“And was it his ghost that appeared to her?” asked the inquisitive7 gentleman, who had questioned the former storyteller.
“You shall hear,” replied the narrator:—My aunt took on mightily8 for the death of her poor dear husband! Perhaps she felt some compunction at having given him so much physic, and nursed him into his grave. At any rate, she did all that a widow could do to honor his memory. She spared no expense in either the quantity or quality of her mourning weeds; she wore a miniature of him about her neck, as large as a little sun dial; and she had a full-length portrait of him always hanging in her bed chamber9. All the world extolled10 her conduct to the skies; and it was determined11, that a woman who behaved so well to the memory of one husband, deserved soon to get another.
It was not long after this that she went to take up her residence in an old country seat in Derbyshire, which had long been in the care of merely a steward12 and housekeeper13. She took most of her servants with her, intending to make it her principal abode14. The house stood in a lonely, wild part of the country among the gray Derbyshire hills; with a murderer hanging in chains on a bleak16 height in full view.
The servants from town were half frightened out of their wits, at the idea of living in such a dismal17, pagan-looking place; especially when they got together in the servants’ hall in the evening, and compared notes on all the hobgoblin stories they had picked up in the course of the day. They were afraid to venture alone about the forlorn black-looking chambers18. My ladies’ maid, who was troubled with nerves, declared she could never sleep alone in such a “gashly, rummaging19 old building;” and the footman, who was a kind-hearted young fellow, did all in his power to cheer her up.
My aunt, herself, seemed to be struck with the lonely appearance of the house. Before she went to bed, therefore, she examined well the fastenings of the doors and windows, locked up the plate with her own hands, and carried the keys, together with a little box of money and jewels, to her own room; for she was a notable woman, and always saw to all things herself. Having put the keys under her pillow, and dismissed her maid, she sat by her toilet arranging her hair; for, being, in spite of her grief for my uncle, rather a buxom20 widow, she was a little particular about her person. She sat for a little while looking at her face in the glass, first on one side, then on the other, as ladies are apt to do, when they would ascertain21 if they have been in good looks; for a roystering country squire22 of the neighborhood, with whom she had flirted23 when a girl, had called that day to welcome her to the country.
All of a sudden she thought she heard something move behind her. She Looked hastily round, but there was nothing to be seen. Nothing but the grimly painted portrait of her poor dear man, which had been hung against the wall. She gave a heavy sigh to his memory, as she was accustomed to do, whenever she spoke24 of him in company; and went on adjusting her nightdress. Her sigh was re-echoed; or answered by a long-drawn25 breath. She looked round again, but no one was to be seen. She ascribed these sounds to the wind, oozing26 through the rat holes of the old mansion27; and proceeded leisurely28 to put her hair in papers, when, all at once, she thought she perceived one of the eyes of the portrait move.
“The back of her head being towards it!” said the story-teller with the ruined head, giving a knowing wink29 on the sound side of his visage—“good!”
“Yes, sir!” replied drily the narrator, “her back being towards the portrait, but her eye fixed30 on its reflection in the glass.”
Well, as I was saying, she perceived one of the eyes of the portrait move. So strange a circumstance, as you may well suppose, gave her a sudden shock. To assure herself cautiously of the fact, she put one hand to her forehead, as if rubbing it; peeped through her fingers, and moved the candle with the other hand. The light of the taper31 gleamed on the eye, and was reflected from it. She was sure it moved. Nay32, more, it seemed to give her a wink, as she had sometimes known her husband to do when living! It struck a momentary33 chill to her heart; for she was a lone15 woman, and felt herself fearfully situated34.
The chill was but transient. My aunt, who was almost as resolute35 a personage as your uncle, sir, (turning to the old story-teller,) became instantly calm and collected. She went on adjusting her dress. She even hummed a favorite air, and did not make a single false note. She casually36 overturned a dressing37 box; took a candle and picked up the articles leisurely, one by one, from the floor, pursued a rolling pin-cushion that was making the best of its way under the bed; then opened the door; looked for an instant into the corridor, as if in doubt whether to go; and then walked quietly out.
She hastened down-stairs, ordered the servants to arm themselves with the first weapons that came to hand, placed herself at their head, and returned almost immediately.
Her hastily levied38 army presented a formidable force. The steward had a rusty39 blunderbuss; the coachman a loaded whip; the footman a pair of horse pistols; the cook a huge chopping knife, and the butler a bottle in each hand. My aunt led the van with a red-hot poker40; and, in my opinion, she was the most formidable of the party. The waiting maid brought up the rear, dreading41 to stay alone in the servants’ hall, smelling to a broken bottle of volatile42 salts, and expressing her terror of the ghosteses.
They entered the chamber. All was still and undisturbed as when she left it. They approached the portrait of my uncle.
“Pull me down that picture!” cried my aunt.
A heavy groan45, and a sound like the chattering46 of teeth, was heard from the portrait. The servants shrunk back. The maid uttered a faint shriek47, and clung to the footman.
“Instantly!” added my aunt, with a stamp of the foot.
The picture was pulled down, and from a recess48 behind it, in which had formerly49 stood a clock, they hauled forth50 a round-shouldered, black-bearded varlet, with a knife as long as my arm, but trembling all over like an aspen leaf.
“Well, and who was he? No ghost, I suppose!” said the inquisitive gentleman.
“A knight51 of the post,” replied the narrator, “who had been smitten52 with the worth of the wealthy widow; or rather a marauding Tarquin, who had stolen into her chamber to violate her purse and rifle her strong box when all the house should be asleep. In plain terms,” continued he, “the vagabond was a loose idle fellow of the neighborhood, who had once been a servant in the house, and had been employed to assist in arranging it for the reception of its mistress. He confessed that he had contrived53 his hiding-place for his nefarious54 purposes, and had borrowed an eye from the portrait by way of a reconnoitering hole.”
“And what did they do with him—did they hang him?” resumed the questioner.
“Hang him?—how could they?” exclaimed a beetle-browed barrister, with a hawk’s nose—“the offence was not capital—no robbery nor assault had been committed—no forcible entry or breaking into the premises—”
“My aunt,” said the narrator, “was a woman of spirit, and apt to take the law into her own hands. She had her own notions of cleanliness also. She ordered the fellow to be drawn through the horsepond to cleanse55 away all offences, and then to be well rubbed down with an oaken towel.”
“And what became of him afterwards?” said the inquisitive gentleman.
“I do not exactly know—I believe he was sent on a voyage of improvement to Botany Bay.”
“And your aunt—” said the inquisitive gentleman—“I’ll warrant she took care to make her maid sleep in the room with her after that.”
“No, sir, she did better—she gave her hand shortly after to the roystering squire; for she used to observe it was a dismal thing for a woman to sleep alone in the country.”
“She was right,” observed the inquisitive gentleman, nodding his head sagaciously—“but I am sorry they did not hang that fellow.”
It was agreed on all hands that the last narrator had brought his tale to the most satisfactory conclusion; though a country clergyman present regretted that the uncle and aunt, who figured in the different stories, had not been married together. They certainly would have been well matched.
“But I don’t see, after all,” said the inquisitive gentleman, “that there was any ghost in this last story.”
“Oh, if it’s ghosts you want, honey,” cried the Irish captain of dragoons, “if it’s ghosts you want, you shall have a whole regiment56 of them. And since these gentlemen have been giving the adventures of their uncles and aunts, faith and I’ll e’en give you a chapter too, out of my own family history.”
点击收听单词发音
1 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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2 puny | |
adj.微不足道的,弱小的 | |
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3 meek | |
adj.温顺的,逆来顺受的 | |
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4 acquiescent | |
adj.默许的,默认的 | |
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5 dwindled | |
v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6 prescriptions | |
药( prescription的名词复数 ); 处方; 开处方; 计划 | |
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7 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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8 mightily | |
ad.强烈地;非常地 | |
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9 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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10 extolled | |
v.赞颂,赞扬,赞美( extol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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12 steward | |
n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
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13 housekeeper | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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14 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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15 lone | |
adj.孤寂的,单独的;唯一的 | |
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16 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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17 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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18 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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19 rummaging | |
翻找,搜寻( rummage的现在分词 ); 海关检查 | |
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20 buxom | |
adj.(妇女)丰满的,有健康美的 | |
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21 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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22 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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23 flirted | |
v.调情,打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24 spoke | |
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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25 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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26 oozing | |
v.(浓液等)慢慢地冒出,渗出( ooze的现在分词 );使(液体)缓缓流出;(浓液)渗出,慢慢流出 | |
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27 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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28 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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29 wink | |
n.眨眼,使眼色,瞬间;v.眨眼,使眼色,闪烁 | |
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30 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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31 taper | |
n.小蜡烛,尖细,渐弱;adj.尖细的;v.逐渐变小 | |
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32 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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33 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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34 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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35 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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36 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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37 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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38 levied | |
征(兵)( levy的过去式和过去分词 ); 索取; 发动(战争); 征税 | |
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39 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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40 poker | |
n.扑克;vt.烙制 | |
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41 dreading | |
v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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42 volatile | |
adj.反复无常的,挥发性的,稍纵即逝的,脾气火爆的;n.挥发性物质 | |
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43 resolutely | |
adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
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44 singe | |
v.(轻微地)烧焦;烫焦;烤焦 | |
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45 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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46 chattering | |
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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47 shriek | |
v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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48 recess | |
n.短期休息,壁凹(墙上装架子,柜子等凹处) | |
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49 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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50 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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51 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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52 smitten | |
猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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53 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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54 nefarious | |
adj.恶毒的,极坏的 | |
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55 cleanse | |
vt.使清洁,使纯洁,清洗 | |
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56 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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