy foot made the boards creak in the passage and a hand was on the door-knob. I started up, my cheeks aflame—the volume of Milton on the floor. But when the door opened it was Squire35 Broderick who stood in the opening. I don't think the red in my face faded, for I was vexed36 that he should see me there, and I fancied that he looked surprised.
"Oh, do you know if Harrod is at home?" asked he.
"No, he's not," answered I, glancing up at the clean windows; "and I've been putting up fresh curtains meanwhile."
"They look delicious," said the squire, with a little awkward laugh, not quite so hearty37 as usual. "What care you take of him!"
"Mother is a dreadful fidget, you know," murmured I.
"And at the same time you took a turn at Harrod's library," smiled he, picking up the volume which lay near my foot. "Milton! Rather a heavy order for a child like you, isn't it?"
I flushed up angrily. A child!
"Do you understand it?" asked he.
I struggled for a moment between pride and truthfulness38. "No," said I, "not all. Do you?"
He smiled, that kind, sweet smile that made me ashamed of being cross.
"Come, I'm not going to confess my ignorance to you," he laughed. "I'm too old;" and he took hold of my arm to help it into the sleeve of my jacket, which I was trying to put on.
But at that moment Dorcas brought in the tea, and of course I was obliged to stay and have some, and even to hand a cup to the squire to please her; country-folk stand on ceremony over such things, and I did not want to offend Dorcas.
"You'll stop in to-night and see Joyce, won't you?" said I, for want of something to say, for I felt more than usually awkward. "She looks better than ever. She hasn't lost her country looks."
"I am glad of that," said he, glancing at me, although of course he must have been thinking of sister; "they're the only ones worth having." And then, although he promised to come in and welcome her home, he went back to our first subject of talk.
"As you're so fond of reading, you ought to get hold of a bit of Shakespeare," said he.
"Should I like that?" asked I. "I like poetry when it sounds nice, but I like the Waverley novels best."
"But Shakespeare is novel and poetry too," said the squire. "I'm no great reader of anything but the news myself, but I like my Shakespeare now and again."
"Father keeps all those nice bound books in the glass-case," said I, "and I don't believe mother would let me have them."
The squire laughed. "Your mother thinks girls have something better to do than to read books," smiled he. "Reading is for lonely bachelors like Trayton Harrod."
"He's no more lonely than you are, Mr. Broderick," said I, "and yet you always seem to be quite happy."
He did not answer, and I was sorry for my thoughtless words, remembering that brief episode in his life when he had not been lonely.
"So you think I am always quite happy?" said he at last.
I blushed. Somehow the question was of a more intimate kind than the squire had ever addressed to me before, for although he had spoken familiarly to me on my own account, he had never allowed me to know any feeling of his own. I was afraid he must be going to speak to me about Joyce.
"Oh yes," I replied, lightly; "I think you're one of the jolliest people I know."
"Well, you're right, so I am," said he, gayly; "and I'm blessed in having rare good friends. But it does sometimes occur to me to think that I am pretty well alone in the world, Miss Margaret."
He looked round at me in his frank way, but I noticed that the hand which held his stout40 walking-stick trembled a little. I blushed again. It was very unusual for me, but he made me feel uncomfortable; I did not want him to tell me of his love for my sister, for I felt that if he did I must tell him of her secret engagement to his nephew, and that would be breaking my promise to my parents. Suddenly an idea struck me; I thought I would take the bull by the horns.
"You should marry," said I, boldly.
He looked at me in blank astonishment41.
"Of course," added I, "there's no one hereabouts that would be good enough for you—unless it might be Mary Thorne, and she is only a manufacturer's daughter. You must have a real lady, of course. You should go and spend a bit of time up in London, and bring back a nice wife with you. Wouldn't it brighten up the country-side!"
I marvel42 at myself for my boldness; I, scarcely more than a child, as he had said, to a man so much older than myself! But the squire did not seem in the least offended, only he looked very grave.
"You don't approve of people not marrying in what is called their own rank of life, I see," he said presently, with a twinkle of humor in his eye.
"No," said I, gravely; "I agree with father."
"Ah!" said the squire, with the air of a man who is getting proof of something that he has affirmed. "I told Frank so the other day. As a rule, the farmer class consider it just as great a disadvantage to mate with us as we do to mate with them."
I bit my lip. So he did consider it a falling down for a gentleman to marry a farmer's daughter! Well, let him just keep himself to himself, then. But what business had he to go meddling44 with Frank's opinions? I was very angry with him.
"I think you're quite right," I said, shortly. "They do."
There came a time when I remembered those words of his, but at the moment I scarcely noticed them. I thought I heard a footstep on the gravel43 without, and my fear of being surprised by the master of the house came back stronger than ever, because of the presence of the squire.
"I must be getting home now," said I, hastily. "I'm afraid there's a storm coming up;" and even as I spoke39, a deep, low growl47 echoed round the hills.
The squire fully48 agreed that there was no time to be lost if one did not want to get a drenching49, and on the slope outside we parted company, he promising50 once more to come up in the evening and see Joyce.
The bailiff was not within sight. I had got over my visit quite safely; but, alas51! I am not sure that I was relieved. I walked homeward as fast as I could, for heavy drops had begun to fall, and flashes of light rent the purple horizon. The sun had set, leaving a dull red lake of fire in the cleft53, as it were, of two purple-black cloud-mountains; above the lake a tongue of cloud, lurid54 with the after-glow, swooped55 like a vulture upon the land, where every shape of hill and homestead and church-spire lay clearly defined, and yet all covered as if with a pall56 of deathly gloom.
The storm advanced with terrible swiftness. By the time I had crossed the hop-gardens and was climbing the opposite lane, it had burst with all its strength, and was tearing the sky with seams of fire, and emptying spouts57 of rain upon the land. I was not afraid of a storm, but certainly I had never seen a fiercer one.
I ran on, forgetful for the moment of everything but the desire to be home, and thus it was that I did not notice footsteps behind until they were alongside of me, and Mr. Harrod's voice was saying, almost in my ear, "Miss Maliphant!"
The voice made me start, but the tone of it sent a thrill through me.
"I should have thought that one piece of foolhardiness was enough for one week," added he, with a certain look of feeling, veiled under roughness, that always seemed to me to transform his face.
"I took no harm from the other night," said I.
"Well, you may thank your stars that you didn't," answered he; "and you certainly will get wet through now."
I laughed contentedly58. "That won't hurt me," I said. "I've been up at 'The Elms' to put up fresh curtains." I hadn't meant to tell him, but a sudden spirit of mischief59, and I don't know what sort of desire to know the effect of the speech on him, prompted me.
"To 'The Elms!'" cried he, in a disappointed tone. And then, in a lower voice, "To put up the curtains for me."
What he would have answered to that I don't know; for at that moment the sky seemed suddenly to open and to be the mouth of a flaming furnace full of fire, far into the depths of the heavens; it was the hour that should have been twilight61, but it was dark, save when that great sheet of blue light wrapped the marsh62 in splendor63; then the brown and white cattle huddled64 in groups on the pastures, the heavy gray citadel65 on the plain, the wide stretch of sea that, save for the white plumes66 of its waves, was ink beyond the brown of its shallows, the wide stretch of monotonous67 level land, the rising hill, with the old city gate close before is—all was suddenly revealed in one vivid panorama68 and faded again into mystery. The thunder followed close upon the lightning—a deafening69 crash overhead.
"By Jove!" said Harrod. "That's close. I hope you're not frightened of a storm."
"Frightened!" repeated I, scornfully.
"Some girls are," said he, half apologetically, looking at me with admiration70.
"Not I, though," I laughed.
But as I spoke my heart stood still. We had climbed the hill and had reached a spot where the trees overshadowed the road, nearly meeting overhead; a fiery71 fork crossed the white path in front of us, there was a kind of crackle in the wood, and a blue flame seemed to dart72 out of the branch of an elm close at hand.
"Great God!" ejaculated Trayton Harrod under his breath, and he flung his arm around me and dragged me to the other side of the path.
I had said an instant before that I was not frightened, and I had spoken the truth; but if I had said now that I was not frightened it would have been because the sweet sense of protecting strength, which this danger had called forth73, had brought with it a happiness stronger than fear.
"Can you run?" said he. "We must get away from these trees."
I could not speak, something was in my throat, but I obeyed him. We ran till we reached the abbey, where it stood in the great open space of its own graveyard74, and there we drew aside under the shadow of the eastern buttress75, protected a little by the projecting arch.
"You're wet through," said he, laying his hand upon my arm.
I laughed again, not in the sort of exultant76 way I had laughed when he had asked me if I was afraid of lightning, but in a low, foolish kind of fashion.
"It won't hurt me," murmured I. "Nothing hurts me. I'm so strong."
"Oh yes, you're the right sort, I know," said he; "but all the same, you ought to have stayed at 'The Elms' till it was over. If I had been there I should have made you stay."
How angry those words would have made me a week ago! But now they thrilled me with delight, and with that same tender fear and longing of fresh experience that had haunted me ever since the night upon the garden cliff. Could he really have "made" me do anything?
"I shouldn't have stopped," I said; "no, not for any one. I'm not afraid of a storm." But I think there was very little of my old defiance77 in the tone. He laughed gently, and I added, "I don't see any use in waiting here."
I advanced forward into the open, but as I did so a fresh flash rent the clouds and illumined the ground all about us, revealing darkest corners in its searching light. He took me by the hand and drew me once more into the shadow—not only into the shadow of the buttress this time, but of the ruined roof of a transept, where only the lightning could have discovered us.
"Not yet," he said, gently; and although there was no need for it, he still held my hand in his.
My foolish heart began to beat wildly. What did it mean? Was that coming to pass about which I had wondered sometimes of late? I wanted to get away, and yet I could not have moved for worlds. I waited with my heart beating against my side.
But he did not speak, he only held my hand in his firmly, and I felt as though his eyes were upon me in the dark. I may have been wrong, but I felt as though his eyes were upon me.
All at once in the ivied wall above our heads an owl26 shrieked78. We started asunder79, and I felt almost as though I must have been doing something wrong, so hard did my heart thump80 against my side.
"Fancy that poor old barn-owl being able to frighten two sensible people," laughed Trayton Harrod. "But upon my word I never heard him make such a noise before."
I made no reply. I came out once more into the path, and, turning, held out my hand.
"The storm is over," I said. "Good-night."
"Oh, I must see you home," said he. "It's getting quite dark."
He walked forward with me, but the spell was broken, only my heart still beat against my side.
"You'll come in to supper?" said I, when we reached the gate. I felt myself speaking as one in a dream. The only thing that I was conscious of was a strange and foolish longing that he should not go away from me.
He did not answer for a moment, but then he said: "I'm afraid I mustn't. I'm drenched81 through; I shouldn't be presentable."
I had forgotten it; we were, in truth, neither of us presentable.
"Well, you must come to-morrow," said I, in as matter-of-fact a tone as I could muster82. "Mother expects you, and my sister is home now."
He stepped forward in front of me and opened the front door, which always stood on the latch83. The brightness from within dazzled me for a moment as he stood aside to let me pass, and there in the brightness stood Joyce.
How well I remember it! She had on a soft white muslin dress, that fell in straight, soft folds to her feet, and made her look very tall and slender, very fair and white. The light from the lamp fell down on her shining golden hair; her blue eyes were just raised under the dark lashes52, gentle and serene. Suddenly, for the first time in my life, there flashed upon me a sense of the contrast between myself and her.
I stood there an instant in my dripping old brown frock looking at her. Then I turned round to introduce Mr. Harrod. But the house door had closed behind me again. He was gone.
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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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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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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kindly
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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haughtily
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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longing
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ambled
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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sagely
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crestfallen
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laconically
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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stolid
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caress
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defiantly
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severely
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alluding
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parlor
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hearth
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standing
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owl
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embodied
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orator
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sonorous
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bosom
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serene
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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33
blots
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| 污渍( blot的名词复数 )； 墨水渍； 错事； 污点 | |
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34
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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37
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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truthfulness
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| n. 符合实际 | |
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39
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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41
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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42
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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43
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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drenching
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| n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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50
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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51
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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52
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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spouts
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| n.管口( spout的名词复数 )；（喷出的）水柱；（容器的）嘴；在困难中v.（指液体）喷出( spout的第三人称单数 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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61
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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63
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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66
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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71
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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72
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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buttress
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| n.支撑物；v.支持 | |
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76
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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78
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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80
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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81
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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82
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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83
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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