Rise! If the past detain you,
Her sunshine and storms forget;
No chains so unworthy to hold you
As those of a vain regret.
Sad or bright, it is lifeless ever,
Nor look back but to learn the lesson
The future has deeds of glory,
Of honor—God grant it may!
But your arm will never be stronger
Or the need so great as to-day.
A. A. P.
The Rev3. Mr. Cave and the good Dr. Kerr, both devoted4 friends of Tudor Hereward, had promised him to leave nothing untried that might lead to a clew to trace the fate of the missing women. For—to reach the truth more promptly5 and effectually—it was deemed highly important to institute an exhaustive investigation6 into the movements of both the lost ones, from the day of their disappearance7.
One of them lay in her grave, in the village church-yard; and the other had vanished.
But which was the dead and which was the living, no human being at Frosthill could prove.
The negroes and the neighbors had identified the 27body thrown up by the spring flood from the bed of the creek9 and found in the ravine as that of young Mrs. Tudor Hereward; but they had identified it only by the clothing and by the long, black, curling hair—only by these; for “decay’s effacing10 finger” had blotted11 out every feature beyond recognition.
And this held good for the truth until old Adah declared in the most solemn manner her conviction that the remains12 were those of the poor gypsy girl Lucille, giving strong reasons to support her statement.
Lucille was dressed in a suit of young Mrs. Hereward’s clothes, which had been bestowed13 on her by that lady.
Lucille had left Adah’s hut that fatal night, in company with her ruffian husband, with whom she had ventured to remonstrate14 on his robbing the poor old woman of the goods sent her by Mrs. Hereward; and they had gone away quarreling until they were out of hearing; soon after which, and at about the time they might have reached the point where the path through the woods passed over the bridge crossing the creek, a piercing shriek16 rang through the air followed by another and another, startling the bed-ridden old woman in the hut and filling her soul with terror.
Then all was still as death.
Old Adah had not at that time suspected the man of killing17 his wife, but only of beating her brutally18, as he had been in the habit of doing.
Never until she heard of the body that had been found did she think of murder.
Then, at the first opportunity, she had told her story and given her opinion to the convalescent master of the Cliffs, who, in her judgment19, was entitled to the first information.
Tudor Hereward’s “wish” was certainly “father to the thought” when he gave so ready a credence20 to old Adah’s story, and called his two oldest and most 28faithful friends into counsel as to the best means of ascertaining21 the truth.
And they, without committing themselves to any positive opinion—for, in such a case, they could have no just grounds for entertaining one—had pledged their words to leave “no stone unturned” for discovering the truth.
To do so, they knew that they must search for clews for both the missing women.
And they searched long, thoroughly22, but fruitlessly, until near the end of May.
They ascertained23 from the accounts of the ticket agent at Frosthill that two passengers only had bought tickets for the midnight express on that fatal 21st of March. One was a ruffianly young man, he—the agent—was sure, but the other he could not describe at all.
Now who were those two passengers?
The uttermost efforts of our amateur detectives failed to discover. They could find no one in the village or in the surrounding country who had taken the train that night.
The “ruffianly young man” mentioned by the ticket agent was probably the husband of the poor gypsy girl; but who was the other passenger? Was she his wife, traveling with him, as they had set out from the hut to do, or was it Lilith, who was a mere24 accidental fellow-passenger?
No one could tell.
And so the time passed in fruitless search and heart-sickening suspense25, until late in May, when one morning, as Dr. Kerr was seated in his office, the door opened and a stranger entered.
The doctor, believing the visitor to be a patient, arose and offered him a chair.
“Thank you, sir. I dare say you are surprised to 29see me, sir,” said the man, as he seated himself, took off his hat and wiped his face.
“Yes, I know, for medical advice, with a fee in their hands, and then they have a right to come, and you are glad to see them. But I don’t want any medical advice whatever, and I haven’t brought any fee; and that’s the reason why I am afraid you will think I am intruding27.”
“Not at all, if I can serve you in any way,” politely replied the doctor.
“Yes, but you can’t even do that! I don’t stand in need of services.”
“Then will you kindly28 enlighten me as to the circumstance to which I am indebted for this honor?” inquired the doctor, with a smile of amusement.
“Do you mean to ask what brought me here?”
“Yes, if you please.”
“Well, I don’t mind telling you. I should have to do it anyway, because that is what I came for. My name is Carter, and I came from Maryland.”
“Yes?” smiled the doctor.
“And have been traveling through the country here looking for land.”
“Quite so, and you have found a great deal.”
“I mean, and to buy. I hear that land is very good and cheap about here and the climate very healthy.”
“All quite true; but I fear I cannot help you in the least in that matter. You had better take counsel with Lawyer Jordon, who acts as land agent occasionally,” said the doctor.
“Did I ask you to help me? I told you first off that I didn’t want any service.”
“Then what in the name of——”
“Sense have I come for?”
“Yes, if you please.”
30“Why, I am telling you, man! Being in search of a suitable farm, I have been traveling about these parts considerable. Last night I came here and put up at ‘The Stag.’ Good house that!”
“Pretty good. Yes.”
“Well, I did hear of a rum case. The body of that young woman being found, and there being a distressing29 doubt whether it be that of young Mrs. Tudor Hereward, who disappeared from the neighborhood on the 21st of last March, or that of a little gypsy tramp, who bore a great personal resemblance to that lady, and who was suspected of having been made way with by her ruffian of a husband!”
“Yes, yes,” eagerly exclaimed the doctor, all his listless indifference30 vanished. “Yes! You have heard of that affair. You have been traveling about in this region. Is it possible that you may be able to throw some light on that dark subject?”
“I think I may; that is what has brought me here this morning. Perhaps I ought to have gone out to the place they call the Cliffs to see Mr. Tudor Hereward himself; but they told me it was a matter of six miles from the village, and that perhaps I had better see you, as you were interested; and so here I am.”
“I am very glad you did. Now tell me quickly what you have to tell, for I am extremely anxious to hear,” said the doctor, eagerly.
“Wait a bit! Let us see how the land lies first. You say young Mrs. Hereward and the gypsy girl looked alike?”
“In size, figure, and the unusual length and beauty of their hair—yes!”
“And that both disappeared from the neighborhood the same night. At least so I heard from the talk at the Stag.”
“It was true.”
31“And a young woman’s body was found near the creek a month afterwards?”
“Yes.”
“But so far gone that it could not be identified except by the clothing?”
“True.”
“And that clothing was recognized as having been young Mrs. Hereward’s?”
“Yes.”
“And that proved to the coroner’s jury the body to be also young Mrs. Hereward’s.”
“Yes.”
“Until a certain old woman comes with a tale that young Mrs. Hereward gave those clothes to the gypsy girl?”
“You have a correct account.”
“And so the doubt remains, which of the two missing women was killed and thrown into the creek, and which levanted from the neighborhood?”
“Yes, that is the situation at present. Can you help us to clear up the doubt?” anxiously inquired the doctor.
“Well, I rather reckon I can clear it up pretty decidedly, if not satisfactorily.”
“What do you mean? Speak!”
“You were much interested in young Mrs. Hereward?”
“Then I am afraid I am going to grieve you. I am indeed,” said the man, gravely and hesitatingly.
“Oh, what do you mean?”
“It was that young gypsy girl who took the train at Frosthill at midnight of March 21st,” said Carter, in a low tone.
The doctor stared gravely for a moment, and then inquired:
32“How do you know this?”
“Because I was on that very same train, and sat in that very same car along with her.”
“Man! Is this undoubtedly33 true?” demanded the doctor.
“Well, I will tell you all about it, and then you will see that it is true. I took the train at Westbourne and traveled on until we got to Frosthill, which it reached at midnight, and where it stopped for one minute. Two passengers got on—a young man who looked like a young devil, saving your presence, he had such a dark, scowling34, lowering face. He was clothed in a rough overcoat, and had his hands thrust into his pockets, and never offered the least assistance to the young woman, who came creeping and cowering35 behind him. I couldn’t help but notice them both, and saw at a glance that they were man and wife, and that they had had a row, in which the woman, of course, had come off second best. He looked so wicked and sullen36, and she so frightened and broken-hearted. He just threw himself into a seat, and stretched out his legs over the top of another one; and she slunk away into a corner, and turned her face to the wall, and cried fit to break her heart. And he never took any more notice of her than if she had been a dog. I wanted to kick him all around the car. There was plenty of room to do it, too, because there weren’t a half a dozen people in that car, all told. I got out at Snowden, about twenty miles farther on, where I stopped over a day to look at a farm, and I never thought any more about that ruffian husband and gypsy wife until I came here to Frosthill last night, and heard the whole story of the mystery at the Stag. And then I thought I would tell you what I had seen at the Frosthill station, at midnight, on the twenty-first of March,” concluded the visitor.
33“I thank you very much. Still, still, there may be ground for a faint hope. How was this girl whom you saw in the man’s company dressed, do you remember?” inquired the doctor, with increased uneasiness.
“Oh, yes; I remember quite well. She was clothed in a red suit, with something dark about her head and shoulders. And Mrs. Hereward was in deep mourning, they say, for her father.”
“Yes, she was,” said the doctor, as the faint hope died away. “And this red suit,” he added, mentally, “was, of course, the very suit that she used to wear before she went in mourning, and which, of course, she must have given to the girl in preference—upon every account of economy and fitness—to giving her a black one.”
While the doctor was turning these hopeless thoughts over in his mind the visitor arose and said:
“Well, sir, I have told you all I came to tell, and now I must go. But I shall be in this neighborhood for a few days longer, if anybody wants to ask me any questions about this matter.”
The doctor also arose and said:
“I thank you, Mr. Carter, for the trouble you are taking, and shall, perhaps, have occasion to see you again. You will be at the Stag?”
“Yes, mostly, for the rest of this week; but I shall be riding round a good deal in the daytime, looking at land, but always at home—leastways at the hotel—at night, and shall be glad to see you or any one you send. Good-morning, sir.”
“Good-morning, Mr. Carter.”
And the visitor left.
The doctor sat ruminating37 over what he had heard for some time after he had been left alone.
At length, when his office hours were over, instead of taking his noontide meal and rest as a preparation 34for his afternoon round of professional visits, he rang for his servant, ordered his horse, and started on a ride to the Cliffs.
He did not go to the mansion38 house, but taking a narrow bridle39 path through the woods to the creek, he crossed the little rustic40 bridge, and drew up at the log hut in the thicket41 on the other side.
Here he dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and went up to the door, where he found old Adah sitting in the sun, and busy with her knitting.
“Well, auntie, how is the rheumatism42 to-day?” he inquired cheerfully, as the old woman stood up and courtesied.
“T’anky, Marse Doctor, sah. Dis warm sun hab melted it all out’n my bones. ’Deed it’s de trufe. Will you come inter31 de house, Marse Doctor, or take a chair out yere?” she inquired, politely.
“I will stay out here,” replied the doctor, as he settled himself on a little bench outside the door.
“No. Not since the verdict of the coroner’s jury,” significantly replied Dr. Kerr.
“Oh, Lor’, Marse Doctor, dat want nuffin. Dat hadn’ nuffin to do long ob Miss Lilif. Dat war de gypsy gal43 wot war foun’ in dem woods, and war sot on by dat jury. I done tole Marse Tudor Her’ward all bout dat a mont’ ago,” said old Adah, speaking with the utmost confidence.
“Yes; I have heard so from Mr. Hereward himself. I know all the evidence you have brought forward in rebuttal of the evidence given before the coroner. I would to Heaven it had been as conclusive44 as you thought. But we will not go into that. I only wish to ask you a few questions.”
“Go on Marse Doctor. I’ll answer de trufe. I ain’t got no secrets from nobody.”
35“Well, then, did you see the clothing worn by the gypsy girl on the night she left the hut in company with her husband?”
“Yes, Marse Doctor, I did. I yeard her say how Missis Her’ward had gib it to her, an’ I seed her put it on, an’ tie her ole close—nuffin but duds dey was—in a bundle.”
“What was the color of those clothes?”
“Dem wot she took off an’ tied into a bundle?”
“No, no; those given her by Mrs. Hereward.”
“Oh! dose as she wo’ ’way?”
“Yes.”
“Wot was it yer ax me ’bout ’em, Marse Doctor?”
“I asked you what color they were?”
“Oh! Dey was sort o’ dark.”
“Dark red?”
“Now, dey mought o’ been. Or dey mought o’ been dark blue or dark black. You see, Marse Doctor, it was sort o’ dark in de house, an’ it made eberyfing look dark.”
“Had you no light?”
“Nuffin’ but a tallow dip—dat didn’ show much.”
“And you can’t be certain about the color of the clothing?”
“No, Marse Doctor; on’y it were dark. I sort o’ t’ought it were dark black, but I dessay it were dark red, jes’ as you say.”
The doctor asked a few more questions, and then arose to depart. He put a half dollar into the hand of the old woman, who thanked him heartily45. And then he remounted his horse and rode away along the same bridle-path that led back through the thicket to the little bridge crossing the creek, and by a circuit through the next woods up to the mansion house.
He found Tudor Hereward walking up and down on the front piazza46. He had convalesced47 so very 36slowly that he had not yet been strong enough to take a ride.
Hereward dropped heavily into a chair as the doctor dismounted, threw his bridle to Steve, who came up to take it, and walked up the steps.
“Any news, doctor?” anxiously inquired Mr. Hereward.
“Not a trace of Lilith yet. No, I did not come to bring news, but to make a few investigations48 here in the house that may lead to something.”
“Very well, doctor; you have carte blanche. But what is the nature of the investigation in this instance?” wearily inquired Hereward.
“Into the wardrobe of your wife, to see what is missing, and what is left.”
Hereward sighed, as if he were very weary of a hopeless subject and then faintly replied:
“Why, you know that has been done, thoroughly, and there is nothing missing but the one black waterproof49 cloth suit that was found on the body of that poor murdered gypsy girl.”
“And that was Lilith’s usual walking-dress when in the country, was it not?”
“Yes, it was; but she gave it to that poor girl upon whose dead body it was found.”
“She gave a suit; but you do not know that it was the waterproof suit she gave. She would not have been likely to have given the suit that she was in the habit of wearing, and that she could not very well do without,” suggested the doctor.
“Ah! but she did give it. It was found on the body of the girl.”
“You still feel so sure that it was the body of the gypsy girl which was found?”
“Yes, I do. Oh, doctor, why do you doubt it?” demanded Hereward, with the fretful querulousness of an invalid50.
37“Because we cannot be sure until the other missing one is found. Until the living one turns up we cannot prove who is the dead,” gravely replied the physician.
“How much proof do you want? The dress that Lilith gave to the gypsy girl was found on the dead body.”
“But you do not know that the black waterproof cloth was the dress that was given by Lilith to the girl. I repeat, that it was not likely that Lilith should have given away a suit that was so necessary to her own comfort, when she might have given others.”
“But that is the only one missing from her wardrobe.”
“The only one missing from her wardrobe?”
“Yes. I have told you so twice before.”
“Then, if Lilith is living, what dress did she wear when she left home?” significantly inquired the doctor.
Hereward started, turned paler than before, and stared fixedly51 at the questioner. He had never asked himself that question. He stared, but did not speak.
“Tudor, my dear boy, we must look facts in the face. And now I ask you, was the discarded wardrobe of your wife examined when the investigation was made?”
“Yes; I mean the colored clothing that she left off and packed away when she went into mourning for your father?”
“Of course it was not touched. She would not have been likely to wear colored clothing in her deep mourning.”
“No, of course she would not. But she would have been very likely to give that left-off colored clothing to the gypsy instead of the mourning suit, which would have been unsuitable to the girl.”
38Again Hereward started, changed color and gazed at the speaker, but without uttering a word.
“Come, Hereward, let us send for Nancy and have her search through her mistress’ left-off clothing, to see if any portion of it is missing. Shall I ring?” inquired the doctor.
Dr. Kerr rang the door bell which was soon answered by Alick, who had reinstated himself in his place as butler at the Cliffs, but who was still a poor, broken-hearted old man, grieving for his young mistress, and accusing himself of being her murderer.
“Go and tell Nancy to come here,” said Dr. Kerr.
Alick ducked his head and disappeared.
Nancy soon stood in his place.
“Aunty,” said the doctor, speaking for his young friend and patient, “I wish you to open all Mrs. Hereward’s boxes of colored clothing, and examine every article and find out if any be missing.”
“Berry well, sah,” said the woman, turning and going to do her errand.
The doctor followed her into the house, went to the corner buffet54 in Lilith’s parlor55, and took out a certain liqueur case, opened it, and proceeded to mix a strong, restorative cordial, which he brought out and placed on the stand beside Hereward’s chair, saying:
“Drink half of that now, Hereward, and leave the rest.”
The young man obeyed, and then, as he put down the half emptied glass, he inquired:
“What is it that you expect to prove by this new search, doctor?”
“Wait and see, dear boy! I do not yet know what myself.”
39About half an hour passed, and Nancy came downstairs.
“Well, auntie, have you missed anything?” inquired Dr. Kerr.
“Yes, Marse Doctor. Miss Lilif’s red cashmere dress, w’ich was her mos’ favorite home dress, an’ w’ich she wo’ de werry day ’fo’ she was marr’d, an’ ’fo’ ole marse died, an’ nebber wored since den8.”
“And are you sure it is gone?”
“Yes, Marse Doctor, sure, ’cause I knowed whey I packed it away, an’ nobody ebber went to dat trunk ’cept it was me an’ Miss Lilif.”
“And what do you think has become of it, Nancy?”
“Well, Marse Doctor, I s’pose as po’ dee Miss Lilif give it to dat po’ gal wot come beggin’. I know she did give her a bundle of close, ’caze I helped dat gal to carry dat bundle t’rough de woods an’ ’cross de crik to ole Aunt Adah’s house.”
“Did you see what was in the bundle, Nancy?”
“No, Marse Doctor, not I. I warn’t upstairs in Miss Lilif’s room w’en she give ’way dem close, I war downsta’rs in de store room packing ob a basket wid tea an’ sugar, an’ bread, an’ meat, an’ fings, to tote to po’ ole Aunt Adah, ’cordin’ to Miss Lilif’s orders, an’ I nebber seen dat bundle till dat gal fotch it downsta’rs, an’ I nebber seen wot war inside ob it; but de gal tell me, as I went along wid her, how de young madame had gib her a good dress, an’ dat it must a been dat red cashmere dress wot de young mist’ess couldn’ wear herse’f, ’stead of bein’ de black mournin’ dress wot she could wear; let alone de fac’ dat de young gal wouldn’t a-liked to ’cepted a mournin’ dress, not bein’ in no mournin’. It wouldn’t a been lucky.”
“You are right,” said the doctor. “It was the red cashmere dress that Mrs. Hereward gave to the girl, 40and that the girl wore when she left the neighborhood that night.”
“Oh, most merciful Heaven, doctor! Do you mean to knock from under me the last prop56 of hope that sustains me?” groaned58 Hereward, sinking back pale and faint as any woman might have looked at such a crisis.
“Hush, Tudor! Drink this,” said Dr. Kerr, placing the glass of restorative cordial to his lips.
Hereward emptied the glass, and the doctor set it down, and continued:
“I deprive you of no real hope, Tudor, but of a false hope which, instead of being a prop to support you, is a burden that is wearing you out with anxiety. The sooner you give up all hope the sooner you will be able to resign yourself to the inevitable59 and find peace and rest for your spirit.”
“But I cannot! I cannot resign all hope! I cannot!” passionately60 exclaimed the young man.
“Listen to me further. Hear all that I have to say and you must do so,” gravely and tenderly replied the doctor.
“What have you to tell me now? You said you had no news to bring me of Lilith. You said so when you first came in and I asked you the question.”
“And I spoke61 the truth,” patiently replied the old man. “I had no news of Lilith. But I had news of the gypsy girl, which—ah me!—leaves me no doubt as to whose remains they were that were found in the woods.”
“Oh, Heaven! Oh, Heaven!” groaned Hereward. “But tell me all! I can bear it! Yes, I can bear it!”
“There is a man by the name of Carter now stopping at the Stag, who was in the train at midnight of March 21st, when the strolling player and his gypsy wife got on board. He was a sullen ruffian in coarse clothing. She a pretty, dark-eyed gypsy, 41with black hair, and she was dressed in a red suit, with something dark about her head and shoulders. They were the only people who got in that train at Frosthill. They had been quarreling, and the man had a scowling, ferocious62 look, while the woman seemed terrified and broken-hearted. Does not this coincide perfectly63 with all that we have heard about the poor girl and her ruffianly companion?” gently inquired the doctor.
“Come, Tudor! I must take you upstairs. You must lie down, and I will send Cave to you,” said the doctor, with gentle firmness.
But it was with considerable difficulty that the doctor finally prevailed on his deeply stricken patient to seek the rest and retirement64 of his own chamber65.
Then Dr. Kerr, leaving Nancy in charge of the sick-room, went downstairs, got into his saddle and rode off, dinnerless, to make a round of professional visits on a circuit of at least thirty miles. It was very late in the afternoon when he finally reached Frosthill.
Even then, before going home, he stopped at the rectory and had half an hour’s interview with the Rev. Mr. Cave, in which he told the latter of all the news he had received and all the discoveries he had made concerning the fate of Lilith, during the day. He ended by asking the rector to go with him to the Stag to see and question Carter.
Mr. Cave put on his hat and walked with Dr. Kerr the short distance that lay between the rectory and the hotel.
They found Carter smoking in the little reading-room. He willingly accompanied the gentlemen to the parlor, at their request, and closeted there, he readily answered every question put to him, but, 42after all, they elicited66 nothing more than had been told to the doctor that morning.
At the end of the interview they thanked Carter and took leave of him.
“And, after all,” sighed Mr. Cave, “the verdict of the coroner’s jury was right.”
“Yes,” assented67 the doctor, “it was right! And now I do not think we have far to look for the dastardly murderer of Lilith Hereward.”
“Whom do you suspect?” inquired the rector, in a low, awe-stricken voice.
“The ruffian husband of the gypsy girl who was on the creek the same night of her death.”
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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effacing
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| 谦逊的 | |
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blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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remonstrate
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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ascertaining
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mere
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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blandly
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intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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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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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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inter
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| v.埋葬 | |
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infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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convalesced
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| v.康复( convalesce的过去式 ) | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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waterproof
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| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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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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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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