The house that Royal Thatcher1 so informally quitted in his exodus2 to the promised land of Biggs was one of those oversized, under-calculated dwellings3 conceived and erected4 in the extravagance of the San Francisco builder's hopes, and occupied finally in his despair. Intended originally as the palace of some inchoate5 California Aladdin, it usually ended as a lodging6 house in which some helpless widow or hopeless spinster managed to combine respectability with the hard task of bread getting.
Thatcher's landlady7 was one of the former class. She had unfortunately survived not only her husband but his property, and, living in some deserted9 chamber10, had, after the fashion of the Italian nobility, let out the rest of the ruin. A tendency to dwell upon these facts gave her conversation a peculiar11 significance on the first of each month. Thatcher had noticed this with the sensitiveness of an impoverished12 gentleman. But when, a few days after her lodger13's sudden disappearance14, a note came from him containing a draft in noble excess of all arrears15 and charges, the widow's heart was lifted, and the rock smitten16 with the golden wand gushed17 beneficence that shone in a new gown for the widow and a new suit for “Johnny,” her son, a new oil cloth in the hall, better service to the lodgers18, and, let us be thankful, a kindlier consideration for the poor little black-eyed painter from Monterey, then dreadfully behind in her room rent. For, to tell the truth, the calls upon Miss De Haro's scant19 purse by her uncle had lately been frequent, perjury20 having declined in the Monterey market, through excessive and injudicious supply, until the line of demarcation between it and absolute verity21 was so finely drawn22 that Victor Garcia had remarked that “he might as well tell the truth at once and save his soul, since the devil was in the market.”
Mistress Plodgitt, the landlady, could not resist the desire to acquaint Carmen De Haro with her good fortune. “He was always a friend of yours, my dear,—and I know him to be a gentleman that would never let a poor widow suffer; and see what he says about you!” Here she produced Thatcher's note and read: “Tell my little neighbor that I shall come back soon to carry her and her sketching24 tools off by force, and I shall not let her return until she has caught the black mountains and the red rocks she used to talk about, and put the 'Blue Mass' mill in the foreground of the picture I shall order.”
What is this, little one? Surely, Carmen, thou needst not blush at this, thy first grand offer. Holy Virgin25! is it of a necessity that thou shouldst stick the wrong end of thy brush in thy mouth, and then drop it in thy lap? Or was it taught thee by the good Sisters at the convent to stride in that boyish fashion to the side of thy elders and snatch from their hands the missive thou wouldst read? More of this we would know, O Carmen,—smallest of brunettes,—speak, little one, even in thine own melodious26 speech, that I may commend thee and thy rare discretion27 to my own fair countrywomen.
Alas28, neither the present chronicler nor Mistress Plodgitt got any further information from the prudent29 Carmen, and must fain speculate upon certain facts that were already known.
Mistress Carmen's little room was opposite to Thatcher's, and once or twice, the doors being open, Thatcher had a glimpse across the passage of a black-haired and a sturdy, boyish little figure in a great blue apron30, perched on a stool before an easel, and on the other hand, Carmen had often been conscious of the fumes31 of a tobacco pipe penetrating32 her cloistered33 seclusion34, and had seen across the passage, vaguely35 enveloped36 in the same nicotine37 cloud, an American Olympian, in a rocking chair, with his feet on the mantel shelf. They had once or twice met on the staircase, on which occasion Thatcher had greeted her with a word or two of respectful yet half-humorous courtesy,—a courtesy which never really offends a true woman, although it often piques38 her self-aplomb by the slight assumption of superiority in the humorist. A woman is quick to recognize the fact that the great and more dangerous passions are always SERIOUS, and may be excused if in self-respect she is often induced to try if there be not somewhere under the skin of this laughing Mercutio the flesh and blood of a Romeo. Thatcher was by nature a defender39 and protector; weakness, and weakness alone, stirred the depths of his tenderness,—often, I fear, only through its half-humorous aspects,—and on this plane he was pleased to place women and children. I mention this fact for the benefit of the more youthful members of my species, and am satisfied that an unconditional40 surrender and the complete laying down at the feet of Beauty of all strong masculinity is a cheap Gallicism that is untranslatable to most women worthy41 the winning. For a woman MUST always look up to the man she truly loves,—even if she has to go down on her knees to do it.
Only the masculine reader will infer from this that Carmen was in love with Thatcher; the more critical and analytical42 feminine eye will see nothing herein that might not have happened consistently with friendship. For Thatcher was no sentimentalist; he had hardly paid a compliment to the girl,—even in the unspoken but most delicate form of attention. There were days when his room door was closed; there were days succeeding these blanks when he met her as frankly44 and naturally as if he had seen her yesterday. Indeed, on those days following his flight the simple-minded Carmen, being aware—heaven knows how—that he had not opened his door during that period, and fearing sickness, sudden death, or perhaps suicide, by her appeals to the landlady, assisted unwittingly in discovering his flight and defection. As she was for a few moments as indignant as Mrs. Plodgitt, it is evident that she had but little sympathy with the delinquent45. And besides, hitherto she had known only Concho, her earliest friend, and was true to his memory, as against all Americanos, whom she firmly believed to be his murderers.
So she dismissed the offer and the man from her mind, and went back to her painting,—a fancy portrait of the good Padre Junipero Serra, a great missionary46, who, haply for the integrity of his bones and character, died some hundred years before the Americans took possession of California. The picture was fair but unsaleable, and she began to think seriously of sign painting, which was then much more popular and marketable. An unfinished head of San Juan de Bautista, artificially framed in clouds, she disposed of to a prominent druggist for $50, where it did good service as exhibiting the effect of four bottles of “Jones's Freckle47 Eradicator,” and in a pleasant and unobtrusive way revived the memory of the saint. Still, she felt weary and was growing despondent48, and had a longing49 for the good Sisters and the blameless lethargy of conventual life, and then—
He came!
But not as the Prince should come, on a white charger, to carry away this cruelly-abused and enchanted50 damsel. He was sunburned, he was bearded like “the pard”; he was a little careless as to his dress, and pre-occupied in his ways. But his mouth and eyes were the same; and when he repeated in his old frank, half-mischievous way the invitation of his letter, poor little Carmen could only hesitate and blush.
A thought struck him and sent the color to his face. Your gentleman born is always as modest as a woman. He ran down stairs, and seizing the widowed Plodgitt, said hastily:
“You're just killing51 yourself here. Take a change. Come down to Monterey for a day or two with me, and bring miss De Haro with you for company.”
The old lady recognized the situation. Thatcher was now a man of vast possibilities. In all maternal52 daughters of Eve there is the slightest bit of the chaperone and match-maker. It is the last way of reviving the past.
She consented, and Carmen De Haro could not well refuse.
The ladies found the “Blue Mass” mills very much as Thatcher had previously53 delivered it to them, “a trifle rough and mannish.” But he made over to them the one tenement54 reserved for himself, and slept with his men, or more likely under the trees. At first Mrs. Plodgitt missed gas and running water, and these several conveniences of civilization, among which I fear may be mentioned sheets and pillow cases; but the balsam of the mountain air soothed55 her neuralgia and her temper. As for Carmen, she rioted in the unlimited56 license57 of her absolute freedom from conventional restraint and the indulgence of her child-like impulses. She scoured58 the ledges60 far and wide alone; she dipped into dark copses, and scrambled61 over sterile62 patches of chemisal, and came back laden63 with the spoil of buckeye blossoms, manzanita berries and laurel. But she would not make a sketch23 of the “Blue Mass Company's” mills on a Mercator's projection—something that could be afterwards lithographed or chromoed, with the mills turning out tons of quicksilver through the energies of a happy and picturesque64 assemblage of miners—even to please her padrone, Don Royal Thatcher. On the contrary, she made a study of the ruins of the crumbled65 and decayed red-rock furnace, with the black mountain above it, and the light of a dying camp fire shining upon it, and the dull-red excavations66 in the ledge59. But even this did not satisfy her until she had made some alterations67; and when she finally brought her finished study to Don Royal, she looked at him a little defiantly68. Thatcher admired honestly, and then criticised a little humorously and dishonestly. “But couldn't you, for a consideration, put up a sign-board on that rock with the inscription69, 'Road to the Blue Mass Company's new mills to the right,' and combine business with art? That's the fault of you geniuses. But what's this blanketed figure doing here, lying before the furnace? You never saw one of my miners there,—and a Mexican, too, by his serape.” “That,” quoth Mistress Carmen, coolly, “was put in to fill up the foreground,—I wanted something there to balance the picture.” “But,” continued Thatcher, dropping into unconscious admiration70 again, “it's drawn to the life. Tell me, Miss De Haro, before I ask the aid and counsel of Mrs. Plodgitt, who is my hated rival, and your lay figure and model?” “Oh,” said Carmen, with a little sigh, “It's only poor Coucho.” “And where is Concho?” (a little impatiently.) “He's dead, Don Royal.” “Dead?” “Of a verity,—very dead,—murdered by your countrymen.” “I see,—and you know him?” “He was my friend.”
“Oh!”
“Truly.”
“But” (wickedly), “isn't this a rather ghastly advertisement—outside of an illustrated71 newspaper—of my property?”
“Ghastly, Don Royal. Look you, he sleeps.”
“Ay” (in Spanish), “as the dead.”
Carmen (crossing herself hastily), “After the fashion of the dead.”
They were both feeling uncomfortable. Carmen was shivering. But, being a woman, and tactful, she recovered her head first. “It is a study for myself, Don Royal; I shall make you another.”
And she slipped away, as she thought, out of the subject and his presence.
But she was mistaken; in the evening he renewed the conversation. Carmen began to fence, not from cowardice72 or deceit, as the masculine reader would readily infer, but from some wonderful feminine instinct that told her to be cautious. But he got from her the fact, to him before unknown, that she was the niece of his main antagonist73, and, being a gentleman, so redoubled his attentions and his courtesy that Mrs. Plodgitt made up her mind that it was a foregone conclusion, and seriously reflected as to what she should wear on the momentous74 occasion. But that night poor Carmen cried herself to sleep, resolving that she would hereafter cast aside her wicked uncle for this good-hearted Americano, yet never once connected her innocent penmanship with the deadly feud75 between them. Women—the best of them—are strong as to collateral76 facts, swift of deduction77, but vague as children are to the exact statement or recognition of premises78. It is hardly necessary to say that Carmen had never thought of connecting any act of hers with the claims of her uncle, and the circumstance of the signature she had totally forgotten.
The masculine reader will now understand Carmen's confusion and blushes, and believe himself an ass8 to have thought them a confession79 of original affection. The feminine reader will, by this time, become satisfied that the deceitful minx's sole idea was to gain the affections of Thatcher. And really I don't know who is right.
Nevertheless she painted a sketch of Thatcher,—which now adorns80 the Company's office in San Francisco,—in which the property is laid out in pleasing geometrical lines, and the rosy81 promise of the future instinct in every touch of the brush. Then, having earned her “wage,” as she believed, she became somewhat cold and shy to Thatcher. Whereat that gentleman redoubled his attentions, seeing only in her presence a certain meprise, which concerned her more than himself. The niece of his enemy meant nothing more to him than an interesting girl,—to be protected always,—to be feared, never. But even suspicion may be insidiously82 placed in noble minds.
Mistress Plodgitt, thus early estopped of matchmaking, of course put the blame on her own sex, and went over to the stronger side—the man's.
“It's a great pity gals83 should be so curious,” she said, sotto voce, to Thatcher, when Carmen was in one of her sullen84 moods. “Yet I s'pose it's in her blood. Them Spaniards is always revengeful,—like the Eyetalians.”
Thatcher honestly looked his surprise.
“Why, don't you see, she's thinking how all these lands might have been her uncle's but for you. And instead of trying to be sweet and—” here she stopped to cough.
“Good God!” said Thatcher in great concern, “I never thought of that.” He stopped for a moment, and then added with decision, “I can't believe it; it isn't like her.”
Mrs. P. was piqued85. She walked away, delivering, however, this Parthian arrow: “Well, I hope 'TAINT86 NOTHING WORSE.”
Thatcher chuckled87, then felt uneasy. When he next met Carmen, she found his grey eyes fixed88 on hers with a curious, half-inquisitorial look she had never noticed before. This only added fuel to the fire. Forgetting their relations of host and guest, she was absolutely rude. Thatcher was quiet but watchful89; got the Plodgitt to bed early, and, under cover of showing a moonlight view of the “Lost Chance Mill,” decoyed Carmen out of ear-shot, as far as the dismantled90 furnace.
“What is the matter, Miss De Haro; have I offended you?”
Miss Carmen was not aware that anything was the matter. If Don Royal preferred old friends, whose loyalty91 of course he knew, and who were above speaking ill against a gentleman in his adversity—(oh, Carmen! fie!) if he preferred THEIR company to LATER FRIENDS—why—(the masculine reader will observe this tremendous climax92 and tremble)—why she didn't know why HE should blame HER.
They turned and faced each other. The conditions for a perfect misunderstanding could not have been better arranged between two people. Thatcher was a masculine reasoner, Carmen a feminine feeler,—if I may be pardoned the expression. Thatcher wanted to get at certain facts, and argue therefrom. Carmen wanted to get at certain feelings, and then fit the facts to THEM.
“But I am NOT blaming you, Miss Carmen,” he said gravely. “It WAS stupid in me to confront you here with the property claimed by your uncle and occupied by me, but it was a mistake,—no!” he added hastily, “it was not a mistake. You knew it, and I didn't. You overlooked it before you came, and I was too glad to overlook it after you were here.”
“Of course,” said Carmen pettishly93, “I am the only one to be blamed. It's like you MEN!” (Mem. She was just fifteen, and uttered this awful 'resume' of experience just as if it hadn't been taught to her in her cradle.)
“Why did you want to take Uncle Victor's property, then?” she asked triumphantly95.
“I don't know that it is your uncle's property.”
“You—don't—know? Have you seen the application with Governor Micheltorena's indorsement? Have you heard the witnesses?” she said passionately96.
“Signatures may be forged and witnesses lie,” said Thatcher quietly.
“What is it you call 'forged'?”
Thatcher instantly recalled the fact that the Spanish language held no synonym97 for “forgery98.” The act was apparently99 an invention of el Diablo Americano. So he said, with a slight smile in his kindly100 eyes:
“Anybody wicked enough and dexterous101 enough can imitate another's handwriting. When this is used to benefit fraud, we call it 'forgery.' I beg your pardon,—Miss De Haro, Miss Carmen,—what is the matter?”
She had suddenly lapsed102 against a tree, quite helpless, nerveless, and with staring eyes fixed on his. As yet an embryo103 woman, inexperienced and ignorant, the sex's instinct was potential; she had in one plunge104 fathomed105 all that his reason had been years groping for.
Thatcher saw only that she was pained, that she was helpless: that was enough. “It is possible that your uncle may have been deceived,” he began; “many honest men have been fooled by clever but deceitful tricksters, men and women—”
“Stop! Madre de Dios! WILL YOU STOP?”
Thatcher for an instant recoiled106 from the flashing eyes and white face of the little figure that had, with menacing and clenched107 baby fingers, strode to his side. He stopped. “Where is this application,—this forgery?” she asked. “Show it to me!”
Thatcher felt relieved, and smiled the superior smile of our sex over feminine ignorance. “You could hardly expect me to be trusted with your uncle's vouchers108. His papers of course are in the hands of his counsel.”
“And when can I leave this place?” she asked passionately.
“If you consult my wishes you will stay, if only long enough to forgive me. But if I have offended you unknowingly, and you are implacable—”
“I can go to-morrow at sunrise if I like?”
“As you will,” returned Thatcher gravely.
“Gracias, Senor.”
They walked slowly back to the house, Thatcher with a masculine sense of being unreasonably109 afflicted110, Carmen with a woman's instinct of being hopelessly crushed. No word was spoken until they reached the door. Then Carmen suddenly, in her old, impulsive111 way, and in a childlike treble, sang out merrily, “Good night, O Don Royal, and pleasant dreams. Hasta manana.”
Thatcher stood dumb and astounded112 at this capricious girl. She saw his mystification instantly. “It is for the old Cat!” she whispered, jerking her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the sleeping Mrs. P. “Good night,—go!”
He went to give orders for a peon to attend the ladies and their equipage the next day. He awoke to find Miss De Haro gone, with her escort, towards Monterey. And without the Plodgitt.
He could not conceal113 his surprise from the latter lady. She, left alone,—a not altogether unavailable victim to the wiles114 of our sex,—was embarrassed. But not so much that she could not say to Thatcher: “I told you so,—gone to her uncle. . . . To tell him ALL!”
“All. D—n it, WHAT can she tell him?” roared Thatcher, stung out of his self-control.
She was right. Miss Carmen posted to Monterey, running her horse nearly off its legs to do it, and then sent back her beast and escort, saying she would rejoin Mrs. Plodgitt by steamer at San Francisco. Then she went boldly to the law office of Saponaceous Wood, District Attorney and whilom solicitor117 of her uncle.
With the majority of masculine Monterey Miss Carmen was known and respectfully admired, despite the infelix reputation of her kinsman118. Mr. Wood was glad to see her, and awkwardly gallant119. Miss Carmen was cool and business-like; she had come from her uncle to “regard” the papers in the “Red-Rock Rancho” case. They were instantly produced. Carmen turned to the application for the grant. Her cheek paled slightly. With her clear memory and wonderful fidelity120 of perception she could not be mistaken. THE SIGNATURE OF MICHELTORENA WAS IN HER OWN HANDWRITING!
Yet she looked up to the lawyer with a smile: “May I take these papers for an hour to my uncle?”
Even an older and better man than the District Attorney could not have resisted those drooping121 lids and that gentle voice.
“Certainly.”
“I will return them in an hour.”
She was as good as her word, and within the hour dropped the papers and a little courtesy to her uncle's legal advocate, and that night took the steamer to San Francisco.
The next morning Victor Garcia, a little the worse for the previous night's dissipation, reeled into Wood's office. “I have fears for my niece Carmen. She is with the enemy,” he said thickly. “Look you at this.”
It was an anonymous122 letter (in Mrs. Plodgitt's own awkward fist) advising him of the fact that his niece was bought by the enemy, and cautioning him against her.
“Impossible,” said the lawyer; “it was only last week she sent thee $50.”
Victor blushed, even through his ensanguined cheeks, and made an impatient gesture with his hand.
“Besides,” added the lawyer coolly, “she has been here to examine the papers at thy request, and returned them of yesterday.”
“Of course!”
“All? Even the application and the signature?”
“Certainly,—you sent her.”
“Sent her? The devil's own daughter?” shrieked125 Garcia. “No! A hundred million times, no! Quick, before it is too late. Give to me the papers.”
Mr. Wood reproduced the file. Garcia ran over it with trembling fingers until at last he clutched the fateful document. Not content with opening it and glancing at its text and signature, he took it to the window.
“It is the same,” he muttered with a sigh of relief.
“Of course it is,” said Mr. Wood sharply. “The papers are all there. You're a fool, Victor Garcia!”
And so he was. And, for the matter of that, so was Mr. Saponaceous Wood, of counsel.
Meanwhile Miss De Haro returned to San Francisco and resumed her work. A day or two later she was joined by her landlady. Mrs. P. had too large a nature to permit an anonymous letter, written by her own hand, to stand between her and her demeanor126 to her little lodger. So she coddled her and flattered her and depicted127 in slightly exaggerated colors the grief of Don Royal at her sudden departure. All of which Miss Carmen received in a demure128, kitten-like way, but still kept quietly at her work. In due time Don Royal's order was completed; still she had leisure and inclination129 enough to add certain touches to her ghastly sketch of the crumbling130 furnace.
Nevertheless, as Don Royal did not return, through excess of business, Mrs. Plodgitt turned an honest penny by letting his room, temporarily, to two quiet Mexicans, who, but for a beastly habit of cigarrito smoking which tainted131 the whole house, were fair enough lodgers. If they failed in making the acquaintance of their fair countrywoman, Miss De Haro, it was through the lady's pre-occupation in her own work, and not through their ostentatious endeavors.
“Miss De Haro is peculiar,” explained the politic132 Mrs. Plodgitt to her guests; “she makes no acquaintances, which I consider bad for her business. If it had not been for me, she would not have known Royal Thatcher, the great quicksilver miner,—and had his order for a picture of his mine!”
The two foreign gentlemen exchanged glances. One said, “Ah, God! this is bad,” and the other, “It is not possible;” and then, when the landlady's back was turned, introduced themselves with a skeleton key into the then vacant bedroom and studio of their fair countrywoman, who was absent sketching. “Thou observest,” said Mr. Pedro, refugee, to Miguel, ex-ecclesiastic, “that this Americano is all-powerful, and that this Victor, drunkard as he is, is right in his suspicions.”
“Of a verity, yes,” replied Miguel, “thou dost remember it was Jovita Castro who, for her Americano lover, betrayed the Sobriente claim. It is only with us, my Pedro, that the Mexican spirit, the real God and Liberty, yet lives!”
They shook hands nobly and with sentimental43 fervor133, and then went to work, i. e., the rummaging134 over the trunks, drawers, and portmanteaus of the poor little painter, Carmen de Haro, and even ripped up the mattress135 of her virginal cot. But they found not what they sought.
“What is that yonder on the easel, covered with a cloth?” said Miguel: “it is a trick of these artists to put their valuables together.”
Pedro strode to the easel and tore away the muslin curtain that veiled it; then uttered a shriek124 that appalled136 his comrade and brought him to his side.
“In the name of God,” said Miguel hastily, “are you trying to alarm the house?”
The ex-vaquero was trembling like a child. “Look,” he said hoarsely137, “look, do you see? It is the hand of God,” and fainted on the floor!
Miguel looked. It was Carmen's partly-finished sketch of the deserted furnace. The figure of Concho, thrown out strongly by the camp fire, occupied the left foreground. But to balance her picture she had evidently been obliged to introduce another,—the face and figure of Pedro, on all fours, creeping towards the sleeping man.
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thatcher
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| n.茅屋匠 | |
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exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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inchoate
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| adj.才开始的，初期的 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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peculiar
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impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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arrears
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| n.到期未付之债，拖欠的款项；待做的工作 | |
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smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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lodgers
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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perjury
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verity
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drawn
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sketch
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sketching
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virgin
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melodious
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discretion
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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apron
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fumes
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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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33
cloistered
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| adj.隐居的，躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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35
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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36
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
nicotine
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| n.(化)尼古丁，烟碱 | |
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38
piques
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的第三人称单数 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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39
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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40
unconditional
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| adj.无条件的，无限制的，绝对的 | |
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41
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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42
analytical
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| adj.分析的；用分析法的 | |
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43
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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44
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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45
delinquent
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| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
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46
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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47
freckle
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| n.雀簧；晒斑 | |
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48
despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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49
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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50
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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51
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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52
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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53
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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54
tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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55
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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56
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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57
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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58
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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59
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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60
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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61
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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62
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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63
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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64
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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65
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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66
excavations
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| n.挖掘( excavation的名词复数 )；开凿；开凿的洞穴（或山路等）；（发掘出来的）古迹 | |
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67
alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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68
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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69
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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70
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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71
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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72
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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73
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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74
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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75
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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76
collateral
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| adj.平行的；旁系的；n.担保品 | |
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77
deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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78
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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79
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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80
adorns
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| 装饰，佩带( adorn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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81
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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82
insidiously
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| 潜在地，隐伏地，阴险地 | |
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83
gals
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| abbr.gallons （复数）加仑（液量单位）n.女孩，少女( gal的名词复数 ) | |
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84
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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85
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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86
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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87
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
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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89
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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90
dismantled
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| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
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91
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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92
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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93
pettishly
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94
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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95
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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96
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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97
synonym
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| n.同义词，换喻词 | |
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98
forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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99
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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100
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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101
dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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102
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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103
embryo
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| n.胚胎，萌芽的事物 | |
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104
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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105
fathomed
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| 理解…的真意( fathom的过去式和过去分词 )； 彻底了解； 弄清真相 | |
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106
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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107
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
vouchers
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| n.凭证( voucher的名词复数 )；证人；证件；收据 | |
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109
unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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110
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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112
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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113
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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114
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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115
chastely
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| adv.贞洁地，清高地，纯正地 | |
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116
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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117
solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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118
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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119
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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120
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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121
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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122
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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123
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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124
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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125
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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127
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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128
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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129
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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130
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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131
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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132
politic
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| adj.有智虑的；精明的；v.从政 | |
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133
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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134
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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135
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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136
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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137
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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