"Whatever the people would say to me," said the prince simply, "I will hear. My right hand rests in the hand of the people. In return I decree allegiance to the law. Your princess stands before you, crowned. This most fortunate return of his Majesty4, the King, can not set at naught5 the sacred oath which has just left her lips. Henceforth, in council and in audience, her place shall be at his Majesty's right hand, as was the place of that Princess Athalme, daughter of King Kab, in the dynasty of the fall of Rome. Is it not, therefore, but the more incumbent6 upon your princess to own her allegiance to the law of the island by keeping her troth with me—that troth witnessed and sanctioned by you yourselves? This ceremony concluded I will answer the demands of the loyal subjects whose interests alone I serve. For we obey that which is higher than authority—the law, born in the Beginning—"
Prince Tabnit's voice might almost have taken his place in his absence, it was so soft, so fine of texture7, no more consciously modulated8 than is the going of water or the way of a wing. It was difficult to say whether his words or, so to say, their fine fabric9 of voice, begot10 the silence that followed. But all eyes were turned upon Olivia. And, Prince Tabnit noting this, before she might speak he suddenly swept his flowing robes embroidered11 by a thousand needles to a posture12 of humility13 before his sovereign.
"Your Majesty," he besought14, "I pray your consent to the bestowal15 upon my most unworthy self of the hand of your daughter, the Princess Olivia."
King Otho leaned upon the arm of his carven throne. Against its strange metal his hand was cameo-clear.
"For the king," he was remembering softly, "'the Pyrenees, or so he fancied, ceased to exist.' For another 'the mountains of Daphne are everywhere.' Each of us has his impossible dream to prove that he is an impossible creature. Why not I? To be normal is the cry of all the hobgoblins ... And what does the princess say?" he asked aloud.
"Her Highness has already given me the great happiness to plight16 me her troth," said Prince Tabnit.
"In Yaque or in America," he murmured, "the Americans do as the Americans do. None of us is mentioned in Deuteronomy, but what is the will of the princess?" the American Sovereign asked.
Mrs. Hastings, seated near the dais, heard; and as she turned, a rhinestone21 side-comb slipped from her hair, tinkled22 over the jewels of her corsage and shot into the lap of a member of the High Council. He, never having seen a side-comb, fancied that it might be an infernal machine which he had never seen either, and, palpitating, flashed it to the guardian23 hand of Mr. Frothingham. At the same moment:
"Ah, why, Otho," said Mrs. Hastings audibly, "we had two ancestors at Bannockburn!"
"Bannockburn!" argued Mr. Augustus Frothingham, below the voice, "Bannockburn. But what, my dear Mrs. Hastings, is Bannockburn beside the Midianites and the Moabites and the Hittites and the Ammonites and the Levites?"
In this genealogical moment the prince leaned toward Olivia.
"Choose," he said significantly, but so softly that none might hear, "oh, my beloved, choose!"
The faces of the great assembly blurred24 and wavered before Olivia, and the low hum of the talk in the room was relative, like the voices of passers-by. She looked up at the prince and away from him in mute appeal to something that ought to help her and would not. For Olivia was of those who, never having seen the face of Destiny very near, are accustomed to look upon nothing as wholly irrevocable; and—for one of her graces—she had the feminine expectation that, if only events can be sufficiently25 postponed26, something will intervene; which is perhaps a heritage of the gentlest women descended27 from Homeric days. If the island was so historic, little Olivia may have said, where was the interfering28 goddess? She looked unseeingly toward St. George and toward her father, and the sense of the bitter actuality of the choice suddenly wounded her, as the Actual for ever wounds the woman and the dream.
Then suddenly, above the stir of expectation of the people, and the associate bustling29 of the High Council there came a vague confusion and trampling30 from outside, and the far outer doors of the hall were thrown open with a jar and a breath, vibrant31 as a murmur20. There was a cry, the determined32 resistance of some of the Golden Guard, and shouts of expostulation and warning as they were flung aside by a powerful arm. In the disorder33 that followed, a miraculously-familiar figure—that familiarity and strangeness are both miracles ought to explain certain mysteries—was beside St. George and a thankful voice said in his ear:
"Mr. St. George, sir, for the mercy of Heaven, sir—come back to the yacht. No person can tell what may happen ten minutes ahead, sir!"
The oracle34 of this universal truth was Rollo, palpitating, his immaculate coat stained with earth, earth-stains on his cheeks, and his breast labouring in an excitement which only anxiety for his master could effect. But St. George hardly saw him. His eyes were fixed35 on some one who stood towering before the dais, like the old prints of the avenging36 goddesses. Clad in the hideous37 stripes which boards of directors consider de rigueur for the soul that is to be won back to the normal, stood the woman Elissa, who, by all counts of Prince Tabnit, should have been singing a hymn38 with Mrs. Manners and Miss Bella Bliss39 Utter in the Bitley Reformatory, in Westchester County, New York.
"Stop!" she cried in that perfect English which is not only a rare experience but a pleasant adventure, "what new horror is this?"
To Prince Tabnit's face, as he looked at her, came once more that indefinable change—only this time nearer and more intimately explainable, as if something ethereal, trained to delicate lines, like smoke, should suddenly shape itself to a menace. St. George saw the woman step close to the dais, he saw Olivia's eyes questioning him, and in the hurried rising of the peers and of the High Council he heard Rollo's voice in his ear:
"It's a gr'it go, sir," observed Rollo respectfully, "the woman has things to tell, sir, as people generally don't know. She's flew the coop at the place she was in—it seems she's been shut up some'eres in America, sir; an' she got 'old of the capting of a tramp boat o' some kind—one o' them boats as smells intoxicating40 round the 'atches—an' she give 'im an' the mate a 'andful o' jewelry41 that she'd on 'er when she was took in an' 'ad someways contrived42 to 'ang on to, an' I'm blessed hif she wasn't able fer to steer43 fer the island, sir—we took 'er aboard the yacht only this mornin' with 'er 'air down her back, an' we've brought 'er on here. An' she says—men can be gr'it beasts, sir, an' no manner o' mistake," concluded Rollo fervently44.
"Mr. St. George, sir—we ain't late, are we? We been flirtin' de ger-avel up dat ka-liff since de car-rack o' day."
And there was Bennietod, with an edge of an old horse pistol showing beneath his cuff46; and, round-eyed and alert as a bird newly alighted on a stranger sill, Little Cawthorne stood; and the sight put strength into St. George, and so did Little Cawthorne's words:
"I didn't know whether they'd let us in or not," he said, "unless we had on a plaited décolletté, with biases47 down the back."
Clearly and confidently in the silent room rang the voice of the woman confronting Prince Tabnit, and her eyes did not leave his face. St. George was struck with the change in her since that day in the Reformatory chapel48. Then she had been like a wild, alien thing in dumb distress49; now she was unchained and native. Her first words explained why, in the extreme dilemma50 in which St. George had last seen her, she had yet remained mute.
"I release myself," she cried, "from my oath of silence, though until to-day I have spoken only to those who helped me to come back to you—my master. Have you nothing to say to me? Has the time seemed long? Is it a weary while since I left you to do your will and murder the woman whom you were now about to make your wife?"
A cry of horror rose from the people, and then stillness came again.
"Take the woman away," said Prince Tabnit only, "she is speaking madness."
"I am speaking the truth," said the woman clearly. "I was of Melita—there are those here who will know my face. And it is not I alone who have served the State. I challenge you, Tabnit—here, before them all! Where are Gerya and Ibera, Cabulla and Taura? Have not their people, weeping, besought news of them in vain? And what answer have you given them?"
"Where are they?" he repeated gently, his voice vibrant in its rise and fall, its giving of delicate values. "But the people know where they are. They have attained54 to the perfect life and died the perfect death. For I have raised them to the supreme55 estate."
Prince Tabnit, with uplifted face, sat motionless, looking out over the throng56 from beneath lowered lids; then his eyes, confident and a little mocking, returned to the woman. But they had for her no terror. She turned from him, confronting the pale, eager faces of the people; and in her beauty and distinction she was like Olivia's women, crowded beside the dais.
"Men and women of Yaque," cried Elissa, "I will tell you to what 'supreme estate' these friends whom you seek have long been raised. For here in Med and in Melita you will find many of those whom you have mourned as dead—you will find them as you yourselves have met and passed them, it may have been countless57 times, on your streets of Yaque—not young and beautiful as when they left you, but men and women of incredible age. Withered58, shaken by palsy, infirm, they creep upon their lonely ways or go at will to drag themselves unrecognized along your highways, as helpless as the dead themselves. They number scores, and they are those who have displeased59 your prince by some little word, some little wrong, or, more than these, by some thwarting60 of the way of his ambition: Oblo, who disappeared from his place as keeper at the door; Ithobal, satrap of Melita; young Prince Kaal—ay, and how many more? You do not understand my words? I say that your prince has knowledge of some secret, accursed drug that can call back youth or make actual age—age, do you understand—just as we of Yaque bring both flowers and fruit to swift maturity61!"
Olivia uttered a little cry, not at the grotesque horror of what the woman had said but at the miracle of its unconscious support of the story and theory of St. George. And St. George heard; and suddenly, because another had voiced his own fantastic message, its incredibility and unreality became appalling62, and yet he felt infinitely63 reconciled to both because he interpreted aright that little muffled64 exclamation65 from Olivia. What did it matter—oh, what did it matter whether or not the reality were grotesque? What seems to be happening is always the reality, if only one understands it sufficiently. And at all events there had been that hour in the King's Alcove66. At last, as he weighed that hour against the fantasy of all the rest, St. George understood and lived the divine madness of all great moments, the madness that realizes one star and is content that all the heavens shall march unintelligibly67 past so long as that single shining is not dimmed.
But King Otho was riding no such griffin with sun-gold wings. King Otho was genuinely and personally interested in the woman's words. He turned to Prince Tabnit with animation68.
"Really, Prince," he said, "is it so? Pray do not deny it unless there is no other way, for I am before all things interested. It is far more important to me that you tell me as much as you can tell, than that you deny or even disprove it."
Prince Tabnit smiled in the eagerly interested face of his sovereign, and rose and came to the edge of the dais, his garments embroidered by a thousand needles touching69 and floating about him; and it was as if he reached those before him by a kind of spiritual magnetism70, not without sublimity71.
"My people," he said—and his voice had all the tenderness that they knew so well—"this is some conspiracy72 of those to whom we have shown the utmost hospitality. I would have shielded your king, for he was also my sovereign and I owed him allegiance. But now that is no longer possible, and the time is come. Know then, oh my people of Yaque, that which my loyalty73 has led me wrongfully to conceal74: that in the strange disappearance75 and return of your sovereign, King Otho, he who will may trace the loss of that which the island has mourned without ceasing. I accuse your king—he is no longer mine—of being now in possession of the Hereditary76 Treasure of Yaque."
Then St. George came back with a thrill to actuality. In the press of the events of this morning, after his awakening77 in the room of the tombs, he had completely forgotten the soft fire of gems78 that had burned beneath the hands of old Malakh in that dark chamber80 under King Abibaal's tomb. He and Amory and Jarvo had, with the king, left the chamber by the upper passages, and Amory and Jarvo knew nothing of the jewels. Yet St. George was certain that he could not have been mistaken, and he listened breathlessly for what the king would say.
King Otho, with a smile, nodded in perfect imperturbability81.
"That is true," he said, "I had forgotten all about it."
They waited for him to speak, the people in amazed silence, Mrs. Medora Hastings saying unintelligible82 things in whispers, for which she had a genius.
"It is true," said King Otho, "that I am responsible for the disappearance of the Hereditary Treasure. You will find it at this moment in a basement dungeon83 of the palace on Mount Khalak. On the very day, three months ago, that I dined with your prince I had made a discovery of considerable importance to me, namely, that the little island of Yaque is richer in most of the radio-active substances than all the rest of the world. The discovery gave me keener pleasure than I had known in years—I had suspected it for some time after I found the noctilucous stars on the ceiling of my sitting-room84 at the palace. And in the work-shop of the Princess Simyra I came upon a quantity of metallic85 uranium, and a great many other things which I question the taste of taking the time to describe. But my experiments there with the very perfect gems of your admirable collection had evidently been antedated86 by some of your own people, for the apparatus87 was intact. I shall be glad to show some charming effects to any one who cares to see them. I have succeeded in causing the diamonds of Darius to phosphoresce most wonderfully."
The phosphorescence of the diamonds of Darius was to the people far less important than the joyous88 fact which they were not slow to grasp, that the Hereditary Treasure was, if they might believe the king's words, restored to them, and the burden of the tax averted89. They did not understand, nor did they seek to understand; because they knew the inefficiency90 of details and they also knew the value of mere91 import.
But the king, child of a social order that wreaks92 itself on particularizations, returned to his quest for a certain recounting.
"Prince Tabnit," he said, "the High Council and the people of Yaque are impatient for your answer to this woman's words."
"I rejoice with them and with your Majesty," replied Prince Tabnit softly, "that the treasure is safe. My own explanation is far less simple. If what this woman says is true, yet it is true in such wise as, strive as I may, I can not speak; nor, strive as you may, can you fathom93. Therefore I say that the claim which she has made is idle, and not within my power to answer."
At this St. George bounded to his feet. Amory looked up at him in terror, and Little Cawthorne and Bennietod went a step or two after him as he sprang forward, and Rollo's lean shadowed face, obvious as his way of speech, was wrinkled in terrified appeal.
"An idle claim!" St. George thundered as he strode before the dais. "Is this woman's story and mine an idle claim, and one not within your power to answer? Then I will tell you how to answer, Prince Tabnit. I challenge you now, in the presence of your people—taste this!"
Upon the carven arm of Prince Tabnit's throne St. George set something that he had taken from his pocket. It was the vase of rock-crystal from which, the night before in the room of the tombs, the king had drunk.
What followed was the last thing that St. George had expected. It was as if his defiance94 had unlocked flood-gates. In an instant the vast assembly was in motion. With a sound of garments that was like far wind they were upon their feet and pressing toward the throne. With all the passion of their "Yes! Yes! Yes!" in response to Olivia's appeal they came, resistlessly demanding the answer to some dreadful question long shrouded95 in their hearts. Their armour96 was their silence; they made no sound save that ominous97 sweep of their robes and the conspiracy of their sandaled feet upon the tiles.
St. George did not turn. Indeed, it did not once cross his mind that their hostility98 could possibly be toward him. Besides, his look was fixed upon the prince's face, and what he read there was enough. The peers, the High Council and those nearest the throne wavered and swerved99 from the man, leaving him to face what was to come.
Whatever was to come he would have met nobly. He was of those infrequent folk of some upper air who exhibit a certain purity even in error, or in worse. He stood with his exquisite100 pale face uplifted, his white hair in a glory about it, his white gown embroidered by a thousand needles falling in virginal lines against the warm, pure colour of that room with its wraiths101 of hue102 and light. And he opened the heart of the green jewel that burned upon his breast.
"Not for me the wine of youth," he said slowly, "but the poison of age. The poison which, without me to unlock the secret, all mankind must drink alone. May you drink it late, my friends!" he cried. "I, who hold in my soul the secret of the passing of time and youth, drink now to those among you and among all men who have won and kept the one thing dearer than these."
He touched the green gem79 to his lips, and let it fall upon the embroidered laces on his breast. Then quietly and in another voice he began to speak.
With the first words there came to St. George the thrill of something that had possessed103 him—when? In that ecstatic moment on The Aloha when he had seen the light in the king's palace; in the instant when the Isle104 of Yaque had first lain subject before him, "a land which no one can define or remember—only desire;" in the divine time of his triumph in having scaled the heights to the palace, that sky-thing, with ramparts of air; above all, in the hour of his joy in the King's Alcove, when Olivia had looked in his eyes and touched his lips. Inexplicably105 as the way that eternity106 lies barely unrevealed in some kin-thing of its own—a shell, a duty, a vista—he suddenly felt it now in what the prince was saying. He listened, and for one poignant107 stab of time he knew that he touched hands with the elemental and saw the ancient kindliness108 of all those people naked in their faces and knew himself for what he was.
He listened, and yet there was no making captive the words of the prince in understanding. Prince Tabnit was speaking the English, and every word was clearly audible and, moreover, was probably daily upon St. George's lips. But if it had been to ransom109 the rest of the world from its night he could not have understood what the prince was saying. Every word was a word that belonged as much to St. George as to the prince; but in some unfathomable fashion the inner sense of what he said for ever eluded110, dissolving in the air of which it was a part. And yet, past all doubting, St. George knew that he was hearing the essence of that strange knowledge which the Isle of Yaque had won while all the rest of mankind struggled for it—he knew with the certainty with which we recognize strange forces in a dozen of the every-day things of life, in electricity, in telepathy, in dreams. With the same certainty he realized that what the prince was saying would, if he could understand, lift a certain veil. Here, put in words at last, was manifestly the secret, that catch of understanding without which men are groping in the dark, perhaps that mere pointing of relations which would make clear, without blasphemy111, time and the future, rebirth and old existence, it might be; and certainly the accident of personality. Here, crystallized, were the things that men almost know, the dream that has just escaped every one, the whisper in sleep that would have explained if one could remember when one woke, the word that has been thrillingly flashed to one in moments of absorption and has fled before one might catch the sound, the far hope of science, the glimpse that comes to dying eyes and is voiced in fragments by dying lips. Here without penetrating112 the great reserve or tracing any principle to its beginning, was the truth about both. And St. George was powerless to receive it.
He turned fearfully to Olivia. Ah—what if she did not guess anything of the meaning of what she was hearing? For one instant he knew all the misery113 of one whose friend stands on another star. But when he saw her uplifted face, her eager eyes and quick breath and her look divinely questioning his, he was certain that though she might not read the figures of the veil, yet she too knew how near, how near they Stood; and to be with her on this side was dearer—nay, was nearer the Secret—than without her to pass the veil that they touched. Then he looked at Amory; wouldn't old Amory know, he wondered. Wouldn't his mere understanding of news teach him what was happening? But old Amory, the light flashing on his pince-nez, was keeping one eye on the prince and wondering if the chair that he had just placed for Antoinette was not in the draught114 of the dome115; and little Antoinette was looking about her like a rosebud116, new to the butterflies of June; and King Otho was listening, languid, heavy-lidded, sensitive to little values, sophisticating the moment; and Little Cawthorne stood with eyes raised in simple, tolerant wonder; and the others, Bennietod, Mrs. Hastings and Mr. Augustus Frothingham, showed faces like the pools in which pebbles117 might be dropped, making no ripples—one must suppose that there are such pools, since there are certainly such faces. St. George saw how it was. Here, spoken casually118 by the prince, just as the Banal119 would speak of the visible and invisible worlds, here was the Sesame of understanding toward which the centuries had striven, the secret of the link between two worlds; and here, of all mankind, were only they two to hear—they two and that motionless company who knew what the prince knew and who kept it sealed within their eyes.
St. George looked at the multitude in swift understanding. They were like a Greek chorus, signifying what is. They knew what the prince was saying, they had the secret and yet—they were no nearer, no nearer than he. With their ancient kindliness naked in their faces, St. George knew that through his love he was as near to the Source as were they. And it was suddenly as it had been that first night when he had stridden buoyantly through the island; for he could not tell which was the secret of the prince and of these people and which was the blessedness of his love.
None the less he clung desperately120 to the last words of Prince Tabnit in a vain effort to hold, to make clear, to sophisticate one single phrase, as one waking in the night says over, in a vain effort to fix it, some phantom121 sentence cried to him in dreams by a shadowy band destined122 to be dissolved when, in bright day, he would reclaim123 it. He even managed frantically124 to write down a jumble125 of words of which he could make nothing, save here and there a phrase like a touch of hands from the silence: "...the infinite moment that is pending126" ... "all is become a window where had been a wall" ... "the wintry vision" ... they were all words that beckon127 without replying. And all the time it was curiously128 as if the Something Silent within St. George himself, that so long had striven to speak, were crying out at last in the prince's words—and he could not understand. Yet in spite of it all, in spite of this imminent129 satisfying of the strange, dreadful curiosity which possesses all mankind, St. George, even now, was far less keen to comprehend than he was to burst through the throng with Olivia in his arms, gain the waiting Aloha and sail into the New York harbour with the prize that he had won. "I drink now to those among you and among all men who have won and kept that which is greater than these," the prince had said, and St. George perfectly130 understood. He had but to look at Olivia to be triumphantly131 willing that the gods should keep their secrets about time and the link between the two worlds so long as they had given him love. What should he care about time? He had this hour.
When the prince ceased speaking the hall was hushed; but because of the tempest in the hearts of them all the silence was as if a strong wind, sweeping132 powerfully through a forest, were to sway no boughs133 and lift no leaves, only to strive noiselessly round one who walked there.
Prince Tabnit wrapped his white mantle134 about him and sat upon his throne. Spell-stricken, they watched him, that great multitude, and might not turn away their eyes. Slowly, imperceptibly, as Time touches the familiar, the face of the prince took on its change—and one could not have told wherein the change lay, but subtly as the encroachment135 of the dark, or the alchemy of the leaves, or the betrayal of certain modes of death, the finger was upon him. While they watched he became an effigy136, the hideous face of a fantasy of smoke against the night sky, with a formless hand lifted from among the delicate laces in farewell. There was no death—the horror was that there was no death. Only this curse of age drying and withering137 at the bones.
A long, whining138 cry came from Cassyrus, who covered his face with his mantle and fled. The spell being broken, by common consent the great hall was once more in motion—St. George would never forget that tide toward all the great portals and the shuddering139 backward glances at the white heap upon the beetling140 throne. They fled away into the reassuring141 sunlight, leaving the echoless hall deserted142, save for that breathing one upon the throne.
There was one other. From somewhere beside the dais the woman Elissa crept and knelt, clasping the knees of the man.
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1
hieroglyphics
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| n.pl.象形文字 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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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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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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begot
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去式 )；产生，引起 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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bestowal
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| 赠与，给与； 贮存 | |
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plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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rhinestone
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| n.水晶石，莱茵石 | |
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tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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sufficiently
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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29
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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31
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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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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36
avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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38
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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39
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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40
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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41
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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42
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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43
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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44
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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45
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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46
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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47
biases
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| 偏见( bias的名词复数 )； 偏爱； 特殊能力； 斜纹 | |
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48
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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49
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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51
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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52
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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55
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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56
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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57
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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58
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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59
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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60
thwarting
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| 阻挠( thwart的现在分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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61
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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62
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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63
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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64
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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65
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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66
alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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67
unintelligibly
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| 难以理解地 | |
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68
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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69
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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70
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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71
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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72
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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73
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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74
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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75
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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78
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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79
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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80
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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81
imperturbability
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| n.冷静；沉着 | |
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82
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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83
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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84
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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85
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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86
antedated
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| v.（在历史上）比…为早( antedate的过去式和过去分词 )；先于；早于；（在信、支票等上）填写比实际日期早的日期 | |
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87
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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88
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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89
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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90
inefficiency
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| n.无效率，无能；无效率事例 | |
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91
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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92
wreaks
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| 诉诸（武力），施行（暴力），发（脾气）( wreak的第三人称单数 ) | |
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93
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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94
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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95
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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96
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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97
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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98
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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99
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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101
wraiths
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| n.幽灵( wraith的名词复数 )；（传说中人在将死或死后不久的）显形阴魂 | |
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102
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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103
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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104
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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105
inexplicably
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| adv.无法说明地，难以理解地，令人难以理解的是 | |
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106
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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107
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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108
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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109
ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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110
eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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111
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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112
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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113
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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114
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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115
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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116
rosebud
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| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
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117
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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118
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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119
banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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120
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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121
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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122
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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123
reclaim
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| v.要求归还，收回；开垦 | |
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124
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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125
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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126
pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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127
beckon
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| v.(以点头或打手势)向...示意，召唤 | |
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128
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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129
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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130
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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131
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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132
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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133
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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134
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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135
encroachment
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| n.侵入，蚕食 | |
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136
effigy
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| n.肖像 | |
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137
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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138
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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139
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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140
beetling
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| adj.突出的，悬垂的v.快速移动( beetle的现在分词 ) | |
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141
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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142
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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