An hour later the two were well on their way toward Mestre, where atravelling-chaise awaited them. Odo, having learned that Andreoni wassettled in Padua, had asked him to receive Fulvia in his house till thenext night-fall; and the bookseller, whom he had taken into hisconfidence, was eager to welcome the daughter of the revered1 Vivaldi.
The extremes of hope and apprehension2 had left Fulvia too exhausted3 formany words, and Odo, after she had confirmed every particular of SisterMary's story, refrained from questioning her farther. Thanks to herfriend's resources she had been able to exchange her nun's dress for theplain gown and travelling-cloak of a young woman of the middle class;and this dress painfully recalled to Odo the day when he had found herstanding beside the broken-down chaise on the road to Vercelli.
The recollection was not calculated to put him at his ease; and indeedit was only now that he began to feel the peculiar6 constraint7 of hisposition. To Andreoni his explanation of Fulvia's flight had seemednatural enough; but on the subsequent stages of their journey she mustpass for his mistress or his wife, and he hardly knew in what spirit shewould take the misapprehensions that must inevitably9 arise.
At Mestre their carriage waited, and they drove rapidly toward Paduathrough the waning10 night. Andreoni, in his concern for Fulvia's safety,had prepared for her reception a little farm-house of his wife's, in avineyard beyond the town; and here at daybreak it was almost a relief toOdo to commit his charge to the Signora Andreoni's care.
The day was spent indoors, and Andreoni having thought it more prudentto bring no servant from Padua, his wife prepared the meals for theirguests and the bookseller drew a jar of his own wine from the cellar.
Fulvia kept to herself during the day; but at dusk she surprised Odo byentering the room with a trayful of plates and glasses, and helpingtheir hostess to set out the supper-table. The few hours of rest hadrestored to her not only the serenity11 of the convent, but a lightness ofstep and glance that Odo had not seen in her since the early days oftheir friendship. He marvelled12 to see how the first breath of freedomhad set her blood in motion and fanned her languid eye; but he could notsuppress the accompanying thought that his own presence had failed towork such miracles.
They had planned to ride that night to a little village in the hillsbeyond Vicenza, where Fulvia's foster-mother, a peasant of theVicentine, lived with her son, who was a vine-dresser; and supper washardly over when they were told that their horses waited. Their kindhosts dared not urge them to linger; and after a hurried farewell theyrode forth13 into the fresh darkness of the September night.
The new moon was down and they had to thread their way slowly throughthe stony14 lanes between the vineyards. At length they gained the opencountry, and growing more accustomed to the darkness put their horses toa trot15. The change of pace, and the exhilaration of traversing anunknown country in the hush16 and mystery of night, combined to free theirspirits, and Odo began to be aware that the barrier between them waslifted. To the charm of their intercourse17 at Santa Chiara was added thatcloser sympathy produced by the sense of isolation18. They were enclosedin their common risk as in some secret meeting-place where noconsciousness of the outer world intruded19; and though their talk keptthe safe level of their immediate20 concerns he felt the change in everyinflection of Fulvia's voice and in the subtler emphasis of hersilences.
The way was long, and he had feared that she would be taxed beyond herstrength; but the miles seemed to fly beneath their horses' feet, andthey could scarcely believe that the dark hills which rose ahead of themagainst a whitening sky marked the limit of their journey.
With some difficulty they found their way to the vine-dresser's house, amere hut in a remote fold of the hills. From motives22 of prudence23 theyhad not warned the nurse of their coming; but they found the old womanalready at work in her melon-patch and learned from her that her son hadgone down to his day's labour in the valley. She received Fulvia with atender wonder, as at some supernatural presence descending24 into herlife, too much awed25, till the first embraces were over, to risk anyconjecture as to Odo's presence. But with the returning sense offamiliarity--the fancied recovery of the nurseling's features in thegirl's definite outline--came the inevitable26 reaction of curiosity, andthe fugitives27 felt themselves coupled in the old woman's meaning smiles.
To Odo's surprise Fulvia received these innuendoes28 with bafflingcomposure, parrying the questions she seemed to answer, and finallytaking refuge in a plea for rest. But the accord of the previous nightwas broken; and when the travellers set out again, starting a littlebefore sunset to avoid the vine-dresser's return, the constraint of theday began to weigh upon them. In Fulvia's case physical wearinessperhaps had a share in the change; but whatever the cause, its effectwas to make this stage of the journey strangely tedious to both.
Their way lay through the country north of Vicenza, whence they hoped bydawn to gain Peschiera on the lake of Garda, and hire a chaise whichshould take them across the border. For the first hour or two they hadthe new moon to light them; but as it set the sky clouded and drops ofrain began to fall. Fulvia had hitherto shown a gay indifference29 to thediscomforts of the journey; but she presently began to complain of thecold and to question Odo anxiously as to the length of the way. Thehilliness of the country forced them to travel slowly, and it seemed toOdo that hours had elapsed before they saw lights in the valley belowthem. Their plan had been to avoid the towns on their way, and Fulvia,the night before, had contented30 herself with a half-hour's rest by theroadside; but a heavy rain was now falling, and she at once assented31 toOdo's tentative proposal that they should take shelter till the stormwas over.
They dismounted at an inn on the outskirts32 of the village. The sleepylandlord stared as he unbarred the door and led them into the kitchen;but he offered no comment beyond remarking that it was a good night tobe under cover.
Fulvia sank down on the wooden settle near the chimney, where a fire hadbeen hastily kindled33. She took no notice of Odo when he removed thedripping cloak from her shoulders, but sat gazing before her in a kindof apathy34.
"I cannot eat," she said, as Odo pressed her to take her place at thetable.
The innkeeper turned to him with a confidential35 nod. "Your lady looksfairly beaten," he said. "I've a notion that one of my good beds wouldbe more to her taste than the best supper in the land. Shall I have aroom made ready for your excellencies?""No, no," said Fulvia, starting up. "We must set out again as soon as wehave supped."She approached the table and hastily emptied the glass of country winethat Odo had poured out for her.
The innkeeper seemed a simple unsuspicious fellow, but at this he putdown the plate of cheese he was carrying and looked at her curiously36.
"Start out again at this hour of the night?" he exclaimed. "By thesaints, your excellencies must be running a race with the sun! Or do youdoubt my being able to provide you with decent lodgings37, that you prefermud and rain to my good sheets and pillows?""Indeed, no," Odo amicably39 interposed; "but we are hurrying to meet afriend who is to rejoin us tomorrow at Peschiera.""Ah--at Peschiera," said the other, as though the name had struck him.
He took a dish of eggs from the fire and set it before Fulvia. "Well,"he went on with a shrug40, "it is written that none of my beds shall beslept in tonight. Not two hours since I had a gentleman here that gavethe very same excuse for hurrying forward; though his horses were sospent that I had to provide him with another pair before he couldcontinue his journey." He laughed and uncorked a second bottle.
"That reminds me," he went on, pausing suddenly before Fulvia, "that theother gentleman was travelling to meet a friend too; a lady, he said--ayoung lady. He fancied she might have passed this way and questioned meclosely; but as it happened there had been no petticoat under my rooffor three days.--I wonder, now, if he could have been looking for yourexcellencies?"Fulvia flushed high at this, but a sign from Odo checked the denial onher lips.
"Why," said he, "it is not unlikely, though I had fancied our friendwould come from another direction. What was this gentleman like?"The landlord hesitated, evidently not so much from any reluctance41 toimpart what he knew as from the inability to express it. "Well," saidhe, trying to supplement his words by a vaguely42 descriptive gesture, "hewas a handsome personable-looking man--smallish built, but with a finemanner, and dressed not unlike your excellency.""Ah," said Odo carelessly, "our friend is an ecclesiastic43.--And whichway did this gentleman travel?" he went on, pouring himself anotherglass.
The landlord assumed an air of country cunning. "There's the fishy44 partof it," said he. "He gave orders to go toward Verona; but my boy, whochased the carriage down the road, as lads will, says that at thecross-ways below the old mill the driver took the turn for Peschiera."Fulvia at this seemed no longer able to control herself. She came closeto Odo and said in a low urgent tone: "For heaven's sake, let us setforward!"Odo again signed to her to keep silent, and with an effort she resumedher seat and made a pretence45 of eating. A moment later he despatched thelandlord to the stable, to see that the horses had been rubbed down; andas soon as the door closed she broke out passionately46.
"It is my fault," she cried, "it is all my fault for coming here. If Ihad had the courage to keep on this would never have happened!""No," said Odo quietly, "and we should have gone straight to Peschieraand landed in the arms of our pursuer--if this mysterious traveller isin pursuit of us."His tone seemed to steady her. "Oh," she said, and the colour flickeredout of her face.
"As it happens," he went on, "nothing could have been more fortunatethan our coming here.""I see--I see--; but now we must go on at once," she persisted.
He looked at her gravely. "This is your wish?"She seemed seized with a panic fear. "I cannot stay here!" she repeated.
"Which way shall we go, then? If we continue to Peschiera, and this manis after us, we are lost.""But if he does not find us he may return here--he will surely returnhere!""He cannot return before morning. It is close on midnight already.
Meanwhile you can take a few hours' rest while I devise means ofreaching the lake by some mule-track across the mountain."It cost him an effort to take this tone with her; but he saw that in herhigh-strung mood any other would have been less effective. She roseslowly, keeping her eyes on him with the look of a frightened child. "Iwill do as you wish," she said.
"Let the landlord prepare a bed for you, then. I will keep watch downhere and the horses shall be saddled at daylight."She stood silent while he went to the door to call the innkeeper; butwhen the order was given, and the door closed again, she disconcertedhim by a sudden sob47.
"What a burden I am!" she cried. "I had no right to accept this of you."And she turned and fled up the dark stairs.
The night passed and toward dawn the rain ceased. Odo rose from hisdreary vigil in the kitchen, and called to the innkeeper to carry upbread and wine to Fulvia's room. Then he went out to see that the horseswere fed and watered. He had not dared to question the landlord as tothe roads, lest his doing so should excite suspicion; but he hoped tofind an ostler who would give him the information he needed.
The stable was empty, however; and he prepared to bait the horseshimself. As he stooped to place his lantern on the floor he caught thegleam of a small polished object at his feet. He picked it up and foundthat it was a silver coat-of-arms, such as are attached to the blindersand saddles of a carriage-harness. His curiosity was aroused, andholding the light closer he recognised the ducal crown of Pianurasurmounting the "Humilitas" of the Valseccas.
The discovery was so startling that for some moments he stood gazing atthe small object in his hand without being able to steady his confusedideas. Gradually they took shape, and he saw that, if the ornament48 hadfallen from the harness of the traveller who had just preceded them, itwas not Fulvia but he himself who was being pursued. But who was it whosought him and to what purpose? One fact alone was clear: the traveller,whoever he was, rode in one of the Duke's carriages, and thereforepresumably upon his sovereign's business.
Odo was still trying to thread a way through these conjectures49 when ayawning ostler pushed open the stable-door.
"Your excellency is in a hurry to be gone," he said, with a surprisedglance.
Odo handed him the coat-of-arms. "Can you tell me what this is?" heasked carelessly. "I picked it up here a moment ago."The other turned it over and stared. "Why," said he, "that's off theharness of the gentleman that supped here last night--the same that wenton later to Peschiera."Odo proceeded to question him about the mule-tracks over Monte Baldo,and having bidden him saddle the horses in half an hour, crossed thecourtyard and re-entered the inn. A grey light was already fallingthrough the windows, and he mounted the stairs and knocked on the doorwhich he thought must be Fulvia's. Her voice bade him enter and he foundher seated fully4 dressed beside the window. She rose with a smile and hesaw that she had regained50 her usual self-possession.
"Do we set out at once?" she asked.
"There is no great haste," he answered. "You must eat first, and by thattime the horses will be saddled.""As you please," she returned, with a readiness in which he divined thewish to make amends51 for her wilfulness52 the previous night. Her eyes andcheeks glowed with an excitement which counterfeited53 the effects of anight's rest, and he thought he had never seen her more radiant. Sheapproached the table on which the wine and bread had been placed, anddrew another chair beside her own.
"Will you not share with me?" she asked, filling a glass for him.
He took it from her with a smile. "I have good news for you," he said,holding out the bit of silver which he had brought from the stable.
She examined it wonderingly. "What does this mean?" she asked, lookingup at him.
"That it is I who am being followed--and not you."She started and the ornament slipped from her hand.
"You?" she faltered54 with a quick change of colour.
"This coat-of-arms," he explained, "dropped from the harness of thetraveller who left the inn just before our arrival last night.""Well--" she said, still without understanding; "and do you know thecoat?"Odo smiled. "It is mine," he answered; "and the crown is my cousin's.
The traveller must have been a messenger of the Duke's."She stood leaning against the seat from which she had risen, one handstill grasping it while the other hung inert55. Her lips parted but shedid not speak. Her pallor troubled Odo and he went up to her and tookher hand.
"Do you not understand," he said gently, "that there is no farther causefor alarm? I have no reason to think that the Duke's messenger is inpursuit of me; but should he be so, and should he overtake us, he has noauthority over you and no reason for betraying you to your enemies."The blood poured back to her face. "Me! My enemies!" she stammered56. "Itis not of them I think." She raised her head and faced him in a glow.
For a moment he stood stupidly gazing at her; then the mist lifted andthrough it he saw a great light.
***The landlord's knock warned them that their horses waited, and they rodeout in the grey morning. The world about them still lay in shade, and asthey climbed the wooded defile57 above the valley Odo was reminded of thedays at Donnaz when he had ridden up the mountain in the same earlylight. Never since then had he felt, as he did now, the boy's easykinship with the unexpected, the sense that no encounter could be toowonderful to fit in with the mere21 wonder of living.
To avoid the road to Peschiera they had resolved to cross the MonteBaldo by a mule-track which should bring them out at one of the villageson the eastern shore of Garda; and the search for this path led them upthrough steep rain-scented woods where they had to part the wet boughsas they passed. From time to time they regained the highway and rodeabreast, almost silent at first with the weight of their new nearness,and then breaking into talk that was the mere overflow59 of what they werethinking. There was in truth more to be felt between them than to besaid; since, as each was aware, the new light that suffused60 the presentleft the future as obscure as before. But what mattered, when the hourwas theirs? The narrow kingdom of today is better worth ruling over thanthe widest past or future; but not more than once does a man hold itsfugitive sceptre. The past, however, was theirs also: a past sotransformed that he must revisit it with her, joyously61 confronting hernew self with the image of her that met them at each turn. Then he hadhimself to trace in her memories, his transfigured likeness62 to lingerover in the Narcissus-mirror of her faith in him. This interchange ofrecollections served them as well as any outspoken63 expression offeeling, and the most commonplace allusion65 was charged with happymeanings.
Arabia Petraea had been an Eden to such travellers; how much more thehappy slopes they were now descending! All the afternoon their pathwound down the western incline of Monte Baldo, first under huge olives,then through thickets66 of laurel and acacia, to emerge on a lower levelof lemon and orange groves67, with the blue lake showing through a diaperof golden-fruited boughs58. Fulvia, to whom this clear-cut southernfoliage was as new as the pure intensity69 of light that bathed it, seemedto herself to be moving through the landscape of a dream. It was asthough nature had been remodelled70, transformed almost, under the touchof their love: as though they had found their way to the Hesperianglades in which poets and painters placed the legendary71 lovers ofantiquity.
Such feelings were intensified72 by the strangeness of the situation. InItaly the young girls of the middle class, though seemingly allowed agreater freedom of intercourse than the daughters of noblemen, were inreality as strictly73 guarded. Though, like Fulvia, they might conversewith the elderly merchants or scholars frequenting the family table,they were never alone in the company of men, and the high standard ofconduct prevailing74 in the bourgeoisie forbade all thought of clandestineintercourse. This was especially true of the families of men of letters,where the liberal education of the young girls, and their habit ofassociating as equals with men of serious and cultivated minds, gavethem a self-possession disconcerting to the young blood accustomed toconquer with a glance. These girls as a rule, were married early to menof their own standing5, and though the cicisbeo was not unknown aftermarriage he was not an authorised member of the household. Fulvia,indeed, belonged to the class most inaccessible75 to men of Odo's rank:
the only class in Italy in which the wife's fidelity76 was as muchesteemed as the innocence77 of the girl. Such principles had long beenridiculed by persons of quality and satirised by poets and playwrights78.
From Aristophanes to Beaumarchais the cheated husband and the outwittedguardian had been the figures on which the dramatist relied for hiscomic effects. Even the miser79 tricked out of his savings80 was a shadeless ridiculous, less grotesquely81 deserving of his fate, than thehusband defrauded82 of his wife's affection. The plausible83 adulteress andthe adroit84 seducer85 had a recognised claim on the sympathy of the public.
But the inevitable reaction was at hand; and the new teachers to whomOdo's contemporaries were beginning to listen had thrown a strangelypoetic light over the dull figures of the domestic virtues86. Faithfulnessto the family sanctities, reverence87 for the marriage tie, courage tosacrifice the loftiest passion to the most plodding88 duty: these werequalities to touch the fancy of a generation sated with derision. Iflove as a sentiment was the discovery of the medieval poets, love as amoral emotion might be called that of the eighteenth-centuryphilosophers, who, for all their celebration of free unions and fatalpassions, were really on the side of the angels, were fighting thebattle of the spiritual against the sensual, of conscience againstappetite.
The imperceptible action of these new influences formed the real barrierbetween Odo and Fulvia. The girl stood for the embodiment of thepurifying emotions that were to renew the world. Her candour, herunapproachableness, her simple trust in him, were a part of the magiclight which the new idealism had shed over the old social structure. Hiswas, in short, a love large enough to include other emotions: a wideningrather than a contraction89 of the emotional range. Youth and propinquityhave before now broken down stronger defences; but Fulvia's situationwas an unspoken appeal to her lover's forbearance. The sense that hersafety depended on him kept his sentimental90 impulses in check and madethe happiness of the moment seem, in its exquisite91 unreality, a meredreamlike interlude between the facts of life.
Toward sunset they rested in an olive-orchard, tethering their horses tothe low boughs. Overhead, through the thin foliage68 of tarnished92 silver,the sky, as the moon suffused it, melted from steel blue to a clearersilver. A peasant-woman whose hut stood close by brought them a goat'scheese on a vine-leaf and a jug93 of spring-water; and as they supped, alittle goat-herd, driving his flock down the hill, paused to watch themwith furtive94 woodland eyes.
Odo, questioning him, learned that at the village on the shore belowthey could obtain a boat to carry them across the lake. Fulvia, for lackof a passport, dared not set foot on Austrian soil; but the Swissauthorities were less exacting95 and Odo had hopes of crossing the borderwithout difficulty. They set out again presently, descending through thegrey dusk of the olives till the path became too steep for riding; thenOdo lifted Fulvia from the saddle and led the two horses after her. Hereand there, between the trees, they caught a momentary96 glimpse of lightson the shore and the pale gleam of the lake enclosed in black foliage.
From the village below came snatches of song and the shrill97 wail98 of apipe; and as the night deepened they saw, far out on the water, the wildflare of the fish-spearers' torches, like comets in an inverted99 sky.
With nightfall the spirits of both had sunk. Fulvia walked ahead insilence and Odo read a mute apprehension in her drooping100 outline. Everystep brought them nearer to the point they both feared to face, andthough each knew what lay in the other's thoughts neither dared breakthe silence. Odo's mind turned anxiously to the incidents of themorning, to the finding of the ducal coat-of-arms, and to all thepossibilities it suggested. What errand save one could have carried anenvoy from Pianura to that remote hamlet among the hills? He couldscarcely doubt that it was in pursuit of himself that the ducalmessenger travelled; but with what object was the journey undertaken?
Was he to be recalled in obedience101 to some new whim102 of the Duke's? Orhad some unforeseen change--he dared not let his thoughts defineit--suddenly made his presence needful in Pianura? It was more probablethat the possibility of his flight with Fulvia had been suggested to theDuke by the ecclesiastical authorities, and that the same hand which hadparted them before was again secretly at work. In any case, it was Odo'sfirst business to see his companion safely across the border; and inthat endeavour he had now little fear of being thwarted103. If the Duke'smessenger awaited them at Peschiera he waited in vain; and though theirflight across the lake might be known before dawn it would then be noeasy matter to overtake them.
In an hour's time, as Odo had hoped, they were putting off from theshore in a blunt-nosed fishing-boat which was the lightest craft thevillage could provide. The lake was stark104 calm, and the two boatmen,silhouetted against the moonlight, drove the boat forward with evenvigorous strokes. Fulvia, shivering in the autumnal chill, had drawn105 herhood close about her and sat silent, her face in shade. Measured bytheir secret apprehensions8 the boat's progress seemed at firstindescribably slow; but gradually the sounds from the shore grewfainter, and the fugitives felt themselves alone in a world enclosed bythe moonlit circle of the waters.
As they advanced this sense of isolation and security grew deeper andmore impressive. The motionless surface of the lake was enclosed in awall of mountains which the moonlight seemed to vein106 with marble. A skyin which the stars were dissolved in white radiance curved high abovetheir heads; and not a sail flecked the lake or a cloud the sky. Theboat seemed suspended alone in some ethereal medium.
Presently one of the boatmen spoke64 to the other and glanced toward thenorth. Then the second silently shipped his oar107 and hoisted108 the sail.
Hardly had he made it fast when a fresh of wind came down the lake andthey began to stretch across the bay with spreading canvas. The wind wascontrary, but Odo welcomed it, for he saw at once that it would bequicker work to tack109 to the other shore than to depend on the oars110. Thescene underwent a sudden change. The silver mirror over which they hadappeared to glide111 was shivered into sparkling fragments, and in theenveloping rush and murmur112 of the night the boat woke to a creakingstraining activity.
The man at the rudder suddenly pointed113 to a huddle114 of lights to thesouth. "Peschiera."Odo laughed. "We shall soon show it our heels," said he.
The other boatman shrugged115 his shoulders. "Even an enemy's roof mayserve to keep out the storm," he observed philosophically116.
"The storm? What storm?"The man pointed to the north. Against the sky hung a little black cloud,the merest flaw in the perfect curve of the night.
"The lake is shrewish at this season," the boatman continued. "Did yourexcellencies burn a candle before starting?"Odo sat silent, his eyes fixed117 on the cloud. It was growing visibly now.
With every moment its outline seemed to shift and spread, till its blackmenace dilated118 to the zenith. The bright water still broke about them indiamond spray; but as the shadow travelled the lake beneath it turned tolead. Then the storm dropped on them. It fell suddenly out ofmid-heaven. Sky and water grew black and a long shudder119 ran through theboat. For a moment she hung back, staggering under a white fury ofblows; then the gale120 seemed to lift and swing her about and she shotforward through a long tunnel of glistening121 blackness, bows on forPeschiera.
"The enemy's roof!" thought Odo. He reached for Fulvia's hand and foundit in the darkness. The rain was driving against them now and he drewher close and wrapped his cloak about her. She lay still, without atremor, as though in that shelter no fears could reach her. The nightroared about them and the waters seemed to divide beneath their keel.
Through the tumult122 Odo shouted to the boatmen to try to make someharbour north of Peschiera. They shouted back that they must go wherethe wind willed and bless the saints if they made any harbour at all;and Odo saw that Peschiera was their destiny.
It was past midnight when they set foot on shore. The rain still fell intorrents and they could hardly grope their way up the steps of thelanding-stage. Odo's first concern was to avoid the inn; but theboatmen, exhausted by their efforts and impatient to be under shelter,could not be bribed123 to seek out at that hour another lodging38 for thetravellers. Odo dared not expose Fulvia longer to the storm, andreluctantly they turned toward the inn, trusting that at that hour theircoming would attract little notice.
A travelling-carriage stood in the courtyard, and somewhat to Odo'ssurprise the landlord was still afoot. He led them into the publicparlour, which was alight, with a good fire on the hearth124. A gentlemanin travelling-dress sat near this fire, his back to the door, reading bya shaded candle. He rose as the travellers entered, and Odo recognisedthe abate125 de Crucis.
The latter advanced with a smile in which pleasure was more visible thansurprise. He bowed slightly to Fulvia, who had shrunk back into theshadow of the doorway126; then he turned to Odo and said: "Cavaliere, Ihave travelled six days to overtake you. The Duke of Pianura is dyingand has named you regent."
收听单词发音 |
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revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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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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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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innuendoes
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| n.影射的话( innuendo的名词复数 )；讽刺的话；含沙射影；暗讽 | |
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29
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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30
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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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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32
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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33
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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34
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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35
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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36
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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37
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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38
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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39
amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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40
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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41
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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42
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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43
ecclesiastic
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| n.教士，基督教会；adj.神职者的，牧师的，教会的 | |
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44
fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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45
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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47
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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48
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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49
conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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50
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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51
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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52
wilfulness
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| 任性；倔强 | |
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53
counterfeited
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| v.仿制，造假( counterfeit的过去分词 ) | |
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54
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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55
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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56
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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58
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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59
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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60
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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62
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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63
outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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64
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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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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66
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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67
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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68
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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69
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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70
remodelled
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| v.改变…的结构[形状]( remodel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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72
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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74
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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75
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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76
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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77
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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78
playwrights
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| n.剧作家( playwright的名词复数 ) | |
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79
miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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80
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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81
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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82
defrauded
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| v.诈取，骗取( defraud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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84
adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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85
seducer
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| n.诱惑者,骗子,玩弄女性的人 | |
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86
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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87
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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88
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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89
contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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90
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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91
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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92
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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93
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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94
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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96
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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97
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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98
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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99
inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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101
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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102
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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103
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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104
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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105
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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106
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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107
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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108
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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110
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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111
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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112
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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113
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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114
huddle
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| vi.挤作一团；蜷缩；vt.聚集；n.挤在一起的人 | |
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115
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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116
philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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117
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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118
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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120
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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121
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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122
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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123
bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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124
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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125
abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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126
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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