Dickson always maintained that his senses did not leave him for more than a second or two, but he admitted that he did not remember very clearly the events of the next few hours. He was conscious of a bad pain above his eyes, and something wet trickling1 down his cheek. There was a perpetual sound of water in his ears and of men's voices. He found himself dropped roughly on the ground and forced to walk, and was aware that his legs were inclined to wobble. Somebody had a grip on each arm, so that he could not defend his face from the brambles, and that worried him, for his whole head seemed one aching bruise2 and he dreaded3 anything touching4 it. But all the time he did not open his mouth, for silence was the one duty that his muddled5 wits enforced. He felt that he was not the master of his mind, and he dreaded what he might disclose if he began to babble7.
Presently there came a blank space of which he had no recollection at all. The movement had stopped, and he was allowed to sprawl8 on the ground. He thought that his head had got another whack9 from a bough10, and that the pain put him into a stupor11. When he awoke he was alone.
He discovered that he was strapped13 very tightly[Pg 226] to a young Scotch14 fir. His arms were bent15 behind him and his wrists tied together with cords knotted at the back of the tree; his legs were shackled17, and further cords fastened them to the bole. Also there was a halter round the trunk and just under his chin, so that while he breathed freely enough, he could not move his head. Before him was a tangle18 of bracken and scrub, and beyond that the gloom of dense19 pines; but as he could only see directly in front his prospect20 was strictly21 circumscribed22.
Very slowly he began to take his bearings. The pain in his head was now dulled and quite bearable, and the flow of blood had stopped, for he felt the incrustation of it beginning on his cheeks. There was a tremendous noise all around him, and he traced this to the swaying of tree-tops in the gale23. But there was an undercurrent of deeper sound—water surely, water churning among rocks. It was a stream—the Garple of course—and then he remembered where he was and what had happened.
I do not wish to portray24 Dickson as a hero, for nothing would annoy him more; but I am bound to say that his first clear thought was not of his own danger. It was intense exasperation25 at the miscarriage26 of his plans. Long ago he should have been with Dougal arranging operations, giving him news of Sir Archie, finding out how Heritage was faring, deciding how to use the coming reinforcements. Instead he was trussed up in a wood, a prisoner of the enemy, and utterly27 useless to his side. He tugged28 at his bonds, and nearly throttled[Pg 227] himself. But they were of good tarry cord and did not give a fraction of an inch. Tears of bitter rage filled his eyes and made furrows29 on his encrusted cheeks. Idiot that he had been, he had wrecked30 everything! What would Saskia and Dougal and Sir Archie do without a business man by their side? There would be a muddle6, and the little party would walk into a trap. He saw it all very clearly. The men from the sea would overpower them, there would be murder done, and an easy capture of the Princess; and the police would turn up at long last to find an empty headland.
He had also most comprehensively wrecked himself, and at the thought the most genuine panic seized him. There was no earthly chance of escape, for he was tucked away in this infernal jungle till such time as his enemies had time to deal with him. As to what that dealing31 would be like he had no doubts, for they knew that he had been their chief opponent. Those desperate ruffians would not scruple32 to put an end to him. His mind dwelt with horrible fascination33 upon throat-cutting, no doubt because of the presence of the cord below his chin. He had heard it was not a painful death; at any rate he remembered a clerk he had once had, a feeble, timid creature, who had twice attempted suicide that way. Surely it could not be very bad, and it would soon be over.
But another thought came to him. They would carry him off in the ship and settle with him at their leisure. No swift merciful death for him. He had read dreadful tales of the Bolsheviks' skill in tor[Pg 228]ture, and now they all came back to him—stories of Chinese mercenaries, and men buried alive, and death by agonising inches. He felt suddenly very cold and sick, and hung in his bonds for he had no strength in his limbs. Then the pressure on his throat braced34 him, and also quickened his numb35 mind. The liveliest terror ran like quicksilver through his veins36.
He endured some moments of this anguish37, till after many despairing clutches at his wits he managed to attain38 a measure of self-control. He certainly wasn't going to allow himself to become mad. Death was death whatever form it took, and he had to face death as many better men had done before him. He had often thought about it and wondered how he should behave if the thing came to him. Respectably, he had hoped; heroically, he had sworn in his moments of confidence. But he had never for an instant dreamed of this cold, lonely, dreadful business. Last Sunday, he remembered, he had been basking39 in the afternoon sun in his little garden and reading about the end of Fergus MacIvor in Waverley and thrilling to the romance of it; and then Tibby had come out and summoned him in to tea. Then he had rather wanted to be a Jacobite in the '45 and in peril40 of his neck, and now Providence41 had taken him most terribly at his word.
A week ago——! He groaned42 at the remembrance of that sunny garden. In seven days he had found a new world and tried a new life, and had come now to the end of it. He did not want to die,[Pg 229] less now than ever with such wide horizons opening before him. But that was the worst of it, he reflected, for to have a great life great hazards must be taken, and there was always the risk of this sudden extinguisher.... Had he to choose again, far better the smooth sheltered bypath than this accursed romantic highway on to which he had blundered.... No, by Heaven, no! Confound it, if he had to choose he would do it all again. Something stiff and indomitable in his soul was bracing43 him to a manlier44 humour. There was no one to see the figure strapped to the fir, but had there been a witness he would have noted45 that at this stage Dickson shut his teeth and that his troubled eyes looked very steadily46 before him.
His business, he felt, was to keep from thinking, for if he thought at all there would be a flow of memories, of his wife, his home, his books, his friends, to unman him. So he steeled himself to blankness, like a sleepless47 man imagining white sheep in a gate.... He noted a robin48 below the hazels, strutting49 impudently50. And there was a tit on a bracken frond51, which made the thing sway like one of the see-saws he used to play with as a boy. There was no wind in that undergrowth, and any movement must be due to bird or beast. The tit flew off, and the oscillations of the bracken slowly died away. Then they began again, but more violently, and Dickson could not see the bird that caused them. It must be something down at the roots of the covert52, a rabbit, perhaps, or a fox, or a weasel.[Pg 230]
He watched for the first sign of the beast, and thought he caught a glimpse of tawny53 fur. Yes, there it was—pale dirty yellow, a weasel clearly. Then suddenly the patch grew larger, and to his amazement54 he looked at a human face—the face of a pallid55 small boy.
A head disentangled itself, followed by thin shoulders, and then by a pair of very dirty bare legs. The figure raised itself and looked sharply round to make certain that the coast was clear. Then it stood up and saluted56, revealing the well-known lineaments of Wee Jaikie.
At the sight Dickson knew that he was safe by that certainty of instinct which is independent of proof, like the man who prays for a sign and has his prayer answered. He observed that the boy was quietly sobbing57. Jaikie surveyed the position for an instant with red-rimmed eyes and then unclasped a knife, feeling the edge of the blade on his thumb. He darted58 behind the fir, and a second later Dickson's wrists were free. Then he sawed at the legs, and cut the shackles59 which tied them together, and then—most circumspectly—assaulted the cord which bound Dickson's neck to the trunk. There now remained only the two bonds which fastened the legs and the body to the tree.
There was a sound in the wood different from the wind and stream. Jaikie listened like a startled hind16.
He disappeared in the scrub as inconspicuously as[Pg 231] a rat, while two of the tinklers came up the slope from the waterside. Dickson in a fever of impatience62 cursed Wee Jaikie for not cutting his remaining bonds so that he could at least have made a dash for freedom. And then he realised that the boy had been right. Feeble and cramped63 as he was, he would have stood no chance in a race.
One of the tinklers was the man called Ecky. He had been running hard, and was mopping his brow.
"Hob's seen the brig," he said. "It's droppin' anchor ayont the Dookits whaur there's a beild frae the wund and deep water. They'll be landit in half an 'oor. Awa' you up to the Hoose and tell Dobson, and me and Sim and Hob will meet the boats at the Garplefit."
The other cast a glance towards Dickson.
"What about him?" he asked.
The two scrutinised their prisoner from a distance of a few paces. Dickson, well aware of his peril, held himself as stiff as if every bond had been in place. The thought flashed on him that if he were too immobile they might think he was dying or dead, and come close to examine him. If they only kept their distance, the dusk of the wood would prevent them detecting Jaikie's handiwork.
"What'll you take to let me go?" he asked plaintively64.
"Naething that you could offer, my mannie," said Ecky.
"I'll give you a five-pound note apiece."
"Produce the siller," said the other.[Pg 232]
"It's in my pocket."
"I'll take you to Glasgow with me and pay you there. Honour bright."
Ecky spat66. "D'ye think we're gowks? Man, there's no siller ye could pay wad mak' it worth our while to lowse ye. Bide quiet there and ye'll see some queer things ere nicht. C'way, Davie."
The two set off at a good pace down the stream, while Dickson's pulsing heart returned to its normal rhythm. As the sound of their feet died away Wee Jaikie crawled out from cover, dry-eyed now and very business-like. He slit67 the last thongs68, and Dickson fell limply on his face.
"Losh, laddie, I'm awful stiff," he groaned. "Now, listen. Away all your pith to Dougal, and tell him that the brig's in and the men will be landing inside the hour. Tell him I'm coming as fast as my legs will let me. The Princess will likely be there already and Sir Archibald and his men, but if they're no', tell Dougal they're coming. Haste you, Jaikie. And see here, I'll never forget what you've done for me the day. You're a fine wee laddie!"
The obedient Die-Hard disappeared, and Dickson painfully and laboriously69 set himself to climb the slope. He decided70 that his quickest and safest route lay by the highroad, and he had also some hopes of recovering his bicycle. On examining his body he seemed to have sustained no very great damage, except a painful cramping71 of legs and[Pg 233] arms and a certain dizziness in the head. His pockets had been thoroughly72 rifled, and he reflected with amusement that he, the well-to-do Mr. McCunn, did not possess at the moment a single copper73.
But his spirits were soaring, for somehow his escape had given him an assurance of ultimate success. Providence had directly interfered74 on his behalf by the hand of Wee Jaikie, and that surely meant that it would see him through. But his chief emotion was an ardour of impatience to get to the scene of action. He must be at Dalquharter before the men from the sea; he must find Dougal and discover his dispositions76. Heritage would be on guard in the Tower and in a very little the enemy would be round it. It would be just like the Princess to try and enter there, but at all costs that must be hindered. She and Sir Archie must not be cornered in stone walls, but must keep their communications open and fall on the enemy's flank. Oh, if the police would only come in time, what a rounding-up of miscreants77 that day would see!
As the trees thinned on the brow of the slope and he saw the sky, he realised that the afternoon was far advanced. It must be well on for five o'clock. The wind still blew furiously, and the oaks on the fringes of the wood were whipped like saplings. Ruefully he admitted that the gale would not defeat the enemy. If the brig found a sheltered anchorage on the south side of the headland beyond the Garple, it would be easy enough for boats to make the Garple mouth, though it might be a difficult job to get out again. The thought quickened his steps,[Pg 234] and he came out of cover on to the public road without a prior reconnaissance.
Just in front of him stood a motor-bicycle. Something had gone wrong with it for its owner was tinkering at it, on the side farthest from Dickson. A wild hope seized him that this might be the vanguard of the police, and he went boldly towards it. The owner, who was kneeling, raised his face at the sound of footsteps and Dickson looked into his eyes.
He recognised them only too well. They belonged to the man he had seen in the inn at Kirkmichael, the man whom Heritage had decided was an Australian, but whom they now knew to be their arch-enemy—the man called Paul who had persecuted78 the Princess for years and whom alone of all beings on earth she feared. He had been expected before, but had arrived now in the nick of time while the brig was casting anchor. Saskia had said that he had a devil's brain, and Dickson, as he stared at him, saw a fiendish cleverness in his straight brows and a remorseless cruelty in his stiff jaw79 and his pale eyes.
He achieved the bravest act of his life. Shaky and dizzy as he was, with freedom newly opened to him and the mental torments80 of his captivity81 still an awful recollection, he did not hesitate. He saw before him the villain82 of the drama, the one man that stood between the Princess and peace of mind. He regarded no consequences, gave no heed83 to his own fate, and thought only how to put his enemy out of action. There was a big spanner lying on[Pg 235] the ground. He seized it and with all his strength smote84 at the man's face.
The motor-cyclist, kneeling and working hard at his machine, had raised his head at Dickson's approach and beheld85 a wild apparition—a short man in ragged86 tweeds, with a bloody87 brow and long smears88 of blood on his cheeks. The next second he observed the threat of attack, and ducked his head so that the spanner only grazed his scalp. The motor-bicycle toppled over, its owner sprang to his feet, and found the short man, very pale and gasping89, about to renew the assault. In such a crisis there was no time for inquiry90, and the cyclist was well trained in self-defence. He leaped the prostrate91 bicycle, and before his assailant could get in a blow brought his left fist into violent contact with his chin. Dickson tottered92 back a step or two and then subsided93 among the bracken.
He did not lose his senses, but he had no more strength in him. He felt horribly ill, and struggled in vain to get up. The cyclist, a gigantic figure, towered above him. "Who the devil are you?" he was asking. "What do you mean by it?"
Dickson had no breath for words, and knew that if he tried to speak he would be very sick. He could only stare up like a dog at the angry eyes. Angry beyond question they were, but surely not malevolent94. Indeed, as they looked at the shameful95 figure on the ground, amusement filled them. The face relaxed into a smile.
"Who on earth are you?" the voice repeated. And then into it came recognition. "I've seen you[Pg 236] before. I believe you're the little man I saw last week at the Black Bull. Be so good as to explain why you want to murder me?"
Explanation was beyond Dickson, but his conviction was being wofully shaken. Saskia had said her enemy was as beautiful as a devil—he remembered the phrase, for he had thought it ridiculous. This man was magnificent, but there was nothing devilish in his lean grave face.
"What's your name?" the voice was asking.
"My name is Alexander Nicholson," was the answer.
"You're a very desperate little chap. For whom had I the honour to be mistaken?"
"I thought you were a Russian, name of Paul," he groaned.
"Paul! Paul who?"
"Just Paul. A Bolshevik and an awful bad lot."
Dickson could not see the change which his words wrought100 in the other's face. He found himself picked up in strong arms and carried to a bog-pool where his battered101 face was carefully washed, his throbbing102 brows laved, and a wet handkerchief bound over them. Then he was given brandy in the socket103 of a flask104, which eased his nausea. The cyclist ran his bicycle to the roadside, and found[Pg 237] a seat for Dickson behind the turf-dyke of the old bucht.
"Now you are going to tell me everything," he said. "If the Paul who is your enemy is the Paul I think him, then we are allies."
But Dickson did not need this assurance. His mind had suddenly received a revelation. The Princess had expected an enemy, but also a friend. Might not this be the long-awaited friend, for whose sake she was rooted to Huntingtower with all its terrors?
"Are you sure you name's no' Alexis?" he asked.
"In my own country I was called Alexis Nicolaevitch, for I am a Russian. But for some years I have made my home with your folk, and I call myself Alexander Nicholson, which is the English form. Who told you about Alexis?"
"Give me your hand," said Dickson shamefacedly. "Man, she's been looking for you for weeks. You're terribly behind the fair."
"She!" he cried. "For God's sake tell me all you know."
"Ay, she—the Princess. But what are we havering here for? I tell you at this moment she's somewhere down about the old Tower, and there's boatloads of blagyirds landing from the sea. Help me up, man, for I must be off. The story will keep. Losh, it's very near the darkening. If you're Alexis, you're just about in time for a battle."
But Dickson on his feet was but a frail105 creature. He was still deplorably giddy, and his legs showed an unpleasing tendency to crumple106. "I'm fair[Pg 238] done," he moaned. "You see, I've been tied up all day to a tree and had two sore bashes on my head. Get you on that bicycle and hurry on, and I'll hirple after you the best I can. I'll direct you the road, and if you're lucky you'll find a Die-Hard about the village. Away with you, man, and never mind me."
"We go together," said the other quietly. "You can sit behind me and hang on to my waist. Before you turned up I had pretty well got the thing in order."
Dickson in a fever of impatience sat by while the Russian put the finishing touches to the machine, and as well as his anxiety allowed put him in possession of the main facts of the story. He told of how he and Heritage had come to Dalquharter, of the first meeting with Saskia, of the trip to Glasgow with the jewels, of the exposure of Loudon the factor, of last night's doings in the House, and of the journey that morning to the Mains of Garple. He sketched107 the figures on the scene—Heritage and Sir Archie, Dobson and his gang, the Gorbals Die-Hards. He told of the enemy's plans so far as he knew them.
"Looked at from a business point of view," he said, "the situation's like this. There's Heritage in the Tower, with Dobson, Léon and Spidel sitting round him. Somewhere about the place there's the Princess and Sir Archibald and three men with guns from the Mains. Dougal and his five laddies are running loose in the policies. And there's four tinklers and God knows how many foreign ruffians[Pg 239] pushing up from the Garplefoot, and a brig lying waiting to carry off the ladies. Likewise there's the police, somewhere on the road, though the dear kens108 when they'll turn up. It's awful the incompetence109 of our Government, and the rates and taxes that high!... And there's you and me by this roadside, and I'm no more use than a tattie-bogle.... That's the situation, and the question is what's our plan to be? We must keep the blagyirds in play till the police come, and at the same time we must keep the Princess out of danger. That's why I'm wanting back, for they've sore need of a business head. Yon Sir Archibald's a fine fellow, but I doubt he'll be a bit rash, and the Princess is no' to hold or bind110. Our first job is to find Dougal and get a grip of the facts."
"I am going to the Princess," said the Russian.
"Ay, that'll be best. You'll be maybe able to manage her, for you'll be well acquaint."
"She is my kinswoman. She is also my affianced wife."
"Keep us!" Dickson exclaimed, with a doleful thought of Heritage. "What ailed111 you then no' to look after her better?"
"We have been long separated, because it was her will. She had work to do and disappeared from me, though I searched all Europe for her. Then she sent me word, when the danger became extreme, and summoned me to her aid. But she gave me poor directions, for she did not know her own plans very clearly. She spoke112 of a place called Darkwater, and I have been hunting half Scotland for it.[Pg 240] It was only last night that I heard of Dalquharter and guessed that that might be the name. But I was far down in Galloway, and have ridden fifty miles to-day."
"It's a queer thing, but I wouldn't take you for a Russian."
Alexis finished his work and put away his tools. "For the present," he said, "I am an Englishman, till my country comes again to her senses. Ten years ago I left Russia, for I was sick of the foolishness of my class and wanted a free life in a new world. I went to Australia and made good as an engineer. I am a partner in a firm which is pretty well known even in Britain. When war broke out I returned to fight for my people, and when Russia fell out of the war, I joined the Australians in France and fought with them till the Armistice113. And now I have only one duty left, to save the Princess and take her with me to my new home till Russia is a nation once more."
Dickson whistled joyfully114. "So Mr. Heritage was right. He aye said you were an Australian.... And you're a business man! That's grand hearing and puts my mind at rest. You must take charge of the party at the House, for Sir Archibald's a daft young lad and Mr. Heritage is a poet. I thought I would have to go myself, but I doubt I would just be a hindrance115 with my dwaibly legs. I'd be better outside, watching for the police.... Are you ready, sir?"
Dickson not without difficulty perched himself astride the luggage carrier, firmly grasping the[Pg 241] rider round the middle. The machine started, but it was evidently in a bad way, for it made poor going till the descent towards the main Auchenlochan road. On the slope it warmed up and they crossed the Garple bridge at a fair pace. There was to be no pleasant April twilight116, for the stormy sky had already made dusk, and in a very little the dark would fall. So sombre was the evening that Dickson did not notice a figure in the shadow of the roadside pines till it whistled shrilly117 on its fingers. He cried on Alexis to stop, and, this being accomplished118 with some suddenness, fell off at Dougal's feet.
"What's the news?" he demanded.
Dougal glanced at Alexis and seemed to approve his looks.
"Napoleon has just reported that three boatloads, making either twenty-three or twenty-four men—they were gey ill to count—has landed at Garplefit and is makin' their way to the auld119 Tower. The tinklers warned Dobson and soon it'll be a' bye wi' Heritage."
"The Princess is not there?" was Dickson's anxious inquiry.
"Na, na. Heritage is there his lone12. They were for joinin' him, but I wouldn't let them. She came wi' a man they call Sir Erchibald and three gemkeepers wi' guns. I stoppit their cawr up the road and tell't them the lie o' the land. Yon Sir Erchibald has poor notions o' strawtegy. He was for bangin' into the auld Tower straight away and shootin' Dobson if he tried to stop them. 'Havers,'[Pg 242] say I, 'let them break their teeth on the Tower, thinkin' the leddy's inside, and that'll give us time, for Heritage is no' the lad to surrender in a hurry.'"
"Where are they now?"
"In the Hoose o' Dalquharter, and a sore job I had gettin' them in. We've shifted our base again, without the enemy suspectin'."
"Any word of the police?"
"The polis!" and Dougal spat cynically120. "It seems they're a dour75 crop to shift. Sir Erchibald was sayin' that him and the lassie had been to the Chief Constable121, but the man was terrible auld and slow. They convertit him, but he threepit that it would take a long time to collect his men and that there was no danger o' the brig landin' afore night. He's wrong there onyway, for they're landit."
"Dougal," said Dickson, "you've heard the Princess speak of a friend she was expecting here called Alexis. This is him. You can address him as Mr. Nicholson. Just arrived in the nick of time. You must get him into the House, for he's the best right to be beside the lady.... Jaikie would tell you that I've been sore mishandled the day, and am no' very fit for a battle. But Mr. Nicholson's a business man and he'll do as well. You're keeping the Die-Hards outside, I hope?"
"Ay. Thomas Yownie's in charge, and Jaikie will be in and out with orders. They've instructions to watch for the polis, and keep an eye on the Garplefit. It's a mortal long front to hold, but there's no other way. I must be in the Hoose[Pg 243] mysel'. Thomas Yownie's headquarters is the auld wife's hen-hoose."
At that moment in a pause of the gale came the far-borne echo of a shot.
"Pistol," said Alexis.
"Heritage," said Dougal. "Trade will be gettin' brisk with him. Start your machine and I'll hang on ahint. We'll try the road by the West Lodge122."
Presently the pair disappeared in the dusk, the noise of the engine was swallowed up in the wild orchestra of the wind, and Dickson hobbled towards the village in a state of excitement which made him oblivious123 of his wounds. That lonely pistol shot was, he felt, the bell to ring up the curtain on the last act of the play.[Pg 244]
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1
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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2
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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3
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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4
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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5
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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6
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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sprawl
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| vi.躺卧，扩张，蔓延；vt.使蔓延；n.躺卧，蔓延 | |
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whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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12
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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13
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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14
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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shackled
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| 给（某人）带上手铐或脚镣( shackle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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19
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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20
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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21
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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22
circumscribed
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| adj.[医]局限的：受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；划定…范围；限制；限定 | |
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23
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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24
portray
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| v.描写，描述；画(人物、景象等) | |
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25
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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26
miscarriage
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| n.失败，未达到预期的结果；流产 | |
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27
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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28
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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30
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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31
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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32
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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33
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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34
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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35
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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36
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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37
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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38
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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39
basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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40
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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41
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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42
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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43
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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44
manlier
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| manly（有男子气概的）的比较级形式 | |
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45
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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46
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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47
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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48
robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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49
strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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50
impudently
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51
frond
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| n.棕榈类植物的叶子 | |
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52
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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53
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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54
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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55
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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56
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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57
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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58
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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59
shackles
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| 手铐( shackle的名词复数 )； 脚镣； 束缚； 羁绊 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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61
bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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62
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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63
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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64
plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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65
syne
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| adv.自彼时至此时，曾经 | |
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66
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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67
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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68
thongs
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| 的东西 | |
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69
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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70
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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71
cramping
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| 图像压缩 | |
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72
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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73
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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74
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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75
dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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76
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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77
miscreants
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| n.恶棍，歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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78
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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79
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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80
torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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81
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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82
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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83
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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84
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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85
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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86
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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87
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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88
smears
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| 污迹( smear的名词复数 )； 污斑； （显微镜的）涂片； 诽谤 | |
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89
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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90
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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91
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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92
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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93
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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94
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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95
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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96
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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97
nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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98
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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99
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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100
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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101
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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102
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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103
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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104
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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105
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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106
crumple
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| v.把...弄皱，满是皱痕，压碎，崩溃 | |
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107
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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108
kens
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| vt.知道（ken的第三人称单数形式） | |
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109
incompetence
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| n.不胜任，不称职 | |
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110
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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111
ailed
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| v.生病( ail的过去式和过去分词 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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112
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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113
armistice
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| n.休战，停战协定 | |
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114
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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115
hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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116
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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117
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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118
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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119
auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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120
cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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121
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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122
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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123
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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