"The ladder has swung out of our reach."
Stéphane looked at her in dismay:
"Then . . . then we are lost!"
"Why should we be lost?" she asked, with a smile.
"There is no longer any hope of getting away."
"What do you mean? Of course there is. What about François?"
"François?"
"Certainly. In an hour at most, François will have made his escape; and, when he sees the ladder and the way I came, he will call to us. We shall hear him easily. We have only to be patient."
"To be patient!" he said, in terror. "To wait for an hour! But they are sure to be here in less than that. They keep a constant watch."
"Well, we will manage somehow."
"Do you see that wicket?" he said. "They open it each time. They will see us through the grating."
"They will come in."
"Then we won't close it and we'll keep up our confidence, Stéphane."
"I'm frightened for you, not for myself."
"You mustn't be frightened either for me or for yourself . . . . If the worst comes to the worst, we are able to defend ourselves," she added, showing him a revolver which she had taken from her father's rack of arms and carried on her ever since.
"Ah," he said, "what I fear is that we shall not even be called upon to defend ourselves! They have other means."
"What means?"
He did not answer. He had flung a quick glance at the floor; and Véronique for a moment examined its curious structure.
All around, following the circumference5 of the walls, was the granite6 itself, rugged7 and uneven8. But outlined in the granite was a large square. They could see, on each of the four sides, the deep crevice9 that divided it from the rest. The timbers of which it consisted were worn and grooved10, full of cracks and gashes11, but nevertheless massive and powerful. The fourth side almost skirted the edge of the precipice12, from which it was divided by eight inches at most.
"No, not that," he said. "It would be too heavy."
"Then what?"
"I don't know. Very likely it is nothing but a remnant of some past contrivance which no longer works. Still . . ."
"Still what?"
"Last night . . . or rather this morning there was a creaking sound down below there. It seemed to suggest attempts, but they stopped at once . . . it's such a long time since! . . . No, the thing no longer works and they can't make use of it."
"Who's they?"
Without waiting for his answer, she continued:
"Listen, Stéphane, we have a few minutes before us, perhaps fewer than we think. François will be free at any moment now and will come to our rescue. Let us make the most of the interval14 and tell each other the things which both of us ought to know. Let us discuss matters quietly. We are threatened with no immediate15 danger; and the time will be well employed."
Véronique was pretending a sense of security which she did not feel. That François would make his escape she refused to doubt; but who could tell that the boy would go to the window and notice the hook of the hanging ladder? On failing to see his mother, would he not rather think of following the underground tunnel and running to the Priory?
However, she mastered herself, feeling the need of the explanation for which she had asked, and, sitting down on a granite projection16 which formed a sort of bench, she at once began to tell Stéphane the events which she had witnessed and in which she had played a leading part, from the moment when her investigations18 led her to the deserted19 cabin containing Maguennoc's dead body.
Stéphane listened to the terrifying narrative20 without attempting to interrupt her but with an alarm marked by his gestures of abhorrence21 and the despairing expression of his face. M. d'Hergemont's death in particular seemed to crush him, as did Honorine's. He had been greatly attached to both of them.
"There, Stéphane," said Véronique, when she had described the anguish23 which she suffered after the execution of the sisters Archignat, the discovery of the underground passage and her interview with François. "That is all that I need absolutely tell you. I thought that you ought to know what I have kept from François, so that we may fight our enemies together."
He shook his head:
"Which enemies?" he said. "I, too, in spite of your explanations, am asking the very question which you asked me. I have a feeling that we are flung into the midst of a great tragedy which has continued for years, for centuries, and in which we have begun to play our parts only at the moment of the crisis, at the moment of the terrific cataclysm24 prepared by generations of men. I may be wrong. Perhaps there is nothing more than a disconnected series of sinister25, weird26 and horrible coincidences amid which we are tossed from side to side, without being able to appeal to any other reasons than the whim27 of chance. In reality I know no more than you do. I am surrounded by the same obscurity, stricken by the same sorrows and the same losses. It's all just insanity28, extravagant29 convulsions, unprecedent shocks, the crimes of savages30, the fury of the barbaric ages."
Véronique agreed:
"Yes, of the barbaric ages; and that is what baffles me most and impresses me so much! What is the connection between the present and the past, between our persecutors of to-day and the men who lived in these caves in days of old and whose actions are prolonged into our own time, in a manner so impossible to understand? To what do they all refer, those legends of which I know nothing except from Honorine's delirium31 and the distress32 of the sisters Archignat?"
They spoke33 low, with their ears always on the alert. Stéphane listened for sounds in the corridor, Véronique concentrated her attention on the cliff, in the hope of hearing François' signal.
"They are very complicated legends," said Stéphane, "very obscure traditions in which we must abandon any attempt to distinguish between what is superstition34 and what might be truth. Out of this jumble35 of old wives' tales, the very most that we can disentangle is two sets of ideas, those referring to the prophecy of the thirty coffins36 and those relating to the existence of a treasure, or rather of a miraculous37 stone."
"Then they take as a prophecy," said Véronique, "the words which I read on Maguennoc's drawing and again on the Fairies' Dolmen?"
"Yes, a prophecy which dates back to an indeterminate period and which for centuries has governed the whole history and the whole life of Sarek. The belief has always prevailed that a day would come when, within a space of twelve months, the thirty principal reefs which surround the island and which are called the thirty coffins would receive[Pg 154] their thirty victims, who were to die a violent death, and that those thirty victims would include four women who were to die crucified. It is an established and undisputed tradition, handed down from father to son: and everybody believes in it. It is expressed in the line and part of a line inscribed38 on the Fairies' Dolmen: 'Four women crucified,' and 'For thirty coffins victims thirty times!'"
"Very well; but people have gone on living all the same, normally and peaceably. Why did the outburst of terror suddenly take place this year?"
"Maguennoc was largely responsible. Maguennoc was a fantastic and rather mysterious person, a mixture of the wizard and the bone-setter, the healer and the charlatan39, who had studied the stars in their courses and whom people liked to consult about the most remote events of the past as well as the future. Now Maguennoc announced not long ago that 1917 would be the fateful year."
"Why?"
"Intuition perhaps, presentiment40, divination41, or subconscious42 knowledge: you can choose any explanation that you please. As for Maguennoc, who did not despise the practices of the most antiquated43 magic, he would tell you that he knew it from the flight of a bird or the entrails of a fowl44. However, his prophecy was based on something more serious. He pretended, quoting evidence collected in his childhood among the old people of Sarek, that, at the beginning of the last century, the first line of the inscription45 on the Fairies' Dolmen was not yet obliterated46 and that it formed this, which would rhyme with 'Four women shall be crucified on tree:' 'In Sarek's isle47, in year fourteen and three.' The year fourteen and three is the year seventeen; and the prediction became more impressive for Maguennoc and his friends of late years, because the total number was divided into two numbers and the war broke out in 1914. From that day, Maguennoc grew more and more important and more and more sure of the truth of his previsions. For that matter, he also grew more and more anxious; and he even announced that his death, followed by the death of M. d'Hergemont, would give the signal for the catastrophe48. Then the year 1917 arrived and produced a genuine terror in the island. The events were close at hand."
"And still," said Véronique, "and still it was all absurd."
"Absurd, yes; but it all acquired a curiously49 disturbing significance on the day when Maguennoc was able to compare the scraps50 of prophecy engraved51 on the dolmen with the complete prophecy."
"Then he succeeded in doing so?"
"Yes. He discovered under the abbey ruins, in a heap of stones which had formed a sort of protecting chamber52 round it, an old worn and tattered53 missal, which had a few of its pages in good condition, however, and one in particular, the one which you saw, or rather of which you saw a copy in the deserted cabin."
"A copy made by my father?"
"By your father, as were all those in the cupboard in his study. M. d'Hergemont, you must remember, was fond of drawing, of painting water-colours. He copied the illuminated54 page, but of the[Pg 156] prophecy that accompanied the drawing he reproduced only the words inscribed on the Fairies' Dolmen."
"How do you account for the resemblance between the crucified woman and myself?"
"I never saw the original, which Maguennoc gave to M. d'Hergemont and which your father kept jealously in his room. But M. d'Hergemont maintained that the resemblance was there. In any case, he accentuated55 it in his drawing, in spite of himself, remembering all that you had suffered . . . and through his fault, he said."
"Perhaps," murmured Véronique, "he was also thinking of the other prophecy that was once made to Vorski: 'You will perish by the hand of a friend and your wife will be crucified.' So I suppose the strange coincidence struck him . . . and even made him write the initials of my maiden56 name, 'V. d'H.', at the top." And she added, "And all this happened in accordance with the wording of the inscription . . . ."
They were both silent. How could they do other than think of that inscription, of the words written ages ago on the pages of the missal and on the stone of the dolmen? If destiny had as yet provided only twenty-seven victims for the thirty coffins of Sarek, were the last three not there, ready to complete the sacrifice, all three imprisoned57, all three captive and in the power of the sacrificial murderers? And if, at the top of the knoll58, near the Grand Oak, there were as yet but three crosses, would the fourth not soon be prepared, to receive a fourth victim?
"François is a very long time," said Véronique, presently.
She went to the edge and looked over. The ladder had not moved and was still out of reach.
"The others will soon be coming to my door," said Stéphane. "I am surprised that they haven't been yet."
But they did not wish to confess their mutual59 anxiety; and Véronique put a further question, in a calm voice:
"And the treasure? The God-Stone?"
"That riddle60 is hardly less obscure," said Stéphane, "and also depends entirely61 on the last line of the inscription: 'The God-Stone which gives life or death.' What is this God-Stone? Tradition says that it is a miraculous stone; and, according to M. d'Hergemont, this belief dates back to the remotest periods. People at Sarek have always had faith in the existence of a stone capable of working wonders. In the middle ages they used to bring puny62 and deformed63 children and lay them on the stone for days and nights together, after which the children got up strong and healthy. Barren women resorted to this remedy with good results, as did old men, wounded men and all sorts of degenerates64. Only it came about that the place of pilgrimage underwent changes, the stone, still according to tradition, having been moved and even, according to some, having disappeared. In the eighteenth century, people venerated65 the Fairies' Dolmen and used still sometimes to expose scrofulous children there."
"But," said Véronique, "the stone also had harmful properties, for it gave death as well as life?"
"Yes, if you touched it without the knowledge of those whose business it was to guard it and keep it[Pg 158] sacred. But in this respect the mystery becomes still more complicated, for there is the question also of a precious stone, a sort of fantastic gem22 which shoots out flames, burns those who wear it and makes them suffer the tortures of the damned."
"That's what happened to Maguennoc, by Honorine's account," said Véronique.
"Yes," replied Stéphane, "but here we are entering upon the present. So far I have been speaking of the fabled66 past, the two legends, the prophecy and the God-Stone. Maguennoc's adventure opens up the period of the present day, which for that matter is hardly less obscure than the ancient period. What happened to Maguennoc? We shall probably never know. He had been keeping in the background for a week, gloomy and doing no work, when suddenly he burst into M. d'Hergemont's study roaring, 'I've touched it! I'm done for! I've touched it! . . . I took it in my hand . . . . It burnt me like fire, but I wanted to keep it . . . . Oh, it's been gnawing67 into my bones for days! It's hell, it's hell!' And he showed us the palm of his hand. It was all burnt, as though eaten up with cancer. We tried to dress it for him, but he seemed quite mad and kept rambling68 on, 'I'm the first victim . . . . the fire will go to my heart . . . . And after me the others' turn will come . . . .' That same evening, he cut off his hand with a hatchet69. And a week later, after infecting the whole island with terror, he went away."
"Where did he go to?"
"To the village of Le Faouet, on a pilgrimage to the Chapel70 of St. Barbe, near the place where you found his dead body."
"Who killed him, do you think?"
"Undoubtedly71 one of the creatures who used to correspond by means of signs written along the road, one of the creatures who live hidden in the cells and who are pursuing some purpose which I don't understand."
"Those who attacked you and François, therefore?"
"Yes; and immediately afterwards, having stolen and put on our clothes, played the parts of François and myself."
"With what object?"
"But haven't you seen them since they have kept you here?"
"I have seen only a woman, or rather caught a glimpse of her. She comes at night. She brings me food and drink, unties73 my hands, loosens the fastenings round my legs a little and comes back two hours after."
"Has she spoken to you?"
"Once only, on the first night, in a low voice, to tell me that, if I called out or uttered a sound or tried to escape, François would pay the penalty."
"But, when they attacked you, couldn't you then make out . . . ?"
"No, I saw no more than François did."
"And the attack was quite unexpected?"
"Yes, quite. M. d'Hergemont had that morning received two important letters on the subject of the investigation17 which he was making into all these facts. One of the letters, written by an old Breton nobleman well-known for his royalist leanings, was accompanied by a curious document which he had found among his great-grandfather's papers, a plan of some underground cells which the Chouans used to occupy in Sarek. It was evidently the same Druid dwellings74 of which the legends tell us. The plan showed the entrance on the Black Heath and marked two stories, each ending in a torture-chamber. François and I went out exploring together; and we were attacked on our way back."
"And you have made no discovery since?"
"No, none at all."
"But François spoke of a rescue which he was expecting, some one who had promised his assistance."
"Oh, a piece of boyish nonsense, an idea of François', which, as it happened, was connected with the second letter which M. d'Hergemont received that morning!"
"And what was it about?"
Stéphane did not reply at once. Something made him think that they were being spied on through the door. But, on going to the wicket, he saw no one in the passage outside.
"Ah," he said, "if we are to be rescued, the sooner it happens the better. They may come at any moment now."
"Is any help really possible?" asked Véronique.
"Well," Stéphane answered, "we must not attach too much importance to it, but it's rather curious all the same. You know, Sarek has often been visited by officers or inspectors75 with a view to exploring the rocks and beaches around the island, which were quite capable of concealing76 a submarine base. Last time, the special delegate sent from[Pg 161] Paris, a wounded officer, Captain Patrice Belval,[2] became friendly with M. d'Hergemont, who told him the legend of Sarek and the apprehension77 which we were beginning to feel in spite of everything; it was the day after Maguennoc went away. The story interested Captain Belval so much that he promised to speak of it to one of his friends in Paris, a Spanish or Portuguese78 nobleman, Don Luis Perenna,[2] an extraordinary person, it would seem, capable of solving the most complicated mysteries and of succeeding in the most reckless enterprises. A few days after Captain Belval's departure, M. d'Hergemont received from Don Luis Perenna the letter of which I spoke to you and of which he read us only the beginning. 'Sir,' it said, 'I look upon the Maguennoc incident as more than a little serious; and I beg you, at the least fresh alarm, to telegraph to Patrice Belval. If I can rely upon certain indications, you are standing79 on the brink80 of an abyss. But, even if you were at the bottom of that abyss, you would have nothing to fear, if only I hear from you in time. From that moment, I make myself responsible, whatever happens, even though everything may seem lost and though everything may be lost. As for the riddle of the God-Stone, it is simply childish and I am astonished that, with the very ample data which you gave Belval, it should for an instant be regarded as impossible of explanation. I will tell you in a few words what has puzzled so many generations of mankind . . . .'"
[2] See The Golden Triangle, by Maurice Leblanc.
"Well?" said Véronique, eager to know more.
"As I said, M. d'Hergemont did not tell us the end of the letter. He read it in front of us, saying, with an air of amazement81, 'Can that be it? . . . Why, of course, of course it is . . . . How wonderful!' And, when we asked him, he said, 'I'll tell you all about it this evening, when you come back from the Black Heath. Meanwhile you may like to know that this most extraordinary man—it's the only word for him—discloses to me, without more ado or further particulars, the secret of the God-Stone and the exact spot where it is to be found. And he does it so logically as to leave no room for doubt.'"
"And in the evening?"
"In the evening, François and I were carried off and M. d'Hergemont was murdered."
Véronique paused to think:
"I should not be surprised," she said, "if they wanted to steal that important letter from him. For, after all, the theft of the God-Stone seems to me the only motive82 that can explain all the machinations of which we are the victims."
"I think so too: but M. d'Hergemont, on Don Luis Perenna's recommendation, tore up the letter before our eyes."
"So, after all, Don Luis Perenna has not been informed?"
"No."
"Yet François . . ."
"François does not know of his grandfather's death and does not suspect that M. d'Hergemont never heard of our disappearance83 and therefore never sent a message to Don Luis Perenna. If he had done so, Don Luis, to François' mind, must be on his way. Besides, François has another reason for expecting something . . . ."
"A serious reason?"
"No. François is still very much of a child. He has read a lot of books of adventure, which have worked upon his imagination. Now Captain Belval told him such fantastic stories about his friend Perenna and painted Perenna in such strange colours that François firmly believes Perenna to be none other than Arsène Lupin. Hence his absolute confidence and his certainty that, in case of danger, the miraculous intervention84 will take place at the very minute when it becomes necessary."
Véronique could not help smiling:
"He is a child, of course; but children sometimes have intuitions which we have to take into account. Besides, it keeps up his courage and his spirits. How could he have endured this ordeal85, at his age, if he had not had that hope?"
Her anguish returned. In a very low voice, she said:
"No matter where the rescue comes from, so long as it comes in time and so long as my son is not the victim of those dreadful creatures!"
They were silent for a long time. The enemy, present, though invisible, oppressed them with his formidable weight. He was everywhere; he was master of the island, master of the subterranean86 dwellings, master of the heaths and woods, master of the sea around them, master of the dolmens and the coffins. He linked together the monstrous87 ages of the past and the no less monstrous hours of the present. He was continuing history according to the ancient rites88 and striking blows which had been foretold89 a thousand times.
"But why? With what object? What does it all mean?" asked Véronique, in a disheartened tone. "What connection can there be between the people of to-day and those of long ago? What is the explanation of the work resumed by such barbarous methods?"
And, after a further pause, she said, for in her heart of hearts, behind every question and reply and every insoluble problem, the obsession90 never ceased to torment91 her:
"Ah, if François were here! If we were all three fighting together! What has happened to him? What keeps him in his cell? Some obstacle which he did not foresee?"
It was Stéphane's turn to comfort her:
"An obstacle? Why should you suppose so? There is no obstacle. But it's a long job . . . ."
"Yes, yes, you are right; a long, difficult job. Oh, I'm sure that he won't lose heart! He has such high spirits! And such confidence! 'A mother and son who have been brought together cannot be parted again,' he said. 'They may still persecute92 us, but separate us, never! We shall win in the end.' He was speaking truly, wasn't he, Stéphane? I've not found my son again, have I, only to lose him? No, no, it would be too unjust and it would be impossible . . ."
Stéphane looked at her, surprised to hear her interrupt herself. Véronique was listening to something.
"What is it?" asked Stéphane.
"I hear sounds," she said.
He also listened:
"Yes, yes, you're right."
"Perhaps it's François," she said. "Perhaps it's up there."
She moved to rise. He held her back:
"No, it's the sound of footsteps in the passage."
"In that case . . . in that case . . . ?" said Véronique.
They exchanged distraught glances, forming no decision, not knowing what to do.
The sound came nearer. The enemy could not be suspecting anything, for the steps were those of one who is not afraid of being heard.
Stéphane said, slowly:
"They must not see me standing up. I will go back to my place. You must fasten me again as best you can."
They remained hesitating, as though cherishing the absurd hope that the danger would pass of its own accord. Then, suddenly, releasing herself from the sort of stupor93 that seemed to paralyse her, Véronique made up her mind:
"Quick! . . . Here they come! . . . Lie down!"
He obeyed. In a few seconds, she had replaced the cords on and around him as she had found them, but without tying them.
"Turn your face to the rock," she said. "Hide your hands. Your hands might betray you."
"And you?"
"I shall be all right."
She stooped and stretched herself at full length against the door, in which the spy-hole, barred with strips of iron, projected inwardly in such a way as to hide her from sight.
At the same moment, the enemy stopped outside. Notwithstanding the thickness of the door, Véronique heard the rustle94 of a dress.
And, above her, some one looked in.
It was a terrible moment. The least indication would give the alarm.
"Oh, why does she stay?" thought Véronique. "Is there anything to betray my presence? My clothes? . . ."
She thought that it was more likely Stéphane, whose attitude did not appear natural and whose bonds did not wear their usual aspect.
Suddenly there was a movement outside, followed by a whistle and a second whistle.
Then from the far end of the passage came another sound of steps, which increased in the solemn silence and stopped, like the first, behind the door. Words were spoken. Those outside seemed to be concerting measures.
Véronique managed to reach her pocket. She took out her revolver and put her finger on the trigger. If any one entered, she would stand up and fire shot after shot, without hesitating. Would not the least hesitation95 have meant François' death?
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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captivity
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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shutter
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circumference
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granite
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rugged
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uneven
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crevice
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grooved
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gashes
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precipice
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shudder
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interval
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immediate
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projection
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investigation
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investigations
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deserted
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narrative
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abhorrence
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gem
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anguish
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cataclysm
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sinister
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weird
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insanity
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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charlatan
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| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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divination
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| n.占卜，预测 | |
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subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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degenerates
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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venerated
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| 敬重（某人或某事物），崇敬( venerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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balk
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| n.大方木料；v.妨碍；不愿前进或从事某事 | |
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unties
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| 松开，解开( untie的第三人称单数 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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inspectors
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| n.检查员( inspector的名词复数 )；（英国公共汽车或火车上的）查票员；（警察）巡官；检阅官 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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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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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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persecute
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| vt.迫害，虐待；纠缠，骚扰 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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