Manfred’s impatience7 for this ceremonial was remarked by his family and neighbours. The former, indeed, apprehending8 the severity of their Prince’s disposition, did not dare to utter their surmises9 on this precipitation. Hippolita, his wife, an amiable10 lady, did sometimes venture to represent the danger of marrying their only son so early, considering his great youth, and greater infirmities; but she never received any other answer than reflections on her own sterility12, who had given him but one heir. His tenants13 and subjects were less cautious in their discourses15. They attributed this hasty wedding to the Prince’s dread16 of seeing accomplished17 an ancient prophecy, which was said to have pronounced that the castle and lordship of Otranto “should pass from the present family, whenever the real owner should be grown too large to inhabit it.” It was difficult to make any sense of this prophecy; and still less easy to conceive what it had to do with the marriage in question. Yet these mysteries, or contradictions, did not make the populace adhere the less to their opinion.
Young Conrad’s birthday was fixed18 for his espousals. The company was assembled in the chapel19 of the Castle, and everything ready for beginning the divine office, when Conrad himself was missing. Manfred, impatient of the least delay, and who had not observed his son retire, despatched one of his attendants to summon the young Prince. The servant, who had not stayed long enough to have crossed the court to Conrad’s apartment, came running back breathless, in a frantic20 manner, his eyes staring, and foaming21 at the mouth. He said nothing, but pointed22 to the court.
The company were struck with terror and amazement23. The Princess Hippolita, without knowing what was the matter, but anxious for her son, swooned away. Manfred, less apprehensive24 than enraged25 at the procrastination26 of the nuptials27, and at the folly28 of his domestic, asked imperiously what was the matter? The fellow made no answer, but continued pointing towards the courtyard; and at last, after repeated questions put to him, cried out, “Oh! the helmet! the helmet!”
In the meantime, some of the company had run into the court, from whence was heard a confused noise of shrieks29, horror, and surprise. Manfred, who began to be alarmed at not seeing his son, went himself to get information of what occasioned this strange confusion. Matilda remained endeavouring to assist her mother, and Isabella stayed for the same purpose, and to avoid showing any impatience for the bridegroom, for whom, in truth, she had conceived little affection.
The first thing that struck Manfred’s eyes was a group of his servants endeavouring to raise something that appeared to him a mountain of sable30 plumes31. He gazed without believing his sight.
“What are ye doing?” cried Manfred, wrathfully; “where is my son?”
A volley of voices replied, “Oh! my Lord! the Prince! the Prince! the helmet! the helmet!”
Shocked with these lamentable33 sounds, and dreading34 he knew not what, he advanced hastily,—but what a sight for a father’s eyes!—he beheld35 his child dashed to pieces, and almost buried under an enormous helmet, an hundred times more large than any casque ever made for human being, and shaded with a proportionable quantity of black feathers.
The horror of the spectacle, the ignorance of all around how this misfortune had happened, and above all, the tremendous phenomenon before him, took away the Prince’s speech. Yet his silence lasted longer than even grief could occasion. He fixed his eyes on what he wished in vain to believe a vision; and seemed less attentive36 to his loss, than buried in meditation37 on the stupendous object that had occasioned it. He touched, he examined the fatal casque; nor could even the bleeding mangled38 remains39 of the young Prince divert the eyes of Manfred from the portent40 before him.
All who had known his partial fondness for young Conrad, were as much surprised at their Prince’s insensibility, as thunderstruck themselves at the miracle of the helmet. They conveyed the disfigured corpse41 into the hall, without receiving the least direction from Manfred. As little was he attentive to the ladies who remained in the chapel. On the contrary, without mentioning the unhappy princesses, his wife and daughter, the first sounds that dropped from Manfred’s lips were, “Take care of the Lady Isabella.”
The domestics, without observing the singularity of this direction, were guided by their affection to their mistress, to consider it as peculiarly addressed to her situation, and flew to her assistance. They conveyed her to her chamber42 more dead than alive, and indifferent to all the strange circumstances she heard, except the death of her son.
Matilda, who doted on her mother, smothered43 her own grief and amazement, and thought of nothing but assisting and comforting her afflicted45 parent. Isabella, who had been treated by Hippolita like a daughter, and who returned that tenderness with equal duty and affection, was scarce less assiduous about the Princess; at the same time endeavouring to partake and lessen46 the weight of sorrow which she saw Matilda strove to suppress, for whom she had conceived the warmest sympathy of friendship. Yet her own situation could not help finding its place in her thoughts. She felt no concern for the death of young Conrad, except commiseration47; and she was not sorry to be delivered from a marriage which had promised her little felicity, either from her destined48 bridegroom, or from the severe temper of Manfred, who, though he had distinguished49 her by great indulgence, had imprinted50 her mind with terror, from his causeless rigour to such amiable princesses as Hippolita and Matilda.
While the ladies were conveying the wretched mother to her bed, Manfred remained in the court, gazing on the ominous51 casque, and regardless of the crowd which the strangeness of the event had now assembled around him. The few words he articulated, tended solely52 to inquiries53, whether any man knew from whence it could have come? Nobody could give him the least information. However, as it seemed to be the sole object of his curiosity, it soon became so to the rest of the spectators, whose conjectures54 were as absurd and improbable, as the catastrophe55 itself was unprecedented56. In the midst of their senseless guesses, a young peasant, whom rumour57 had drawn58 thither59 from a neighbouring village, observed that the miraculous60 helmet was exactly like that on the figure in black marble of Alfonso the Good, one of their former princes, in the church of St. Nicholas.
“Villain61! What sayest thou?” cried Manfred, starting from his trance in a tempest of rage, and seizing the young man by the collar; “how darest thou utter such treason? Thy life shall pay for it.”
The spectators, who as little comprehended the cause of the Prince’s fury as all the rest they had seen, were at a loss to unravel62 this new circumstance. The young peasant himself was still more astonished, not conceiving how he had offended the Prince. Yet recollecting63 himself, with a mixture of grace and humility64, he disengaged himself from Manfred’s grip, and then with an obeisance65, which discovered more jealousy66 of innocence67 than dismay, he asked, with respect, of what he was guilty? Manfred, more enraged at the vigour68, however decently exerted, with which the young man had shaken off his hold, than appeased69 by his submission70, ordered his attendants to seize him, and, if he had not been withheld71 by his friends whom he had invited to the nuptials, would have poignarded the peasant in their arms.
During this altercation72, some of the vulgar spectators had run to the great church, which stood near the castle, and came back open-mouthed, declaring that the helmet was missing from Alfonso’s statue. Manfred, at this news, grew perfectly73 frantic; and, as if he sought a subject on which to vent11 the tempest within him, he rushed again on the young peasant, crying—
The mob, who wanted some object within the scope of their capacities, on whom they might discharge their bewildered reasoning, caught the words from the mouth of their lord, and re-echoed—
“Ay, ay; ’tis he, ’tis he: he has stolen the helmet from good Alfonso’s tomb, and dashed out the brains of our young Prince with it,” never reflecting how enormous the disproportion was between the marble helmet that had been in the church, and that of steel before their eyes; nor how impossible it was for a youth seemingly not twenty, to wield75 a piece of armour76 of so prodigious77 a weight.
The folly of these ejaculations brought Manfred to himself: yet whether provoked at the peasant having observed the resemblance between the two helmets, and thereby78 led to the farther discovery of the absence of that in the church, or wishing to bury any such rumour under so impertinent a supposition, he gravely pronounced that the young man was certainly a necromancer79, and that till the Church could take cognisance of the affair, he would have the Magician, whom they had thus detected, kept prisoner under the helmet itself, which he ordered his attendants to raise, and place the young man under it; declaring he should be kept there without food, with which his own infernal art might furnish him.
It was in vain for the youth to represent against this preposterous80 sentence: in vain did Manfred’s friends endeavour to divert him from this savage81 and ill-grounded resolution. The generality were charmed with their lord’s decision, which, to their apprehensions82, carried great appearance of justice, as the Magician was to be punished by the very instrument with which he had offended: nor were they struck with the least compunction at the probability of the youth being starved, for they firmly believed that, by his diabolic skill, he could easily supply himself with nutriment.
Manfred thus saw his commands even cheerfully obeyed; and appointing a guard with strict orders to prevent any food being conveyed to the prisoner, he dismissed his friends and attendants, and retired83 to his own chamber, after locking the gates of the castle, in which he suffered none but his domestics to remain.
In the meantime, the care and zeal84 of the young Ladies had brought the Princess Hippolita to herself, who amidst the transports of her own sorrow frequently demanded news of her lord, would have dismissed her attendants to watch over him, and at last enjoined85 Matilda to leave her, and visit and comfort her father. Matilda, who wanted no affectionate duty to Manfred, though she trembled at his austerity, obeyed the orders of Hippolita, whom she tenderly recommended to Isabella; and inquiring of the domestics for her father, was informed that he was retired to his chamber, and had commanded that nobody should have admittance to him. Concluding that he was immersed in sorrow for the death of her brother, and fearing to renew his tears by the sight of his sole remaining child, she hesitated whether she should break in upon his affliction; yet solicitude86 for him, backed by the commands of her mother, encouraged her to venture disobeying the orders he had given; a fault she had never been guilty of before.
The gentle timidity of her nature made her pause for some minutes at his door. She heard him traverse his chamber backwards87, and forwards with disordered steps; a mood which increased her apprehensions. She was, however, just going to beg admittance, when Manfred suddenly opened the door; and as it was now twilight89, concurring90 with the disorder88 of his mind, he did not distinguish the person, but asked angrily, who it was? Matilda replied, trembling—
“My dearest father, it is I, your daughter.”
Manfred, stepping back hastily, cried, “Begone! I do not want a daughter;” and flinging back abruptly91, clapped the door against the terrified Matilda.
She was too well acquainted with her father’s impetuosity to venture a second intrusion. When she had a little recovered the shock of so bitter a reception, she wiped away her tears to prevent the additional stab that the knowledge of it would give to Hippolita, who questioned her in the most anxious terms on the health of Manfred, and how he bore his loss. Matilda assured her he was well, and supported his misfortune with manly92 fortitude93.
“But will he not let me see him?” said Hippolita mournfully; “will he not permit me to blend my tears with his, and shed a mother’s sorrows in the bosom94 of her Lord? Or do you deceive me, Matilda? I know how Manfred doted on his son: is not the stroke too heavy for him? has he not sunk under it? You do not answer me—alas95! I dread the worst!—Raise me, my maidens96; I will, I will see my Lord. Bear me to him instantly: he is dearer to me even than my children.”
Matilda made signs to Isabella to prevent Hippolita’s rising; and both those lovely young women were using their gentle violence to stop and calm the Princess, when a servant, on the part of Manfred, arrived and told Isabella that his Lord demanded to speak with her.
“With me!” cried Isabella.
“Go,” said Hippolita, relieved by a message from her Lord: “Manfred cannot support the sight of his own family. He thinks you less disordered than we are, and dreads97 the shock of my grief. Console him, dear Isabella, and tell him I will smother44 my own anguish98 rather than add to his.”
As it was now evening the servant who conducted Isabella bore a torch before her. When they came to Manfred, who was walking impatiently about the gallery, he started, and said hastily—
“Take away that light, and begone.”
Then shutting the door impetuously, he flung himself upon a bench against the wall, and bade Isabella sit by him. She obeyed trembling.
“I sent for you, Lady,” said he—and then stopped under great appearance of confusion.
“My Lord!”
“Yes, I sent for you on a matter of great moment,” resumed he. “Dry your tears, young Lady—you have lost your bridegroom. Yes, cruel fate! and I have lost the hopes of my race! But Conrad was not worthy99 of your beauty.”
“How, my Lord!” said Isabella; “sure you do not suspect me of not feeling the concern I ought: my duty and affection would have always—”
“Think no more of him,” interrupted Manfred; “he was a sickly, puny100 child, and Heaven has perhaps taken him away, that I might not trust the honours of my house on so frail101 a foundation. The line of Manfred calls for numerous supports. My foolish fondness for that boy blinded the eyes of my prudence—but it is better as it is. I hope, in a few years, to have reason to rejoice at the death of Conrad.”
Words cannot paint the astonishment102 of Isabella. At first she apprehended103 that grief had disordered Manfred’s understanding. Her next thought suggested that this strange discourse14 was designed to ensnare her: she feared that Manfred had perceived her indifference105 for his son: and in consequence of that idea she replied—
“Good my Lord, do not doubt my tenderness: my heart would have accompanied my hand. Conrad would have engrossed106 all my care; and wherever fate shall dispose of me, I shall always cherish his memory, and regard your Highness and the virtuous107 Hippolita as my parents.”
“Curse on Hippolita!” cried Manfred. “Forget her from this moment, as I do. In short, Lady, you have missed a husband undeserving of your charms: they shall now be better disposed of. Instead of a sickly boy, you shall have a husband in the prime of his age, who will know how to value your beauties, and who may expect a numerous offspring.”
“Alas, my Lord!” said Isabella, “my mind is too sadly engrossed by the recent catastrophe in your family to think of another marriage. If ever my father returns, and it shall be his pleasure, I shall obey, as I did when I consented to give my hand to your son: but until his return, permit me to remain under your hospitable108 roof, and employ the melancholy109 hours in assuaging110 yours, Hippolita’s, and the fair Matilda’s affliction.”
“I desired you once before,” said Manfred angrily, “not to name that woman: from this hour she must be a stranger to you, as she must be to me. In short, Isabella, since I cannot give you my son, I offer you myself.”
“Heavens!” cried Isabella, waking from her delusion111, “what do I hear? You! my Lord! You! My father-in-law! the father of Conrad! the husband of the virtuous and tender Hippolita!”
“I tell you,” said Manfred imperiously, “Hippolita is no longer my wife; I divorce her from this hour. Too long has she cursed me by her unfruitfulness. My fate depends on having sons, and this night I trust will give a new date to my hopes.”
At those words he seized the cold hand of Isabella, who was half dead with fright and horror. She shrieked112, and started from him, Manfred rose to pursue her, when the moon, which was now up, and gleamed in at the opposite casement113, presented to his sight the plumes of the fatal helmet, which rose to the height of the windows, waving backwards and forwards in a tempestuous114 manner, and accompanied with a hollow and rustling115 sound. Isabella, who gathered courage from her situation, and who dreaded116 nothing so much as Manfred’s pursuit of his declaration, cried—
“Look, my Lord! see, Heaven itself declares against your impious intentions!”
At that instant the portrait of his grandfather, which hung over the bench where they had been sitting, uttered a deep sigh, and heaved its breast.
Isabella, whose back was turned to the picture, saw not the motion, nor knew whence the sound came, but started, and said—
“Hark, my Lord! What sound was that?” and at the same time made towards the door.
Manfred, distracted between the flight of Isabella, who had now reached the stairs, and yet unable to keep his eyes from the picture, which began to move, had, however, advanced some steps after her, still looking backwards on the portrait, when he saw it quit its panel, and descend118 on the floor with a grave and melancholy air.
“Do I dream?” cried Manfred, returning; “or are the devils themselves in league against me? Speak, internal spectre! Or, if thou art my grandsire, why dost thou too conspire119 against thy wretched descendant, who too dearly pays for—” Ere he could finish the sentence, the vision sighed again, and made a sign to Manfred to follow him.
The spectre marched sedately121, but dejected, to the end of the gallery, and turned into a chamber on the right hand. Manfred accompanied him at a little distance, full of anxiety and horror, but resolved. As he would have entered the chamber, the door was clapped to with violence by an invisible hand. The Prince, collecting courage from this delay, would have forcibly burst open the door with his foot, but found that it resisted his utmost efforts.
“Since Hell will not satisfy my curiosity,” said Manfred, “I will use the human means in my power for preserving my race; Isabella shall not escape me.”
The lady, whose resolution had given way to terror the moment she had quitted Manfred, continued her flight to the bottom of the principal staircase. There she stopped, not knowing whither to direct her steps, nor how to escape from the impetuosity of the Prince. The gates of the castle, she knew, were locked, and guards placed in the court. Should she, as her heart prompted her, go and prepare Hippolita for the cruel destiny that awaited her, she did not doubt but Manfred would seek her there, and that his violence would incite122 him to double the injury he meditated123, without leaving room for them to avoid the impetuosity of his passions. Delay might give him time to reflect on the horrid124 measures he had conceived, or produce some circumstance in her favour, if she could—for that night, at least—avoid his odious125 purpose. Yet where conceal126 herself? How avoid the pursuit he would infallibly make throughout the castle?
As these thoughts passed rapidly through her mind, she recollected127 a subterraneous passage which led from the vaults128 of the castle to the church of St. Nicholas. Could she reach the altar before she was overtaken, she knew even Manfred’s violence would not dare to profane130 the sacredness of the place; and she determined131, if no other means of deliverance offered, to shut herself up for ever among the holy virgins132 whose convent was contiguous to the cathedral. In this resolution, she seized a lamp that burned at the foot of the staircase, and hurried towards the secret passage.
The lower part of the castle was hollowed into several intricate cloisters134; and it was not easy for one under so much anxiety to find the door that opened into the cavern135. An awful silence reigned136 throughout those subterraneous regions, except now and then some blasts of wind that shook the doors she had passed, and which, grating on the rusty137 hinges, were re-echoed through that long labyrinth138 of darkness. Every murmur139 struck her with new terror; yet more she dreaded to hear the wrathful voice of Manfred urging his domestics to pursue her.
She trod as softly as impatience would give her leave, yet frequently stopped and listened to hear if she was followed. In one of those moments she thought she heard a sigh. She shuddered140, and recoiled141 a few paces. In a moment she thought she heard the step of some person. Her blood curdled142; she concluded it was Manfred. Every suggestion that horror could inspire rushed into her mind. She condemned143 her rash flight, which had thus exposed her to his rage in a place where her cries were not likely to draw anybody to her assistance. Yet the sound seemed not to come from behind. If Manfred knew where she was, he must have followed her. She was still in one of the cloisters, and the steps she had heard were too distinct to proceed from the way she had come. Cheered with this reflection, and hoping to find a friend in whoever was not the Prince, she was going to advance, when a door that stood ajar, at some distance to the left, was opened gently: but ere her lamp, which she held up, could discover who opened it, the person retreated precipitately144 on seeing the light.
Isabella, whom every incident was sufficient to dismay, hesitated whether she should proceed. Her dread of Manfred soon outweighed145 every other terror. The very circumstance of the person avoiding her gave her a sort of courage. It could only be, she thought, some domestic belonging to the castle. Her gentleness had never raised her an enemy, and conscious innocence made her hope that, unless sent by the Prince’s order to seek her, his servants would rather assist than prevent her flight. Fortifying herself with these reflections, and believing by what she could observe that she was near the mouth of the subterraneous cavern, she approached the door that had been opened; but a sudden gust146 of wind that met her at the door extinguished her lamp, and left her in total darkness.
Words cannot paint the horror of the Princess’s situation. Alone in so dismal147 a place, her mind imprinted with all the terrible events of the day, hopeless of escaping, expecting every moment the arrival of Manfred, and far from tranquil148 on knowing she was within reach of somebody, she knew not whom, who for some cause seemed concealed149 thereabouts; all these thoughts crowded on her distracted mind, and she was ready to sink under her apprehensions. She addressed herself to every saint in heaven, and inwardly implored150 their assistance. For a considerable time she remained in an agony of despair.
At last, as softly as was possible, she felt for the door, and having found it, entered trembling into the vault129 from whence she had heard the sigh and steps. It gave her a kind of momentary151 joy to perceive an imperfect ray of clouded moonshine gleam from the roof of the vault, which seemed to be fallen in, and from whence hung a fragment of earth or building, she could not distinguish which, that appeared to have been crushed inwards. She advanced eagerly towards this chasm152, when she discerned a human form standing104 close against the wall.
She shrieked, believing it the ghost of her betrothed153 Conrad. The figure, advancing, said, in a submissive voice—
“Be not alarmed, Lady; I will not injure you.”
Isabella, a little encouraged by the words and tone of voice of the stranger, and recollecting that this must be the person who had opened the door, recovered her spirits enough to reply—
“Sir, whoever you are, take pity on a wretched Princess, standing on the brink154 of destruction. Assist me to escape from this fatal castle, or in a few moments I may be made miserable155 for ever.”
“Alas!” said the stranger, “what can I do to assist you? I will die in your defence; but I am unacquainted with the castle, and want—”
“Oh!” said Isabella, hastily interrupting him; “help me but to find a trap-door that must be hereabout, and it is the greatest service you can do me, for I have not a minute to lose.”
Saying a these words, she felt about on the pavement, and directed the stranger to search likewise, for a smooth piece of brass156 enclosed in one of the stones.
“That,” said she, “is the lock, which opens with a spring, of which I know the secret. If we can find that, I may escape—if not, alas! courteous157 stranger, I fear I shall have involved you in my misfortunes: Manfred will suspect you for the accomplice158 of my flight, and you will fall a victim to his resentment159.”
“I value not my life,” said the stranger, “and it will be some comfort to lose it in trying to deliver you from his tyranny.”
“Generous youth,” said Isabella, “how shall I ever requite—”
As she uttered those words, a ray of moonshine, streaming through a cranny of the ruin above, shone directly on the lock they sought.
“Oh! transport!” said Isabella; “here is the trap-door!” and, taking out the key, she touched the spring, which, starting aside, discovered an iron ring. “Lift up the door,” said the Princess.
The stranger obeyed, and beneath appeared some stone steps descending160 into a vault totally dark.
“We must go down here,” said Isabella. “Follow me; dark and dismal as it is, we cannot miss our way; it leads directly to the church of St. Nicholas. But, perhaps,” added the Princess modestly, “you have no reason to leave the castle, nor have I farther occasion for your service; in a few minutes I shall be safe from Manfred’s rage—only let me know to whom I am so much obliged.”
“I will never quit you,” said the stranger eagerly, “until I have placed you in safety—nor think me, Princess, more generous than I am; though you are my principal care—”
The stranger was interrupted by a sudden noise of voices that seemed approaching, and they soon distinguished these words—
“Talk not to me of necromancers; I tell you she must be in the castle; I will find her in spite of enchantment161.”
“Oh, heavens!” cried Isabella; “it is the voice of Manfred! Make haste, or we are ruined! and shut the trap-door after you.”
Saying this, she descended162 the steps precipitately; and as the stranger hastened to follow her, he let the door slip out of his hands: it fell, and the spring closed over it. He tried in vain to open it, not having observed Isabella’s method of touching163 the spring; nor had he many moments to make an essay. The noise of the falling door had been heard by Manfred, who, directed by the sound, hastened thither, attended by his servants with torches.
“It must be Isabella,” cried Manfred, before he entered the vault. “She is escaping by the subterraneous passage, but she cannot have got far.”
What was the astonishment of the Prince when, instead of Isabella, the light of the torches discovered to him the young peasant whom he thought confined under the fatal helmet!
“Traitor!” said Manfred; “how camest thou here? I thought thee in durance above in the court.”
“I am no traitor,” replied the young man boldly, “nor am I answerable for your thoughts.”
“Presumptuous villain!” cried Manfred; “dost thou provoke my wrath32? Tell me, how hast thou escaped from above? Thou hast corrupted164 thy guards, and their lives shall answer it.”
“My poverty,” said the peasant calmly, “will disculpate them: though the ministers of a tyrant’s wrath, to thee they are faithful, and but too willing to execute the orders which you unjustly imposed upon them.”
“Art thou so hardy165 as to dare my vengeance166?” said the Prince; “but tortures shall force the truth from thee. Tell me; I will know thy accomplices167.”
“There was my accomplice!” said the youth, smiling, and pointing to the roof.
Manfred ordered the torches to be held up, and perceived that one of the cheeks of the enchanted168 casque had forced its way through the pavement of the court, as his servants had let it fall over the peasant, and had broken through into the vault, leaving a gap, through which the peasant had pressed himself some minutes before he was found by Isabella.
“Was that the way by which thou didst descend?” said Manfred.
“It was,” said the youth.
“A door clapped,” said the peasant; “I heard it as well as you.”
“What door?” said Manfred hastily.
“I am not acquainted with your castle,” said the peasant; “this is the first time I ever entered it, and this vault the only part of it within which I ever was.”
“But I tell thee,” said Manfred (wishing to find out if the youth had discovered the trap-door), “it was this way I heard the noise. My servants heard it too.”
“My Lord,” interrupted one of them officiously, “to be sure it was the trap-door, and he was going to make his escape.”
“Peace, blockhead!” said the Prince angrily; “if he was going to escape, how should he come on this side? I will know from his own mouth what noise it was I heard. Tell me truly; thy life depends on thy veracity169.”
“My veracity is dearer to me than my life,” said the peasant; “nor would I purchase the one by forfeiting170 the other.”
“Indeed, young philosopher!” said Manfred contemptuously; “tell me, then, what was the noise I heard?”
“Ask me what I can answer,” said he, “and put me to death instantly if I tell you a lie.”
Manfred, growing impatient at the steady valour and indifference of the youth, cried—
“Well, then, thou man of truth, answer! Was it the fall of the trap-door that I heard?”
“It was,” said the youth.
“It was!” said the Prince; “and how didst thou come to know there was a trap-door here?”
“I saw the plate of brass by a gleam of moonshine,” replied he.
“But what told thee it was a lock?” said Manfred. “How didst thou discover the secret of opening it?”
“Providence171, that delivered me from the helmet, was able to direct me to the spring of a lock,” said he.
“Providence should have gone a little farther, and have placed thee out of the reach of my resentment,” said Manfred. “When Providence had taught thee to open the lock, it abandoned thee for a fool, who did not know how to make use of its favours. Why didst thou not pursue the path pointed out for thy escape? Why didst thou shut the trap-door before thou hadst descended the steps?”
“I might ask you, my Lord,” said the peasant, “how I, totally unacquainted with your castle, was to know that those steps led to any outlet172? but I scorn to evade173 your questions. Wherever those steps lead to, perhaps I should have explored the way—I could not be in a worse situation than I was. But the truth is, I let the trap-door fall: your immediate174 arrival followed. I had given the alarm—what imported it to me whether I was seized a minute sooner or a minute later?”
“Thou art a resolute175 villain for thy years,” said Manfred; “yet on reflection I suspect thou dost but trifle with me. Thou hast not yet told me how thou didst open the lock.”
“That I will show you, my Lord,” said the peasant; and, taking up a fragment of stone that had fallen from above, he laid himself on the trap-door, and began to beat on the piece of brass that covered it, meaning to gain time for the escape of the Princess. This presence of mind, joined to the frankness of the youth, staggered Manfred. He even felt a disposition towards pardoning one who had been guilty of no crime. Manfred was not one of those savage tyrants176 who wanton in cruelty unprovoked. The circumstances of his fortune had given an asperity177 to his temper, which was naturally humane178; and his virtues179 were always ready to operate, when his passions did not obscure his reason.
While the Prince was in this suspense180, a confused noise of voices echoed through the distant vaults. As the sound approached, he distinguished the clamours of some of his domestics, whom he had dispersed181 through the castle in search of Isabella, calling out—
“Where is my Lord? where is the Prince?”
“Here I am,” said Manfred, as they came nearer; “have you found the Princess?”
The first that arrived, replied, “Oh, my Lord! I am glad we have found you.”
“Found me!” said Manfred; “have you found the Princess?”
“We thought we had, my Lord,” said the fellow, looking terrified, “but—”
“But, what?” cried the Prince; “has she escaped?”
“Jaquez and I, my Lord—”
“Yes, I and Diego,” interrupted the second, who came up in still greater consternation182.
“Speak one of you at a time,” said Manfred; “I ask you, where is the Princess?”
“We do not know,” said they both together; “but we are frightened out of our wits.”
“So I think, blockheads,” said Manfred; “what is it has scared you thus?”
“Oh! my Lord,” said Jaquez, “Diego has seen such a sight! your Highness would not believe our eyes.”
“Why, my Lord, if it please your Highness to hear me,” said the poor fellow, “Diego and I—”
“Yes, I and Jaquez—” cried his comrade.
“Did not I forbid you to speak both at a time?” said the Prince: “you, Jaquez, answer; for the other fool seems more distracted than thou art; what is the matter?”
“My gracious Lord,” said Jaquez, “if it please your Highness to hear me; Diego and I, according to your Highness’s orders, went to search for the young Lady; but being comprehensive that we might meet the ghost of my young Lord, your Highness’s son, God rest his soul, as he has not received Christian184 burial—”
“Sot!” cried Manfred in a rage; “is it only a ghost, then, that thou hast seen?”
“Oh! worse! worse! my Lord,” cried Diego: “I had rather have seen ten whole ghosts.”
“Grant me patience!” said Manfred; “these blockheads distract me. Out of my sight, Diego! and thou, Jaquez, tell me in one word, art thou sober? art thou raving185? thou wast wont186 to have some sense: has the other sot frightened himself and thee too? Speak; what is it he fancies he has seen?”
“Why, my Lord,” replied Jaquez, trembling, “I was going to tell your Highness, that since the calamitous187 misfortune of my young Lord, God rest his precious soul! not one of us your Highness’s faithful servants—indeed we are, my Lord, though poor men—I say, not one of us has dared to set a foot about the castle, but two together: so Diego and I, thinking that my young Lady might be in the great gallery, went up there to look for her, and tell her your Highness wanted something to impart to her.”
“O blundering fools!” cried Manfred; “and in the meantime, she has made her escape, because you were afraid of goblins!—Why, thou knave188! she left me in the gallery; I came from thence myself.”
“For all that, she may be there still for aught I know,” said Jaquez; “but the devil shall have me before I seek her there again—poor Diego! I do not believe he will ever recover it.”
“Recover what?” said Manfred; “am I never to learn what it is has terrified these rascals189?—but I lose my time; follow me, slave; I will see if she is in the gallery.”
“For Heaven’s sake, my dear, good Lord,” cried Jaquez, “do not go to the gallery. Satan himself I believe is in the chamber next to the gallery.”
Manfred, who hitherto had treated the terror of his servants as an idle panic, was struck at this new circumstance. He recollected the apparition190 of the portrait, and the sudden closing of the door at the end of the gallery. His voice faltered191, and he asked with disorder—
“What is in the great chamber?”
“My Lord,” said Jaquez, “when Diego and I came into the gallery, he went first, for he said he had more courage than I. So when we came into the gallery we found nobody. We looked under every bench and stool; and still we found nobody.”
“Were all the pictures in their places?” said Manfred.
“Yes, my Lord,” answered Jaquez; “but we did not think of looking behind them.”
“Well, well!” said Manfred; “proceed.”
“When we came to the door of the great chamber,” continued Jaquez, “we found it shut.”
“And could not you open it?” said Manfred.
“Oh! yes, my Lord; would to Heaven we had not!” replied he—“nay, it was not I neither; it was Diego: he was grown foolhardy, and would go on, though I advised him not—if ever I open a door that is shut again—”
“Trifle not,” said Manfred, shuddering192, “but tell me what you saw in the great chamber on opening the door.”
“I! my Lord!” said Jaquez; “I was behind Diego; but I heard the noise.”
“Jaquez,” said Manfred, in a solemn tone of voice; “tell me, I adjure193 thee by the souls of my ancestors, what was it thou sawest? what was it thou heardest?”
“It was Diego saw it, my Lord, it was not I,” replied Jaquez; “I only heard the noise. Diego had no sooner opened the door, than he cried out, and ran back. I ran back too, and said, ‘Is it the ghost?’ ‘The ghost! no, no,’ said Diego, and his hair stood on end—‘it is a giant, I believe; he is all clad in armour, for I saw his foot and part of his leg, and they are as large as the helmet below in the court.’ As he said these words, my Lord, we heard a violent motion and the rattling194 of armour, as if the giant was rising, for Diego has told me since that he believes the giant was lying down, for the foot and leg were stretched at length on the floor. Before we could get to the end of the gallery, we heard the door of the great chamber clap behind us, but we did not dare turn back to see if the giant was following us—yet, now I think on it, we must have heard him if he had pursued us—but for Heaven’s sake, good my Lord, send for the chaplain, and have the castle exorcised, for, for certain, it is enchanted.”
“Ay, pray do, my Lord,” cried all the servants at once, “or we must leave your Highness’s service.”
“Peace, dotards!” said Manfred, “and follow me; I will know what all this means.”
“We! my Lord!” cried they with one voice; “we would not go up to the gallery for your Highness’s revenue.” The young peasant, who had stood silent, now spoke195.
“Will your Highness,” said he, “permit me to try this adventure? My life is of consequence to nobody; I fear no bad angel, and have offended no good one.”
“Your behaviour is above your seeming,” said Manfred, viewing him with surprise and admiration—“hereafter I will reward your bravery—but now,” continued he with a sigh, “I am so circumstanced, that I dare trust no eyes but my own. However, I give you leave to accompany me.”
Manfred, when he first followed Isabella from the gallery, had gone directly to the apartment of his wife, concluding the Princess had retired thither. Hippolita, who knew his step, rose with anxious fondness to meet her Lord, whom she had not seen since the death of their son. She would have flown in a transport mixed of joy and grief to his bosom, but he pushed her rudely off, and said—
“Where is Isabella?”
“Isabella! my Lord!” said the astonished Hippolita.
“Yes, Isabella,” cried Manfred imperiously; “I want Isabella.”
“My Lord,” replied Matilda, who perceived how much his behaviour had shocked her mother, “she has not been with us since your Highness summoned her to your apartment.”
“Tell me where she is,” said the Prince; “I do not want to know where she has been.”
“My good Lord,” says Hippolita, “your daughter tells you the truth: Isabella left us by your command, and has not returned since;—but, my good Lord, compose yourself: retire to your rest: this dismal day has disordered you. Isabella shall wait your orders in the morning.”
“What, then, you know where she is!” cried Manfred. “Tell me directly, for I will not lose an instant—and you, woman,” speaking to his wife, “order your chaplain to attend me forthwith.”
“Isabella,” said Hippolita calmly, “is retired, I suppose, to her chamber: she is not accustomed to watch at this late hour. Gracious my Lord,” continued she, “let me know what has disturbed you. Has Isabella offended you?”
“Trouble me not with questions,” said Manfred, “but tell me where she is.”
“Matilda shall call her,” said the Princess. “Sit down, my Lord, and resume your wonted fortitude.”
“What, art thou jealous of Isabella?” replied he, “that you wish to be present at our interview!”
“Good heavens! my Lord,” said Hippolita, “what is it your Highness means?”
“Thou wilt196 know ere many minutes are passed,” said the cruel Prince. “Send your chaplain to me, and wait my pleasure here.”
At these words he flung out of the room in search of Isabella, leaving the amazed ladies thunderstruck with his words and frantic deportment, and lost in vain conjectures on what he was meditating197.
Manfred was now returning from the vault, attended by the peasant and a few of his servants whom he had obliged to accompany him. He ascended198 the staircase without stopping till he arrived at the gallery, at the door of which he met Hippolita and her chaplain. When Diego had been dismissed by Manfred, he had gone directly to the Princess’s apartment with the alarm of what he had seen. That excellent Lady, who no more than Manfred doubted of the reality of the vision, yet affected199 to treat it as a delirium200 of the servant. Willing, however, to save her Lord from any additional shock, and prepared by a series of griefs not to tremble at any accession to it, she determined to make herself the first sacrifice, if fate had marked the present hour for their destruction. Dismissing the reluctant Matilda to her rest, who in vain sued for leave to accompany her mother, and attended only by her chaplain, Hippolita had visited the gallery and great chamber; and now with more serenity201 of soul than she had felt for many hours, she met her Lord, and assured him that the vision of the gigantic leg and foot was all a fable202; and no doubt an impression made by fear, and the dark and dismal hour of the night, on the minds of his servants. She and the chaplain had examined the chamber, and found everything in the usual order.
Manfred, though persuaded, like his wife, that the vision had been no work of fancy, recovered a little from the tempest of mind into which so many strange events had thrown him. Ashamed, too, of his inhuman203 treatment of a Princess who returned every injury with new marks of tenderness and duty, he felt returning love forcing itself into his eyes; but not less ashamed of feeling remorse204 towards one against whom he was inwardly meditating a yet more bitter outrage205, he curbed206 the yearnings of his heart, and did not dare to lean even towards pity. The next transition of his soul was to exquisite207 villainy.
Presuming on the unshaken submission of Hippolita, he flattered himself that she would not only acquiesce208 with patience to a divorce, but would obey, if it was his pleasure, in endeavouring to persuade Isabella to give him her hand—but ere he could indulge his horrid hope, he reflected that Isabella was not to be found. Coming to himself, he gave orders that every avenue to the castle should be strictly209 guarded, and charged his domestics on pain of their lives to suffer nobody to pass out. The young peasant, to whom he spoke favourably210, he ordered to remain in a small chamber on the stairs, in which there was a pallet-bed, and the key of which he took away himself, telling the youth he would talk with him in the morning. Then dismissing his attendants, and bestowing211 a sullen212 kind of half-nod on Hippolita, he retired to his own chamber.
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1
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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6
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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apprehending
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的现在分词 )； 理解 | |
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surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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sterility
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| n.不生育，不结果，贫瘠，消毒，无菌 | |
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13
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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14
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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15
discourses
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| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
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16
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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17
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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18
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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19
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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20
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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21
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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22
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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23
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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procrastination
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| n.拖延，耽搁 | |
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27
nuptials
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| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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28
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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29
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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30
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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31
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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32
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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33
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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34
dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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35
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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36
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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38
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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39
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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40
portent
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| n.预兆；恶兆；怪事 | |
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41
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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42
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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43
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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44
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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45
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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47
commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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48
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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49
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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50
imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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51
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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52
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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53
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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54
conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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55
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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56
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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57
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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58
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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59
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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60
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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61
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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62
unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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63
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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64
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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65
obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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66
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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67
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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68
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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69
appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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70
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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71
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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72
altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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73
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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74
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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75
wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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76
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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78
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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79
necromancer
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| n. 巫师 | |
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80
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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81
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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82
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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83
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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84
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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85
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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87
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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88
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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89
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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90
concurring
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| 同时发生的，并发的 | |
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91
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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92
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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93
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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94
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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95
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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96
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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97
dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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98
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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99
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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100
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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101
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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102
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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103
apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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104
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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105
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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106
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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107
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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108
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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109
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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110
assuaging
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| v.减轻( assuage的现在分词 )；缓和；平息；使安静 | |
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111
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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112
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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114
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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115
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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116
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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117
impede
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，阻止 | |
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118
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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119
conspire
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| v.密谋，（事件等）巧合，共同导致 | |
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120
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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121
sedately
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| adv.镇静地，安详地 | |
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122
incite
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| v.引起，激动，煽动 | |
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123
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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124
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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125
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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126
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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127
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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129
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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130
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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131
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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132
virgins
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| 处女，童男( virgin的名词复数 )； 童贞玛利亚（耶稣之母） | |
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133
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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134
cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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135
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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136
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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137
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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138
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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139
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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140
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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141
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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142
curdled
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| v.（使）凝结( curdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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143
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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144
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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145
outweighed
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| v.在重量上超过( outweigh的过去式和过去分词 )；在重要性或价值方面超过 | |
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146
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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147
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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148
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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149
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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150
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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152
chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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153
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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154
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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155
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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156
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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157
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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158
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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159
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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160
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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161
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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162
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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163
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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164
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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165
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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166
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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167
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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168
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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169
veracity
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| n.诚实 | |
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170
forfeiting
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的现在分词 ) | |
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171
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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172
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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173
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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174
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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175
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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176
tyrants
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| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
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177
asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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178
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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179
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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180
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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181
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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182
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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183
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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184
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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185
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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186
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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187
calamitous
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| adj.灾难的，悲惨的；多灾多难；惨重 | |
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188
knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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189
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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190
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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191
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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192
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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193
adjure
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| v.郑重敦促(恳请) | |
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194
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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195
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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196
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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197
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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198
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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199
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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200
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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201
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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202
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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203
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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204
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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205
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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206
curbed
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| v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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207
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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208
acquiesce
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| vi.默许，顺从，同意 | |
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209
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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210
favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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211
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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212
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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