I
"George," said Plancine.
"Please say it again," said George.
She dimpled at him and obeyed, with the soft suggestion of accent that was like a tender confidence. Her feet were sunk in Devonshire grass; her name was on the birth register of a little Devonshire sea-town; yet the sun of France was in her veins1 as surely as his caress2 was on her lips.
Therefore she said "George" with a sweet dragging sound that greatly fluttered the sensibilities of the person addressed, and not infrequently led them to alight, like Prince Dummling's queen bee, on the very mouth of that honeyed flower of speech.
Now Plancine put her cheek on her George's rough sleeve, and said she,—
"I have a confession3 to make—about something a little silly. Consequently I have postponed4 it till now, when it is too dark for you to see my face."
"Never!" he murmured fervently5. "A double cataract6 could not deprive me of that vision. It is printed here, Plancine."
"Yet it sounds hollow, George?"
"Yes," he said. "It is a sandwich-box, an empty one. I would not consign8 your image to such a deplorable casket. My heart was what I meant. How I hate sandwiches—misers shivering between sheets—a vile9 gastronomic10 economy!"
"Poor boy! I will make you little dough-cakes when you go apainting."
"Plancine! Your image here, yes. But your dough-cakes—!"
"Then keep to your sandwiches, sir."
"I must. But the person who invented them was no gentleman!"
"Papa would like to hear you say that."
"Say what?"
"Admit the possibility of any social distinction."
"It is only a question of sandwiches."
"George, must you be a Chartist and believe in Feargus O'Connor?"
"My soul, I cannot go back on my principles, for all that the violets of your eyes have sprouted11 under the shadow of a venerable family-tree."
"That is very prettily12 said. You may kiss my thumb-nail with the white spot in it for luck. No, sir. That is presuming. Now I am snug13, and you may talk."
"Plancine, I am a son of the people. I hold by my own. No doubt, if I had blue blood to boast of, I should keep a vial of it in a prominent place on the drawing-room mantelpiece. As it is, I confess my desire is to carve for myself a name in art that shall be independent of all adventitious14 support; to answer to my vocation15 straight, upright, and manly16."
"That is better than nobility—though I have pride in my own. I wish papa thought so. Yet he has both himself."
"The fine soul! For fifty years he has stood square to adversity with a smile on his face. Could I ever achieve that? Already I cry out on poverty; because I want an unencumbered field for work, and—yes, one other trifle."
"One other trifle, George?"
He took Plancine's face between his hands and looked very lovingly into her eyes.
"I think I did the old man too much honour," he said. "You nestling of eighteen—what credit to scout17 misfortune with such a bird at one's side!"
"Ah! but papa is sixty-nine and the bird but eighteen."
"And eighteen years of heaven are a good education in happiness."
So they coo'd, these two. The June scents18 of the little garden were wafted19 all about them. The moon had come up out of the sea, and, finding a trellis of branches over their heads, hung their young brows with coronals of shadowy leaves, like the old dame20 she was, rummaging21 in her trinket box for something for her favourites.
In the dimly-luminous parlour (that smelt22 of folios and warm coffee) of the little dark house in the background, the figure of papa, poring at the table over geological maps, was visible.
Fifty years ago an émigré, denounced, proscribed23, and escaped from the ruin of a shattered society: here, in '49, a stately, large-boned man, placidly25 enjoying the consciousness of a serene26 dignity maintained at the expense of much and prolonged self-effacement—this was papa.
Grey hair, thinning but slightly near the temples; grey moustache and beard pointed27 de bouc; flowered dressing-gown girdled about a heart as simple as a child's—this was papa, papa who grubbed over his ordnance28 surveys while the young folks outside whispered of the stars.
Right beneath them—the latter—a broad gully of the hills went plunging29 precipitously, all rolled with leaf and flower, to the undercliff of soft blue lias and the very roof ridges30 of King's Cobb, whose walls and chimneys, now snowed with light, fretted32 a scallop of the striding bay that swept the land here like a scythe33.
Plancine's village, a lofty appanage or suburb of this little seaboard town at the hill-foot, seemed rather the parent stock from which the other had emancipated34 itself. For all down the steep slope that fled from Upper to King's Cobb was flung a débris of houses that, like the ice-fall of a glacier35, would appear to have broken from the main body and gone careering into the valley below.
It was in point of fact, however, but a subordinate hamlet—a hanging garden for the jaded36 tourist in the dog days, when his soul stifled37 in the oven of the sea-level cliffs—an eyrie for Plancine, and for George, the earnest painter, a Paradise before the fall.
And now says George, "We have talked all round your confession, and still
I wait to give you absolution."
"I will confess. I read it in one of papa's books that is called the Talmud."
"Gracious me! you should be careful. What did you read?"
"That whoever wants to see the souls of the dead—"
"Plancine!"
"—must take finely sifted38 ashes, and strew39 them round his bed; and in the morning he will see their foot-tracks, as a cock's. I did it."
"You did?"
"And did you see anything?"
"Something—yes—I think so. But it might have been mice. There are plenty up there."
"Now you are an odd Plancine! What did you want with the ghosts of the dead?"
"I will tell you, you tall man; and you will not abuse my confidence. George, for all your gay independence, you must allow me a little family pride and a little pathetic interest in the fortunes of the dead and gone De Jussacs."
"It is Mademoiselle De Jussac that speaks."
"It is Plancine, who knows so little:—that 'The Terror' would have guillotined her father, a boy of fourteen: that he escaped to Prussia, to Belgium, to England; for six years always a wanderer and a fugitive41: that he was wrecked42 on this dear coast and, penniless, started life anew here on his little accomplishments43: that he made out a meagre existence, and late in the order of years (he was fifty) married an expatriated countrywoman, who died—George, my mother died when I was seventeen months old—and that is where I stop. My good, big father—so lonely, so poor, and so silent! He tells me little. He speaks scantily44 of the past. But he was a Vicomte and is the last of his line; and I wanted the ghosts to explain to me so much that I have never learned."
The moonlight fell upon her sweet, pale, uplifted face. There were tears in her eyes that glittered like frost.
But George, for all his love, showed a little masculine impatience45.
"Reserve is very good," he said; "but we can't all be Lord Burleighs by holding our tongues. There is a sort of silence that is pregnant with nothing."
"George, you cannot mean to insult my father?"
"No, dear. But why does he make such a mystery of his past? I would have mine as clear as a window, for all to look through. Why does he treat me with such suave46 and courteous47 opposition—permitting my suit, yet withholding48 his consent?"
"If you could be less democratic, dear—"
"Perhaps he cannot dissociate the two. Then, he admires your genius and commends your courage; but your poor purse hungers, my lover, and he desires riches for his Plancine."
"And Plancine?"
"She will die a grey-haired maid for thee, 'O Richard! O my king!'"
"My sweet—my bird—my wife! Oh, that you could be that now and kiss me on to fortune! I should be double-souled and inspired. A few months, and Madame la Vicomtesse should 'walk in silk attire50.' I flame at the picture. Why will your father not yield you gracefully51, instead of plying52 us with that eternal enigma53 of Black Venn?"
"Because enthusiasm alone may not command wealth," said a deep voice near them.
Papa had come upon them unobserved. The young man wheeled and charged while his blood was hot.
"I have served like Jacob. You cannot doubt my single-hearted devotion?"
"I doubt nothing, my George" (about his accent there was no tender compromise)—"I doubt nothing, but that the balance at your bankers' is excessive."
"But yes, my friend; for bullion is the algebraic formula that represents comfort. When Black Venn slips his apron58—"
George made a gesture of impatience.
"When Black Venn slips his apron," repeated the father quietly, "I shall be in a position to consider your suit."
"That is tantamount to putting me off altogether. It is ungenerous. It is preposterous59. You may or may not be right; but it is simply farcical (Plancine cried, "George!"—but he went on warmly, nevertheless) to make our happiness contingent60 on the possible tumbling down of a bit of old cliff—an accident that, after all, may never happen."
"Ah!" the quiet, strong voice went on; and in the old eyes turned moonwards one might have fancied one could read a certain pathos62 of abnegation, or approaching self-sacrifice; "but it will, and shortly, for I prophesy63. It was no idle cruelty of mine that first suggested this condition, but a natural reluctance64 to sign myself back to utter loneliness."
Plancine cried, "Papa! papa!" and sprang into his arms.
"A little patience," said De Jussac, pressing his moustache to the round head, "and you will honour this weary prophet, I think. I was up on the cliff to-day. The great crack is ever widening. A bowling65 wind, a loud thunderstorm, and that apron of the hill will tear from its bondage66 and sink sweltering down the slopes."
In the moment of speaking a tremor67 seized all his limbs, his eyes glared maniacal68, his outstretched arm pointed seawards.
In the offing of the bay was a vessel70 making for the unseen harbour below. It stood up black against the moonlight, its sails and yards presenting some fantastic resemblance to that engine of blood.
George stepped back and hung his head embarrassed. He had more than once been witness of a like seizure71. It was the guillotine fright—the fright that had smitten72 the boy of fourteen, and had pursued the man ever since with periodic attacks of illusion. Anything—a branch, a door-post, a window, would suggest the hateful form during those periods—happily brief—when the poor mind was temporarily unhinged. No doubt, in earlier years, the fits had occurred frequently. Now they were rare, and generally, it seemed, attributable to some strong excitement or emotion.
Plancine knew how to act. She put her hand over the frantic73 eyes, and led the old man stumbling up the garden path. She was going to sing to him from the little sweet folk-ballads of the old gay France before the trouble came—
Over the English sea;
But never across the water
Shall a husband come to me."
Love floated on the freshet of her voice straight into the heart of the young man who stood without.
II
Perhaps at first it had not been the least of the bitterness in M. De Jussac's cup of calamity74 that his mere75 pride of name must adjust itself to its altered conditions. That the Vicomte De Jussac should have been expatriated because he declined when called upon to contribute his heart's blood to the red conduit in the Faubourg St. Antoine was certainly an infamy76, but one of which the very essence was that unquestioning acknowledgment of his rank. That the land of his adoption77 should have dubbed78 him Mr. Jussuks—in stolid79 unconsciousness, too, of the solecism—was an outrage80 of a totally different order—an outrage only to be condoned81 on the score that an impenetrable insular82 gaucherie, and not a malicious83 impertinence, was responsible for it.
Mr. Jussuks had, however, outlived his sense of the injurious appellation84; had outlived much prejudice, the wear of poverty, his memory of many things, and, very early, his scorn of the plebeian85 processes that to the impecunious86 are a condition of living at all. He was certainly a man of courageous87 independence, inasmuch as from the hour of his setting foot in England—and that was at the outset of the century—he had controlled his own little fortunes without a hand to help him over the deep places.
Of his first struggles little is known but this—that for years, turning to account some small knowledge of draughtsmanship he had acquired, he found employment in ladies' academies, of which there was a plenitude at that date in King's Cobb.
That, however, which brought him eventually into a modest prominence—not only in that same beautiful but indifferently known watering-place (upon which he had happened, it would appear, fortuitously), but elsewhere and amongst men of a certain mark—was a discovery—or the practical application of one—which in its result procured89 him a definite object in life, together with the means to pursue it.
Ammonites, and such small geological fry, were to be found by the thousand in the petrified90 mud beds of the Cobb region; but it was left to the ingenuity91, aided by good fortune, of the foreigner to unearth92 from the flaking93 and perishing cliffs of lias some of the earliest and finest specimens94 of the ichthyo- and plesio-saurus that a past world has yielded to the naturalists95.
Out of these the émigré made money, and so was enabled to pursue and enlarge upon his researches. Presently he prospered97 into a competence98, married (poor Mademoiselle Belleville, of the Silver Street Academy, who died of typhoid at the end of a couple of summers), and so grew into the kindly99 old age of the absorbed and gentle naturalist96, with his Plancine budding at his side.
What in all these fifty years had he forgotten? His name, his rank, his very origin? Much, no doubt. But that there was one haunting memory that had dwelt with him throughout, his child and her lover were to learn—one memory, and that dreadful recurring100 illusion of the guillotine.
"When Black Venn slips his apron, I shall be in a position to consider your suit."
Surely that was an odd and enigmatical condition, entirely101 remote from the subject at issue? Yet from the moment of the first impassioned pleadings of the stricken George, De Jussac had insisted upon it as one from which there should be no appeal.
Now the Black Venn referred to was a great mound102 of lias that rolled up and inland, in the far sweep of the bay, from the giddy margin103 of the lower ruin of cliffs. These—mere compressed mountains of mud, blown by the winds and battered104 by the sea—were in a constant state of yawn and collapse105. Yard by yard they yielded to the scourge106 of Time, and landslides107 were of common occurrence.
All along the middle slope of Black Venn itself, a wide, deep fissure108, dark and impenetrable, had stretched from ages unrecorded. But the eventual88 opening-out of this crevasse109, and the consequent subsidence of the incline, or apron, below it, had been foretold110 by Mr. De Jussac; and this, in fact, was the condition to which he had alluded111.
III
"Mr. De Jussac! do you hear me?"
"I am coming, my friend."
The light shining steadily112 through a front window of the cottage flickered113 and shifted. The young man in the rain and storm outside danced with impatience.
Suddenly the door opened, and Plancine's father stood there, candle in hand.
"What is it, my George?"
"The hill, sir—the hill! It's fallen! You were right. You must stand by your word. Black Venn has slipped his apron!"
"My God, no!"
There were despair and exultation114 in his voice.
"My God, no!" he whispered again, and dived into a cupboard under the stair.
Thence he reappeared with a horn lantern and his old blue cloak.
"Come, then!" he cried. "My hour is upon me!"
"Mr. De Jussac, it will wait till the morning."
"No, no, no! Do you trifle with your destiny? It has happened opportunely115, while all are within doors and we have a clear field. How do you know? have you seen? Is it possible to descend116 to it from above?"
"I passed there less than an hour ago. It is possible, I am sure."
They set off hurriedly through the rain-beaten night. Not a word passed between them as they left the village and struck into the high-valley road that ran past, at a moderate distance, the head of the bay. De Jussac strode rapidly in advance of his companion. His long cloak whirled in the blast; it flogged his gaunt limbs all set to intense action. He seemed uplifted, translated—like one in whom the very article of a life-long faith, or monomania, is about to be justified117.
Toiling118 onward61, like driven cattle, they swerved119 from the road presently and breasted a sharp incline. Their boots squelched120 on the sodden121 turf; the wind bore on them heavily.
George saw the dancing lanthorn go up the slope in front of him like a will-o'-the-wisp—stop, and swing steady, heard the loud cry of jubilation122 that issued from the withered123 throat.
"It is true! The moment is realized!"
They stood together on the verge124 of the upper lip of the fissure. It was a cliff now, twenty, thirty feet to its base. The lower ground had fallen like a dead jaw125; had slipped—none so great a distance—down the slope leading to the under-cliff, and lay a billowing mass subsided126 upon itself.
De Jussac would stand not an instant.
"We must climb down—somehow, anyhow!" he cried feverishly127. "We must search all along what was once the bottom of the cleft128."
"It is a risk, sir. Why not wait till the morning?"
"No, no! now! My God! I demand it. Others may forestall129 us if we delay. See, my friend, I wish but my own; and what proof of right have I if another should snatch the treasure?"
"The treasure?"
"It is our fortune that lies there—yours, and mine, and the little Plancine's. Do I know what I say? Hurry, hurry, hurry! while my heart does not burst."
He forced the lanthorn into the young man's hands. He was panting and sobbing130 like a child. Before the other realized his intention, he had flung himself upon his hands and knees, had slipped over the edge, and was scrambling131 down the broken wall of lias.
There was nothing for George but to take his own life in hand and humour his venerated132 elder. He followed with the lanthorn, thinking of Plancine a little, and hoping he should fall on a soft place.
But they got down in safety, breathing hard and extremely dirty. Caution, it is true, reacts very commonly upon itself.
The moment his companion's feet touched bottom, De Jussac snatched the light from his hand, roughly enough to send him off his balance, and went scurrying133 to and fro along the face of the cliff like a mad thing.
"I cannot find it!" he cried, rushing back after an interval—nervous, in an agony of restlessness—a very pitiable old man.
"The box—the casket! It could never perish. It was of sheet-iron. Look, look, my friend! Your eyes are younger than mine—a box, a foot long, of hard iron!"
"I am sitting upon something hard," said George.
He sprang to his feet and took the lanthorn.
"Bones," said he, peering down. "Some old mastodon, I expect. Is this your treasure?"
De Jussac was glaring. His head drooped136 lower and lower. His lips were parted, and the line of strong white teeth showed between them. His voice, when he spoke, was quite fearful in its low intensity137.
"Bones—yes, and human. Where they lie, the other must be near. Ah,
Lacombe, Lacombe; you will yield me my own at last!"
Suddenly he was down on his knees, tearing at the black, thick soil, diving into it, tossing it hither and thither139.
A pause, a rending140 exclamation141, and he was on his feet again with a scream of ecstasy142. An oblong casket, rusty143, corroded144, but unbroken, was in his hand.
"Now," he whispered, sibilant through the wind, controlling himself, though he was shaking from head to foot, "now to return as we have come. Not a word, not a word till we have this safe in the cottage!"
They found, after some search, a difficult way up. By-and-by they stood once more on the lip of the fall, and paused for breath.
It was at this very instant that De Jussac dropped the box beside him and threw up his hands.
"The guillotine!" he shrieked, and fell headlong into the pit he had just issued from.
IV
"I am dying, my little Plancine?"
"Nay147, cry not, little one! I go very happy. That (he indicated by a motion of his eyelids148 the fatal box, which, yet unopened, lay on a table by the sunny window) shall repay thee for thy long devotion, for thy poverty, and for thy brave sweetness with the old papa."
"No, no, no!"
"But they are diamonds, Plancine—such diamonds, my bird. They have flashed at Versailles, at the little Trianon. They were honoured to lie on the breast of a beautiful and courageous woman—thine aunt, Plancine; the most noble the Comtesse de la Morne. She gave her wealth, almost her life, for her king—all but her diamonds. It was at Brussels, whither I had escaped from The Terror—I, a weak and desolate149 boy of but fourteen. I lived with her, in her common, cheap lodging150. For five years we made out our friendless and deserted151 existence in company. In truth, we were an embarrassment152, and they looked at us askance. Long after her mind failed her, the memory of her own former beauty dwelt with her; yet she could not comprehend but that it was still a talisman153 to conjure154 with. Even to the end she would deck herself and coquet to her glass. But she was good and faithful, Plancine; and, at the last, when she was dying, she gave me this box. 'It contains all that is left to me of my former condition,' she said. 'It shall make thy fortune for thee in England, my nephew, whither thou must journey when poor Dorine is underground.' By that I knew it was her cherished diamonds she bequeathed me. 'They do not want thee here,' she said. 'Thou must take boat for England when I am gone.'
"But George, my friend!"
The young man was standing155 sorrowful by the open window. He could have seen the sailing-boats in the bay, the sailing clouds in the sky placidly floating over a world of serene and verdurous loveliness. But his vision was all inward, of the piteous calm, following storm and disaster, in which the dying voice from the bed was like the lapping of little waves.
He came at once and stood over Plancine, not daring to touch her.
"It was not wilfulness156, but my great love," said the broken, gentle voice, "that made the condition. All of you I cannot extol157, knowing what I have known. But you are an honest gentleman and a true, my brave; and you shall make this dearest a noble husband."
Waveringly George stole his hand towards the bowed head and let it rest there.
From the battered face a smile broke like flowers from a blasted soil.
"Withholding my countenance158 only as I foresaw the means to enrich you both were approaching my grasp, I waited for the hill to break away that I might recover my casket. It was there—it is here; and now my Plancine shall never know poverty more, or her husband restrict the scope of his so admirable art on the score of necessity."
He saw the eyes questioning what the lips would not ask.
"But how I lost it?" he said. "I took the box; I obeyed her behests. The moment was acute; the times peremptory159. I sailed for England, hurriedly and secretly, never to this day having feasted my eyes on what lies within there. With me went Lacombe, Madame's 'runner' in the old days—a stolid Berrichon, who had lived upon her bounty160 to the end. The rogue161! the ingrate162! We were wrecked upon this coast; we plunged163 and came ashore164. I know not who were lost or saved; but Lacombe and I clung together and were thrown upon the land, the box still in my grasp. We climbed the cliffs where a stair had been cut; we broke eastwards165 from the upper slopes and staggered on through the blown darkness. Suddenly Lacombe stopped. The day was faint then on the watery166 horizon; and in the ghostly light I saw his face and read the murder in it. We were standing on the verge of the cleft under Black Venn. 'No further!' he whispered. 'You must go down there!' He snatched the box from my hand. In the instant of his doing so, stricken by the death terror, the affection to which I was then much subject seized me. I screamed, 'My God! the guillotine!' Taken by surprise, he started back, staggered, and went down crashing to the fate he had designed for me. I seemed to lie prostrate167 for hours, while his moans came up fainter and fainter till they ceased. Then I rose and faced life, lonely, friendless, and a beggar."
The restless wandering of his eyes travelled over his daughter's head to the rusty casket by the window.
"It was very well," he whispered. "I thank my God that He has permitted me at the perfect moment to realize my investment in that dead rascal's dishonesty. Have I ever desired wealth save for my little pouponne here? And I have sorely tried thee, my George. But the old naturalist had such faith in his prediction. Now—"
His vision was glazing168; the muscles of his face were quietly settling to the repose169 that death only can command.
"Now, I would see the fruit of my prophecy; would see it all hung on the neck, in the hair of my child, that I may die rejoicing. Canst thou force the casket, George?"
The young man turned with a stifled groan170. Some tools lay on a shelf hard by. He grasped a chisel171 and went to his task with shaking hands.
The box was all eaten and corroded. It was a matter of but a few seconds to prise it open. The lid fell back on the table with a rusty clang.
"Ah!" cried the dying man. "What now? Dost thou see them? Quick! quick! to glorify172 this little head! Are they not exquisite173?"
George was gazing down with a dull, vacant feeling at his heart.
"Are they not?" repeated the voice, in terrible excitement.
"They—Mr. De Jussac, they are loveliness itself. Plancine, I will not touch them. You must be the first."
He strode to the kneeling girl; lifted, almost roughly dragged her to her feet.
"Come!" he said; and, supporting her across the room, whispered madly in her ear: "Pretend! For God's sake, pretend!"
Plancine's swimming eyes looked down, looked upon a litter of perished rags of paper, and, lying in the midst of the rubbish, an ancient stained and cockled miniature of a powdered Louis Seize coquette.
This was all. This was the treasure the old crazed vanity had thought sufficient to build her nephew his fortune.
The diamonds! Probably these had long before been sacrificed to the armies ineffectively manoeuvring for the destruction of Monsieur "Veto's" enemies.
Plancine lifted her head. Thereafter George never ceased to recall with a glad pride the nobility that had shone in her eyes.
"My papa!" she cried softly, going swiftly to the bed; "they are beautiful as the stars that glittered over the old untroubled France!"
De Jussac sprang up on his pillow.
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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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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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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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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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consign
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| vt.寄售（货品），托运，交托，委托 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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gastronomic
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| adj.美食（烹饪）法的，烹任学的 | |
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sprouted
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| v.发芽( sprout的过去式和过去分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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adventitious
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| adj.偶然的 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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18
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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19
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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21
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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22
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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23
proscribed
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| v.正式宣布（某事物）有危险或被禁止( proscribe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
rib
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| n.肋骨，肋状物 | |
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25
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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26
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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27
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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28
ordnance
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| n.大炮，军械 | |
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29
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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30
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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31
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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32
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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33
scythe
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| n. 长柄的大镰刀，战车镰； v. 以大镰刀割 | |
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34
emancipated
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| adj.被解放的，不受约束的v.解放某人（尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚）( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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36
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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37
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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38
sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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39
strew
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| vt.撒；使散落；撒在…上，散布于 | |
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40
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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41
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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42
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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43
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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44
scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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45
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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46
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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47
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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48
withholding
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| 扣缴税款 | |
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49
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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50
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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51
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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52
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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53
enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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54
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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55
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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56
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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57
bullion
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| n.金条，银条 | |
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58
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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59
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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60
contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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61
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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62
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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63
prophesy
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| v.预言；预示 | |
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64
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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65
bowling
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| n.保龄球运动 | |
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66
bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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67
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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68
maniacal
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| adj.发疯的 | |
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69
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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71
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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72
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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73
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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74
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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75
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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76
infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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77
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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78
dubbed
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| v.给…起绰号( dub的过去式和过去分词 )；把…称为；配音；复制 | |
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79
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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80
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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81
condoned
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| v.容忍，宽恕，原谅( condone的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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83
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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84
appellation
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| n.名称，称呼 | |
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85
plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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86
impecunious
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| adj.不名一文的，贫穷的 | |
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87
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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88
eventual
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| adj.最后的，结局的，最终的 | |
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89
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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90
petrified
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|
| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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91
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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92
unearth
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| v.发掘，掘出，从洞中赶出 | |
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93
flaking
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| 刨成片，压成片； 盘网 | |
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94
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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95
naturalists
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| n.博物学家( naturalist的名词复数 )；（文学艺术的）自然主义者 | |
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96
naturalist
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| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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97
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
competence
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| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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99
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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100
recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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101
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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102
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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103
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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104
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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105
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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106
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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107
landslides
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| 山崩( landslide的名词复数 )； （山坡、悬崖等的）崩塌； 滑坡； （竞选中）一方选票占压倒性多数 | |
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108
fissure
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| n.裂缝；裂伤 | |
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109
crevasse
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| n. 裂缝，破口；v.使有裂缝 | |
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110
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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113
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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114
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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115
opportunely
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| adv.恰好地，适时地 | |
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116
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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117
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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118
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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119
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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120
squelched
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| v.发吧唧声，发扑哧声( squelch的过去式和过去分词 )；制止；压制；遏制 | |
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121
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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122
jubilation
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| n.欢庆，喜悦 | |
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123
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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124
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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125
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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126
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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127
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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128
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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129
forestall
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| vt.抢在…之前采取行动；预先阻止 | |
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130
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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131
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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132
venerated
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| 敬重（某人或某事物），崇敬( venerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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134
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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135
sopped
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| adj.湿透的，浸透的v.将（面包等）在液体中蘸或浸泡( sop的过去式和过去分词 )；用海绵、布等吸起（液体等） | |
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136
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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138
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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139
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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140
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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141
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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142
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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143
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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corroded
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| 已被腐蚀的 | |
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145
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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146
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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147
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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148
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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149
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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150
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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151
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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152
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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153
talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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154
conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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155
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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156
wilfulness
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| 任性；倔强 | |
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157
extol
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| v.赞美，颂扬 | |
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158
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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159
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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161
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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162
ingrate
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| n.忘恩负义的人 | |
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163
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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165
eastwards
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| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
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166
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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167
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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168
glazing
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| n.玻璃装配业；玻璃窗；上釉；上光v.装玻璃( glaze的现在分词 )；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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169
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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170
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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171
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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172
glorify
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| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
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173
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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174
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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175
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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176
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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