Suddenly he faced Deborah again. The crisis of feeling had passed, and he looked almost cold.
“You have had advisers,” said he. “Who are they?”
“I have talked with Mr. Black.”
The judge’s brows met.
“Well, you were wise,” said he. Then shortly, “What is his attitude?”
Feeling that her position was fast becoming intolerable she falteringly1 replied, “Friendly to you and Oliver but, even without all the reasons which move me, sharing my convictions.”
“He has told you so?”
“Not directly; but there was no misjudging his opinion of the necessity you were under to explain, the mysteries of your life. AND IT WAS YESTERDAY WE TALKED; NOT TODAY.”
Like words thrown into a void, these slow, lingering, half-uttered phrases seemed to awaken2 an echo which rung not only in his inmost being, but in hers. Not till in both natures silence had settled again (the silence of despair, not peace), did he speak. When he did, it was simply to breathe her name.
“Deborah?”
Startled, for it had always before been Madam, she looked up to find him standing3 very near her and with his hand held out.
“I am going through deep waters,” said he. “Am I to have your support?”
“O, Judge Ostrander, how can you doubt it?” she cried, dropping her hand into his, and her eyes swimming with tears. “But what can I do? If I remain here I will be questioned. If I fly — but, possibly, that is what you want;— for me to go — to disappear — to take Reuther and sink out of all men’s sight forever. If this is your wish, I am ready to do it. Gladly will we be gone — now — at once — this very night if you say so.”
His disclaimer was peremptory4.
“No; not that. I ask no such sacrifice. Neither would it avail. There is but one thing which can reinstate Oliver and myself in the confidence and regard of these people. Cannot you guess it, madam? I mean your own restored conviction that the sentence passed upon John Scoville was a just one. Once satisfied of this, your temperament5 is such that you would be our advocate whether you wished it or no. Your very silence would be eloquent6.”
“Convince me; I am willing to have you, Judge Ostrander. But how can you do so? A shadow stands between my wishes and the belief you mention. The shadow cast by Oliver as he made his way towards the bridge, with my husband’s bludgeon in his hand.”
“Did you see him strike the blow? Were there any opportune7 shadows to betray what happened between the instant of — let us say Oliver’s approach and the fall of my friend? Much can happen in a minute, and this matter is one of minutes. Granted that the shadow you saw was that of Oliver, and the stick he carried was the one under which Algernon succumbed8, what is to hinder the following from, having occurred. The stick which Oliver may have caught up in an absent frame of mind becomes burdensome; he has broken his knife against a knot in the handle and he is provoked. Flinging the bludgeon down, he hurries up the embankment and so on into town. John Scoville, lurking9 in the bushes, sees his stick fall and regains10 it at or near the time Algernon Etheridge steps into sight at the end of the bridge beyond Dark Hollow. Etheridge carries a watch greatly desired by the man who finds himself thus armed. The place is quiet; the impulse to possess himself of this watch is sudden and irresistible11, and the stick falls on Etheridge’s head. Is there anything impossible or even improbable about all this? Scoville had a heart open to crime, Oliver not. This I knew when I sat upon the bench at his trial; and now you shall know it too. Come! I have something to show you.”
He turned towards the door and mechanically she followed. Her thoughts were all in a whirl. She did not know what to make of him or of herself. The rooted dread13 of weeks was stirring in its soil. This suggestion of the transference of the stick from hand to hand was not impossible. Only Scoville had sworn to her, and that, too, upon their child’s head, that he had not struck this blow. And she had believed him after finding the cap; AND SHE BELIEVED HIM NOW. Yes, against her will, she believed him now. Why? and again, why?
They had crossed the hall and he was taking the turn to his room.
“Enter,” said he, lifting the curtain.
Involuntarily she recoiled14. Not from him, but from the revelation she felt to be awaiting her in this place of unguessed mystery. Looking back into the space behind her, she caught a fleeting15 glimpse of Reuther hovering16 on a distant threshold. Leaving the judge, without even a murmured word of apology, she ran to the child, embraced her, and promised to join her soon; and then, satisfied with the comfort thus gained, she returned quickly to where the judge still awaited her, with his hand on the curtain.
“Forgive me,” said she; and meeting with no reply, stood trembling while he unlocked the door and ushered17 her in.
A new leaf in the history of this old crime was about to be turned.
Once within the room, he became his courteous18 self once more. “Be seated,” he begged, indicating a chair in the half gloom. As she took it, the room sprang into sudden light. He had pulled the string which regulated the curtains over the glazed19 panes20 in the ceiling. Then as quickly all was gloom again; he had let the string escape from his hand.
“Half light is better,” he muttered in vague apology.
It was a weird21 beginning to an interview whose object was as yet incomprehensible to her. One minute a blinding glimpse of the room whose details were so varied22 that many of them still remained unknown to her,— the next, everything swept again into shadow through which the tall form of the genius of the place loomed23 with melancholy24 suggestion!
She was relieved when he spoke25.
“Mrs. Scoville (not Deborah now) have you any confidence in Oliver’s word?”
She did not reply at once. Too much depended upon a simple yes or no. Her first instinctive26 cry would have been YES, but if Oliver had been guilty and yet held back his dreadful secret all these years, how could she believe his word, when his whole life had been a lie?
“Has there ever been anything in his conversation as you knew it in Detroit to make you hesitate to reply?” the judge persisted, as she continued speechless.
“No; nothing. I had every confidence in his assertions. I should have yet, if it were not for this horror.”
“Forget it for a moment. Recall his effect upon you as a man, a prospective28 son-in-law,— for you meant him to marry Reuther.”
“I trusted him. I would trust him in many ways yet.”
“Would you trust him enough to believe that he would tell you the truth if you asked him point-blank whether his hands were clean of crime?”
“Yes.” The word came in a whisper; but there was no wavering in it. She had felt the conviction dart29 like an arrow through her mind that Oliver might slay30 a man in his hate,— might even conceal31 his guilt27 for years — but that he could not lie about it when brought face to face with an accuser like herself.
“Then I will let you read something he wrote at my request these many years ago: An experience — the tale of one awful night, the horrors of which, locked within his mind and mine, have never been revealed to a third person. That you should share our secret now, is not only necessary but fitting. It becomes the widow of John Scoville to know what sort of a man she persists in regarding innocent. Wait here for me.”
With a quick step he wound his way among the various encumbering32 pieces of furniture, to the door opening into his bedroom. A breathless moment ensued, during which she heard his key turn in the lock, followed by the repeating sound of his footsteps, as he wended his way inside to a point she could only guess at from her knowledge of the room, to be a dresser in one of the corners. Here he lingered so long that, without any conscious volition34 of her own,— almost in spite of her volition which would have kept her where she was,— she found herself on her feet, then moving step by step, more cautiously than he, in and out of huddling35 chairs and cluttering36 tables till she came to a stand-still before the reflection (in some mirror, no doubt) of the judge’s tall form, bending not over the dresser, as she had supposed, but before a cupboard in the wall — a cupboard she had never seen, in a wall she had never seen, but now recognised for the one hitherto concealed37 by the great carpet rug. He had a roll of paper in his hand, which he bundled together as he dropped the curtain back into place and then stopped to smooth it out over the floor with the precision of long habit. All this she saw in the mirror as though she had been at his back in the other room; but when she beheld38 him turn, then panic seized her and she started breathlessly for the spot where he had left her, glad that there was so little light, and praying that he might be deaf to her steps, which, gently as they fell, sounded portentously39 loud in her own ears.
She had reached her chair, but she had not had time to reseat herself when she beheld him approaching with the bundle of loose sheets clutched in his hand.
“I want you to sit here and read,” said he, laying the manuscript down on a small table near the wall under a gas-jet which he immediately lighted. “I am going back to my own desk. If you want to speak, you may; I shall not be working.” And she heard his footsteps retreating again in and out among the furniture till he reached his own chair and sat before his own table.
This ended all sound in the room excepting the beating of her own heart, which had become tumultuous.
How could she sit there and read words, with the blood pounding in her veins40 and her eyes half blind with terror and excitement? It was only the necessity of the case which made it possible. She knew that she would never be released from that spot until she had read what had been placed before her. Thank God! the manuscript was legible. Oliver’s handwriting possessed41 the clearness of print. She had begun to read before she knew it, and having begun, she never paused till she reached the end.
I was fifteen. It was my birthday and I had my own ideas of how I wanted to spend it. My hobby was modelling. My father had no sympathy with this hobby. To him it was a waste of time better spent in study or such sports as would fit me for study. But he had never absolutely forbidden me to exercise my talent this way, and when on the day I mention I had a few hours of freedom, I decided42 to begin a piece of work of which I had long dreamed. This was the remodelling43 in clay of an exquisite44 statue which had greatly aroused my admiration45.
This statue stood in a forbidden place. It was one of the art treasures of the great house on the bluff46 commonly called Spencer’s Folly47. I had seen this marble once, when dining there with father, and was so impressed by its beauty, that it haunted me night and day, standing out white and wonderful in my imagination, against backgrounds of endless variation. To copy its lovely lines, to caress48 with a creative hand those curves of beauty instinct, as I then felt, with soul, became my one overmastering desire,— a desire which soon deepened into purpose. The boy of fifteen would attempt the impossible. I procured49 my clay and then awaited my opportunity. It came, as I have said, on my birthday.
There was no one living in the house at this time. Mr. Spencer had gone West for the winter. The servants had been dismissed, and the place closed. Only that morning I had heard one of his boon50 companions say, “Oh, Jack’s done for. He’s found a pretty widow in the Sierras, and there’s no knowing now when we’ll drink his health again in Spencer’s Folly:” a statement which wakened but one picture in my mind and that was a long stretch of empty rooms teeming51 with art treasures amid which one gem52 rose supreme53 — the gem which through his reckless carelessness, I now proposed to make my own, if loving fingers and the responsive clay would allow it.
What to every other person in town would have seemed an insuperable obstacle to this undertaking54, was no obstacle to me. I KNEW HOW TO GET IN. One day in my restless wanderings about a place which had something of the nature of a shrine55 to me, I had noticed that one of the windows (a swinging one) overlooking the ravine, moved as the wind took it. Either the lock had given way or it had not been properly fastened. If I could only bring myself to disregard the narrowness of the ledge33 separating the house from the precipice56 beneath, I felt that I could reach this window and sever57 the vines sufficiently58 for my body to press in; and this I did that night, finding, just as I had expected, that once a little force was brought to bear upon the sash, it yielded easily, offering a free passage to the delights within.
In all this I experienced little fear, but once inside, I began to realise the hazard of my adventure, as hanging at full length from the casement59, I meditated60 on the drop I must take into what to my dazed eyes looked like an absolute void. This taxed my courage; but after a moment of sheer fright, I let myself go — I had to — and immediately found myself standing upright in a space so narrow I could touch the walls on either side. It was a closet I had entered, opening, as I soon discovered, into the huge dining-hall where I had once sat beside my father at the one formal meal of my life.
I remembered that room; it had made a great impression upon me, and some light finding its way through the panes of uncurtained glass which topped each of the three windows overlooking the ravine, I soon was able to find the door leading into the drawing~room.
I had brought a small lantern in the bag slung61 to my shoulders, but I had not hitherto dared to use it on account of the transparency of the panes I have mentioned; but once in the perfectly62 dark recesses63 of the room beyond, I drew it out, and without the least fear of detection boldly turned it upon the small alcove64 where stood the object of my adoration65.
It was another instance of the reckless confidence of youth. I was on the verge66 of one of the most appalling67 adventures which could befall a man, and yet no premonition disturbed the ecstasy68 with which I knelt before the glimmering69 marble and unrolled my bundle of wet clay.
I was not a complete fool. I only meant to attempt a miniature copy, but my presumption70 led me to expect it to be like — yes, like — oh, I never doubted it!
But when, after a few minutes of rapturous contemplation of the proportions which have been the despair of all lesser71 adepts72 than the great sculptor73 who conceived them, I began my work, oh, then I began to realise a little the nature of the task I had undertaken and to ask myself whether if I stayed all night I could finish it to my mind. It was during one of these moments of hesitation74 that I heard the first growl75 of distant thunder. But it made little impression upon me, and I returned to my work with renewed glow,— renewed hope. I felt so secure in my shell of darkness, with only the one small beam lighting76 up my model and my own fingers busy with the yielding clay.
But the thunder growled77 again and my head rose, this time in real alarm. Not because of that far-off struggle of the elements with which I had nothing to do and hardly sensed, but because of a nearer sound, an indistinguishable yet strangely perturbing78 sound, suggesting a step — no, it was a voice, or if not a voice, some equally sure token of an approaching presence on the porch in front. Some one going by on the road two hundred feet away must have caught the gleam of my lantern through some unperceived crack in the parlour shutters80. In another minute I should hear a shout at the window, or, perhaps, the pounding of a heavy hand on the front door. I hated the interruption, but otherwise I was but little disturbed. Whoever it was, he could not by any chance find his way in. Nevertheless, I discreetly81 closed the shutter79 of my lantern and began groping my way back to my own place of exit. I had reached the dining-room door, when the blood suddenly stopped in my veins. Another sound had reached my ear; an unmistakable one this time — the rattling82 of a key in its lock. A man — two men were entering by the great front door. They came in on a swoop83 of wind which seemed to carry everything before it. I heard a loud laugh, coarsened by drink, and the tipsy exclamation84 of a voice I knew:
“There! shut the door, can’t you, before it’s blown from its hinges? You’ll find everything jolly here. Wine, lights, solitude85 in which to finish our game and a roaring good opportunity to sleep afterwards. No servants, no porters, not a soul to disturb us. This is my house and it’s a corker. I might be away for a year and”— here there was the crackling of a match —“I’ve only to use my night-key to find everything a man wants right to my hand.”
The answer I failed to catch. I was simply paralysed by terror. Should their way lay through the drawing-room! My clay, my tools were all lying there, and my unfinished model. Mr. Spencer was not an unkind man, but he was very drunk, and I had heard that whisky makes a brute86 of the most good-natured. He would trample87 on my work; perhaps he would destroy my tools and then hunt the house till he found me. I did not know what to expect; meantime, lights began to flame up; the room where I stood was no longer a safe refuge, and creeping like a cat, I began to move towards the closet door. Suddenly I made a dart for it; the two men, trampling88 heavily on the marble floor of the hall were coming my way. I could hear their rude talk — rude to me, though one of them called himself a gentleman. As the door of the room opened to admit them, I succeeded in shutting that of the closet into which I had flung myself,— or almost so. I did not dare to latch89 it, for they were already in the room and might hear me.
“This is the spot for us,” came in Spencer’s most jovial90 tones. “Big table, whisky handy, cards right here in my pocket. Wait, till I strike a light!”
But the lightning anticipated him. As he spoke, the walls which surrounded me, the walls which surrounded them, leapt into glaring view and I heard the second voice cry out:
“I don’t like that! Let’s wait till the storm is over. I can’t play with such candles as those flaring91 about us.”
“Damn it! you won’t know what candles you are playing by when once you see the pile I’ve got ready for you. I’m in for a big bout12. You have ten dollars and I have a thousand. I’ll play you for that ten. If, in the meantime, you get my thousand, why, it’ll be because you’re the better man.”
“I don’t like it, I say. There, SEE!”
A flood of white light had engulfed92 the house. My closet, with its whitewashed93 walls flared95 about me like the mouth of a furnace.
“See, yourself!” came the careless retort, and with the words a gas-jet shot up, then two, then all that the room contained. “How’s that? What’s a flash more or less now!”
I heard no answer, only the slap of the cards as they were flung onto the table; then the clatter96 of a key as it was turned in some distant lock and the quick question:
“Rum, or whisky. Irish or Scotch97?”
“Whisky and Irish.”
“Good! but you’ll drink it alone.”
The bottles were brought forward and they sat down one on each side of the dusty mahogany table. The man facing me was Spencer, the other sat with his back my way, but I could now and then catch a glimpse of his profile as he started at some flash or lifted his head in terror of the thunder-claps.
“We’ll play till the hands point to three,” announced Spencer, taking out his watch and laying it down where both could see it. “Do you agree to that?— Unless I win and your funds go a-begging before the hour.”
“I agree.” The tone was harsh; it was almost smothered98. The man was staring at the watch; there was a strange set look to his figure; a pausing as of thought — of sinister99 thought, I should now say; then I never stopped to characterise it; it was followed too quickly by a loud laugh and a sudden grab at the cards.
“You’ll win! I feel it in my bones,” came in encouraging tones from the rich man. “If you do”— here the storm lulled100 and his voice sank to an encouraging whisper —“you can buy the old tavern101 up the road. It’s going for a song; and then we’ll be neighbours and can play — play —”
Thunder!— a terrific peal102. It shook the house; it shook my boyish heart, but it no longer had power to move the two gamesters. The fever of play had reached its height, and I heard nothing more from their lips, but such phrases as belong to the game. Why didn’t I take advantage of their absorption to fly? The sill above my head was within easy reach, the sash was open and no sound that I could make would reach them in this hurly-burly of storm. Why then, with all this invitation to escape, did I remain crouched103 in my dark retreat with eyes fixed104 on the narrow crack before me which, under some impulse of movement in the walls about, had widened sufficiently for me to see all that I have related? I do not know, unless I was hypnotised by the glare of expression on those men’s faces.
I remember that it was my first glimpse of the human countenance105 under the sway of wicked and absorbing passions. Hitherto my dreams had all been of beauty — of lovely shapes or noble figures cast in heroic mould. Henceforth, these ideal groups must visit my imagination mixed with the bulging106 eyes of greed and the contortions107 of hate masking their hideousness108 under false smiles or hiding them behind the motions of riotous110 jollity. I was horrified111, I was sickened, and I was frightened to the very soul, but the fascination112 of the spectacle held me; I watched the men and I watched the play and soon I forgot the tempest also, or remembered it only when my small retreat flared into sudden whiteness, or some gust113, heavier than the rest, toppled the bricks from the chimneys above us and sent them crashing down upon the rain-soaked roof.
The stranger was winning. I saw the heap of bills beside him grow and grow while that of his opponent dwindled114. I saw the latter smile — smile softly at each toss of his losings across the board; but there was no mirth in his smile, nor was there any common satisfaction in the way the other’s hand closed over his gains.
“He will have it all,” I thought. “The Claymore Tavern will soon change owners;” and I was holding my breath over the final stake when suddenly the house gave a lurch115, resettled, then lurched again. The tempest had become a hurricane, and with its first swoop a change took place in the stranger’s luck.
The bills which had all gone one way began slowly to recross the board, first singly, then in handfuls. They fell within Spencer’s grasp, and the smile with which he hailed their return was not the smile with which he had seen them go, but a steady grin such as I had beheld on the faces of sculptured demons116. It frightened me, this smile. I could see nothing else; but, when at another crashing peal I ducked my head, I found on lifting it that my eyes sought instinctively117 the rigid118 back of the stranger instead of the open face of Spencer. The passion of the winner was nothing to that of the loser; and from this moment on, I saw but the one figure, and thrilled to the one hope — that an opportunity would soon come for me to see the face of the man whose back told such a tale of fury and suspense119.
But it remained fixed on Spencer, and the cards. The roof might fall — he was past heeding120. A bill or two only lay now at his elbow, and I could perceive the further stiffening121 of his already rigid muscles as he dealt out the cards. Suddenly hard upon a rattling peal which seemed to unite heaven and earth, I heard shouted out:
“Half-past two! The game stops at three.”
“Damn your greedy eyes!” came back in a growl. Then all was still, fearfully still, both in the atmosphere outside and in that within, during which I caught sight of the stranger’s hand moving slowly around to his back and returning as slowly forward, all under cover of the table-top and a stack of half-empty bottles.
I was inexperienced. I knew nothing of the habits or the ways of such men as these, but the alarm of innocence122 in the face of untold123, unsuspected but intuitively felt evil, seized me at this stealthy movement, and I tried to rise,— tried to shriek,— but could not; for events rushed upon us quicker than I could speak or move.
“I can buy the Claymore Tavern, can I? Well, I’m going to,” rang out into the air as the speaker leaped to his feet. “Take that, you cheat! And that! And that!” And the shots rang out — one, two, three!
Spencer was dead in his Folly. I had seen him rise, throw up his hands and then fall in a heap among the cards and glasses.
Silence! Not even Heaven spoke.
Then the man who stood there alone turned slightly and I saw his face. I have seen it many times since; I have seen it at Claymore Tavern. Distorted up to this moment by a thousand emotions,— all evil ones,— it was calm now with the realisation of his act, and I could make no mistake as to his identity. Later I will mention his name.
Glancing first at his victim, then at the pistol still smoking in his hand, he put the weapon back in his pocket, and began gathering124 up the money for which he had just damned his soul. To get it all, he had to move an arm of the body sprawling125 along the board. But he did not appear to mind. When every bill was in his pockets, he reached out his hand for the watch. Then I saw him smile. He smiled as he shut the case, he smiled as he plunged126 it in after the bills. There was gloating in this smile. He seemed to have got what he wanted more than when he fingered the bills. I was stiff with horror. I was not conscious of noting these details, but I saw them every one. Small things make an impression when the mind is numb127 under the effect of a great blow.
Next moment I woke to a realisation of myself and all the danger of my own position. He was scanning very carefully the room about him. His eyes were travelling slowly — very slowly but certainly, in my direction. I saw them pause — concentrate their glances and fix them straight and full upon mine. Not that he saw me. The crack through which we were peering each in our several ways was too narrow for that. But the crack itself — that was what he saw and the promise it gave of some room beyond. I was a creature frozen. But when he suddenly turned away instead of plunging128 towards me with his still smoking pistol, I had the instinct to make a leap for the window over my head and clutch madly at its narrow sill in a wild attempt at escape.
But the effort ended precipitately129. Terror had got me by the hair, and terror made me look back. The crack had widened still further, and what I now saw through it glued me to the wall and held me there transfixed, with dangling130 feet and starting eyeballs.
He was coming towards me — a straining, panting figure — half carrying, half dragging, the dead man who flopped131 aside from his arms.
God! what was I to do now! How meet those cold, indifferent eyes filled only with thoughts of his own safety and see them flare94 again with murderous impulse and that impulse directed towards myself! I couldn’t meet them; I couldn’t stay; but how fly when not a muscle responded. I had to stay — hanging from the sill and praying — praying — till my senses blurred132 and I knew nothing till on a sudden they cleared again, and I woke to the blessed realisation that the door had been pushed against my slender figure, hiding it completely from his sight, and that this door was now closed again and this time tightly, and I was safe — safe!
The relief sent the perspiration133 in a reek134 from every pore; but the icy revulsion came quickly. As I drew up my knees to get a better purchase on the sill, heaven’s torch was suddenly lit up, the closet became a pit of dazzling whiteness amid which I saw the blot135 of that dead body, with head propped136 against the wall and eyes —
Remember, I was but fifteen. The legs were hunched137 up and almost touched mine. I could feel them — though there was no contact — pushing me — forcing me from my frail138 support. Would it lighten again? Would I have to see — No! any risk first. The window — I no longer thought of it. It was too remote, too difficult. The door — the door — there was my way — the only way which would rid me instantly of any proximity139 to this hideous109 object. I flung myself at it — found the knob — turned it and yelled aloud — My foot had brushed against him. I knew the difference and it sent me palpitating over the threshold; but no further. Love of life had returned with my escape from that awful prison-house, and I halted in the semidarkness into which I had plunged, thanking Heaven for the thunder peal which had drowned my loud cry.
For I was not yet safe. He was still there. He had turned out all lights but one, but this was sufficient to show me his tall figure straining up to put out this last jet.
Another instant and darkness enveloped140 the whole place. He had not seen me and was going. I could hear the sound of his feet as he went stumbling in his zigzag141 course towards the door. Then every sound both on his part and on mine was lost in a swoop of down~falling rain and I remember nothing more till out of the blankness before me, he started again into view, within the open doorway142 where in the glare of what he called heaven’s candles he stood, poising143 himself to meet the gale144 which seemed ready to catch him up and whirl him with other inconsequent things into the void of nothingness. Then darkness settled again and I was left alone with Murder;— all the innocence of my youth gone, and my soul a very charnel house.
I had to re-enter that closet; I had to take the only means of escape proffered145. But I went through it as we go through the horrors of nightmare. My muscles obeyed my volition, but my sensibilities were no longer active. How I managed to draw myself up to that slippery sill all reeking146 now with rain, or save myself from falling to my death in the whirling blast that carried everything about me into the ravine below, I do not know.
I simply did it and escaped all — lightning-flash and falling limb, and the lasso of swirling147 winds — to find myself at last lying my full length along the bridge amid a shock of elements such as nature seldom sports with. Here I clung, for I was breathless, waiting with head buried in my arm for the rain to abate148 before I attempted a further escape from the place which held such horror for me!
But no abatement149 came, and feeling the bridge shaking under me almost to cracking, I began to crawl, inch by inch, along its gaping150 boards till I reached its middle.
There God stopped me.
For, with a clangour as of rending151 worlds, a bolt, hot from the zenith, sped down upon the bluff behind me, throwing me down again upon my face and engulfing152 sense and understanding for one wild moment. Then I sprang upright and with a yell of terror sped across the rocking boards beneath me to the road, no longer battling with my desire to look back; no longer asking myself when and how that dead man would be found; no longer even asking my own duty in the case; for Spencer’s Folly was on fire and the crime I had just seen perpetrated there would soon be a crime stricken from the sight of men forever.
In the flare of its tremendous burning I found my way up through the forest road to my home and into my father’s presence. He like everybody else was up that night, and already alarmed at my continued absence.
“Spencer’s Folly is on fire,” I cried, as he cast dismayed eyes at my pallid153 and dripping figure. “If you go to the door, you can see it!”
But I told him nothing more.
Perhaps other boys of my age can understand my silence.
I not only did not tell my father, but I told nobody, even after the discovery of Spencer’s charred154 body in the closet so miraculously155 preserved. With every day that passed, it became harder to part with this baleful secret. I felt it corroding156 my thoughts and destroying my spirits, and yet I kept still. Only my taste for modelling was gone. I have never touched clay since.
Claymore Tavern did change owners. When I heard that a man by the name of Scoville had bought it, I went over to see Scoville. He was the man. Then I began to ask myself what I ought to do with my knowledge, and the more I asked myself this question, and the more I brooded over the matter, the less did I feel like taking, not the public, but my father, into my confidence.
I had never doubted his love for me, but I had always stood in great awe157 of his reproof158, and I did not know where I was to find courage to tell him all the details of this adventure.
There is one thing I did do, however. I made certain inquiries159 here and there, and soon satisfied myself as to how Scoville had been able to come into town, commit this horrid160 deed and escape without any one but myself being the wiser. Spencer and he had come from the west en route to New York without any intention of stopping off in Shelby. But once involved in play, they got so interested that when within a few miles of the town, Spencer proposed that they should leave the train and finish the game in his own house. Whether circumstances aided them, or Spencer took some extraordinary precautions against being recognised, will never be known. But certain it is that he escaped all observation at the station and even upon the road. When Scoville returned alone, the storm had reached such a height that the roads were deserted161, and he, being an entire stranger here at that time, naturally attracted no attention, and so was able to slip away on the next train with just the drawback of buying a new ticket. I, a boy of fifteen, trespassing162 where I did not belong, was the only living witness of what had happened on this night of dreadful storm, in the house which was now a ruin.
I realised the unpleasantness of the position in which this put me, but not its responsibility. Scoville, ignorant that any other breast than his own held the secret of that hour of fierce temptation and murder, naturally scented163 no danger and rejoiced without stint164 in his new acquisition. What evil might I not draw down upon myself by disturbing him in it at this late day. If I were going to do anything, I should have done it at first — so I reasoned, and let the matter slide. I became interested in school and study, and the years passed and I had almost forgotten the occurrence, when suddenly the full remembrance came back upon me with a rush. A man — my father’s friend — was found murdered in sight of this spot of old-time horror, and Scoville was accused of the act.
I was older now and saw my fault in all its enormity. I was guilty of that crime — or so I felt in the first heat of my sorrow and despair. I may even have said so — in dreams or in some of my self~absorbed broodings. Though I certainly had not lifted the stick against Mr. Etheridge, I had left the hand free which did, and this was a sufficient occasion for remorse165 — or so I truly felt.
I was so affected166 by the thought that even my father, with his own weight of troubles, noticed my care-worn face and asked me for an explanation. But I held him off until the verdict was reached, and then I told him. I had not liked his looks for some time; they seemed to convey some doubt of the justice of this man’s sentence, and I felt that if he had such doubts, they might be eased by this certainty of Scoville’s murderous tendencies and unquestionable greed.
And they were; but as Scoville was already doomed167, we decided that it was unnecessary to make public his past offences. However, with an eye upon future contingencies168, my father exacted from me in writing this full account of my adventure, which with all the solemnity of an oath I here declare to be the true story of what befell me in the house called Spencer’s Folly, on the night of awful storm, September Eleventh, 1895.
OLIVER OSTRANDER.
Witnesses to above signature,
ARCHIBALD OSTRANDER, BELA JEFFERSON.
Shelby. . . . . . . . November 7, 1898.
收听单词发音 |
1
falteringly
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| 口吃地，支吾地 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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3
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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peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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regains
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| 复得( regain的第三人称单数 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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13
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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14
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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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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17
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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19
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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20
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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21
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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22
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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23
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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24
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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25
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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26
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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27
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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28
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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29
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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30
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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31
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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32
encumbering
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的现在分词 ) | |
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33
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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34
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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35
huddling
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| n. 杂乱一团, 混乱, 拥挤 v. 推挤, 乱堆, 草率了事 | |
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36
cluttering
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的现在分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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37
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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38
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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39
portentously
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40
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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41
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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42
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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43
remodelling
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| v.改变…的结构[形状]( remodel的现在分词 ) | |
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44
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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45
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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46
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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47
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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48
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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49
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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50
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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51
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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52
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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53
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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54
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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55
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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56
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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57
sever
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| v.切开，割开；断绝，中断 | |
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58
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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59
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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60
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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61
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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62
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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63
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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64
alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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65
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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66
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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67
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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68
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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69
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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70
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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71
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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72
adepts
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| n.专家，能手( adept的名词复数 ) | |
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73
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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74
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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75
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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76
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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77
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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78
perturbing
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| v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的现在分词 ) | |
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79
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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80
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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81
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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82
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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83
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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84
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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85
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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86
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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87
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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88
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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89
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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90
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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91
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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92
engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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95
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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96
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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97
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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98
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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99
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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100
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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101
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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102
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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103
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
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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105
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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106
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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107
contortions
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| n.扭歪，弯曲；扭曲，弄歪，歪曲( contortion的名词复数 ) | |
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108
hideousness
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109
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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110
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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111
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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112
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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113
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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114
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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116
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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117
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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118
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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119
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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120
heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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121
stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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122
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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123
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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124
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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125
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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126
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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127
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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128
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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129
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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130
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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131
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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132
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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133
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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134
reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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135
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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136
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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138
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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139
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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140
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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142
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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143
poising
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| 使平衡( poise的现在分词 )； 保持（某种姿势）； 抓紧； 使稳定 | |
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144
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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145
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146
reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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147
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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148
abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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149
abatement
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| n.减(免)税，打折扣，冲销 | |
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150
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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151
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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152
engulfing
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| adj.吞噬的v.吞没，包住( engulf的现在分词 ) | |
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153
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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154
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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155
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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156
corroding
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| 使腐蚀，侵蚀( corrode的现在分词 ) | |
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157
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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158
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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159
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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160
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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161
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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162
trespassing
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| [法]非法入侵 | |
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163
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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164
stint
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| v.节省，限制，停止；n.舍不得化，节约，限制；连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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165
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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166
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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167
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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168
contingencies
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| n.偶然发生的事故，意外事故( contingency的名词复数 )；以备万一 | |
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