THE note Alfred Hardie received, on the 10th of April, was from Peggy Black. The letters were well formed, for she had been educated at the national school: but the style was not upon a par1.
“MR. ALFRED, SIR — Margaret Black sends her respects, and if you want to know the truth about the money, I can tell you all, and where it is at this present time. Sir, I am now in situation at Silverton Grove2 House, about a furlong from the station; and if you will be so good to call there and ask for Margaret, I will tell you where it is, which I mean the L. 14,000; for it is a sin the young lady should be beguiled3 of her own. Only you must please come this evening, or else tomorrow before ten o’clock, by reason my mistress and me we are going up to London that day early, and she talk of taking me abroad along with her. — I remain, Sir, yours respectfully to command,
MARGARET BLACK.
“If you please, sir, not to show this letter on no account.”
Alfred read this twice over, and felt a contemptuous repugnance4 towards the writer, a cashiered servant, who offered to tell the truth out of spite, having easily resisted every worthy5 motive6. Indeed, I think he would have perhaps dismissed the subject into the fire, but for a strange circumstance that had occurred to him this very afternoon; but I had no opportunity to relate it till now. Well, just as he was going to dress for dinner, he received a visit from Dr. Wycherley, a gentleman he scarcely knew by name. Dr. Wycherley inquired after his kephalalgia: Alfred stared and told him it was much the same; troubled him occasionally.
“I don’t know the word: have you any authority for it?”
Dr. Wycherley smiled with a sort of benevolent8 superiority that galled9 his patient, and proceeded to inquire after his nightly visions and voices. But at this Alfred looked grave as well as surprised and vexed10. He was on his guard now, and asked himself seriously what was the meaning of all this, and could his father have been so mad as to talk over his own shame with this stranger: he made no reply whatever.
Dr. Wycherley’s curiosity was not of a very ardent11 kind: for he was one of those who first form an opinion, and then collect the materials of one: and a very little fact goes a long way with such minds. So, when he got no answer about the nocturnal visions and voices, he glided12 calmly on to another matter. “By-the-bye, that L. 14,000!”
Alfred started, and then eyed him keenly: “What L. 14,000?”
“The fabulous13 sum you labour under the impression of your father having been guilty of clandestinely14 appropriating.”
This was too much for Alfred’s patience. “I don’t know who you are, sir,” said he; “I never exchanged but three words in my life with you; and do you suppose I will talk to a stranger on family matters of so delicate a kind as this? I begin to think you have intruded15 yourself on me simply to gratify an impertinent curiosity.”
“The hypothesis is at variance16 with my established character,” replied the oleaginous one. “Do me the justice to believe in the necessity of this investigation17, and that it is one of a most friendly character.”
“Then I decline the double nuisance: your curiosity and your friendship! Take them both out of my room, sir, or I shall turn them both out by one pair of shoulders.”
“You shall smart for this,” said the doctor, driven to plain English by anger, that great solvent18 of circumlocution19 with which Nature has mercifully supplied us. He made to the door, opened it, and said in considerable excitement to some one outside, “Excited! — Very!”
Now Dr. Pleonast had no sooner been converted to the vernacular20, and disappeared, than another stranger entered the room. He had evidently been lurking21 in the passage: it was a man of smallish stature22, singularly gaunt, angular, and haggard, but dressed in a spruce suit of black, tight, new, and glossy23. In short, he looked like Romeo’s apothecary24 gone to Stultz with the money. He fluttered in with pale cheek and apprehensive25 body, saying hurriedly, “Now, my dear sir, be calm: pray be calm. I have come down all the way from London to see you, and I am sure you won’t make me lose my journey; will you now?”
“And pray who asked you to come all the way from London, sir?”
“A person to whom your health is very dear.”
“Oh indeed; so I have secret friends, have I? Well, you may tell my secret, underhand, friends, I never was better in my life.”
“I am truly glad to hear it,” said the little man: “let me introduce myself, as Dr. Wycherley forgot to do it.” And he handed Alfred a card, on which his name and profession were written.
“Well, Mr. Speers,” said Alfred, “I have only a moment to give you, for I must dress for dinner. What do you want?”
“I come, sir, in hopes of convincing your friends you are not so very ill; not incurable26. Why your eye is steady, your complexion27 good: a little high with the excitement of this conversation; but, if we can only get over this little delusion28, all will be well.”
“What little delusion?”
“About the L. 14,000, you know.”
“What L. 14,000? I have not mentioned L. 14,000 to you, have I?”
“No, sir: you seem to shun29 it like poison; that is the worst of it. You talk about it to others fast enough: but to Dr. Wycherley and myself, who could cure you of it, you would hide all about it, if you could.”
At this Alfred rose and put his hands in his pockets and looked down grimly on his inquisitor. “Mr. Speers,” said he, “you had better go. There is no credit to be gained by throwing so small an apothecary as you out of that window; and you won’t find it pleasant either; for, if you provoke me to it, I shall not stand upon ceremony: I shan’t open the window first, as I should for Dr. What’s his confounded name.”
At these suggestive words, spoken with suppressed ire and flashing eyes, Speers scuttled31 to the door crabwise, holding the young lion in check conventionally — to wit, with an eye as valiant32 as a sheep’s; and a joyful33 apothecary was he when he found himself safe outside the house and beside Dr. Wycherley, who was waiting for him.
Alfred soon cooled, and began to laugh at his own anger and the unbounded impudence34 of his visitors: but, on the other hand, it struck him as a grave circumstance that so able a man as his father should stir muddy water; should go and talk to these strangers about the money he had misappropriated. He puzzled himself all the time he was dressing35: and, not to trouble the reader with all the conjectures36 that passed through his mind, he concluded at last, that Mr. Hardie must feel very strong, very sure there was no evidence against him but his son’s, or he would not take the eighth commandment by the horns like this.
“Injustice37 carries it with a high hand,” thought Alfred, with a sigh. He was not the youth to imitate his father’s shamelessness: so he locked this last incident in his own breast; did not even mention it to Julia.
But now, on reading Peggy’s note, his warlike instincts awoke, and, though he despised his correspondent and her motives38, he could not let such a chance pass of defeating brazen39 injustice. It was unfortunate and awkward to have to go to Silverton on his wedding morning; but, after all, there was plenty of time. He packed up his things at once for the wedding tour, and in the morning took them with him in the fly to Silverton: his plan was to come back direct to Albion Villa40: so he went to Silverton Grove full dressed, all ready for the wedding.
As it happened he overtook his friend Peterson just outside the town, called to him gaily41, and invited him to church and breakfast.
To his surprise the young gentleman replied sullenly42 that he should certainly not come.
“Not come, old fellow?” said Alfred, hurt.
“You have a good cheek to ask me,” retorted the other.
This led to an explanation. Peterson’s complaint was that he had told Alfred he was in love with Julia, and Alfred had gone directly and fallen in love with her just to cut him out.
“What are you talking about?” said Alfred. “So this is the reason you have kept away from me of late: why, I was engaged to her at the very time; only my father was keeping us apart.”
“Then why didn’t you say so?”
“Because my love is not of the prattling44 sort.”
“Oh, nonsense; I don’t believe a word of it.”
“You don’t believe my word! Did you ever know me tell a lie? At that rate think what you please, sir: drive on, Strabo.”
And so ended that little friendship.
On the road our ardent youth arranged in his head a noble scheme. He would bring Peggy Black home with him, compensating45 her liberally for the place she would thereby46 lose: would confront her privately47 with his father, and convince him it was his interest to restore the Dodds their money with a good grace, take the L. 5000 he had already offered, and countenance48 the wedding by letting Jane be present at it. It was hard to do all this in the time, but well worth trying for, and not impossible. A two-horse fly is not a slow conveyance49, and he offered the man a guinea to drive fast; so that it was not nine o’clock when they reached Silverton Grove House, a place Alfred had never heard of. This, however, I may observe, was no wonder: for it had not borne that name a twelve-month.
It was a large square mansion50 of red brick, with stone facings and corners, and with balustrades that hid the garret windows. It stood in its own grounds, and the entrance was through handsome iron gates, one of which was wide open to admit people on foot or horseback. The flyman got down and tried to open the other, but could not manage it. “There, don’t waste time,” said Alfred impatiently, “let me out.”
He found a notice under the bell, “Ring and enter.” He rang accordingly, and at the clang the hall-door opened, as if he had pulled a porter along with the bell; and a grey-haired servant out of livery stood on the steps to receive him. Alfred hurried across the plat, which was trimmed as neatly51 as a college green, and asked the servant if he could see Margaret Black.
“Margaret Black?” said the man doubtfully: “I’ll inquire, sir. Please to follow me.”
They entered a handsome hall, with antlers and armour52: from this a double staircase led up to a landing with folding doors in the centre of it; one of these doors was wide open like the iron gate outside. The servant showed Alfred up the left-hand staircase, through the open door, into a spacious53 drawing-room, handsomely though not gaily furnished and decorated, but a little darkened by Venetian blinds.
The old servant walked gravely on and on, till Alfred began to think he would butt54 the wall; but he put his hand out and opened a door that might very well escape a stranger’s notice; for it was covered with looking-glass, and matched another narrow mirror in shape and size. This door led into a very long room, as plain and even sordid55 as the drawing-room was inviting56: the unpapered walls were a cold drab, and wanted washing; there was a thick cobweb up in one corner, and from the ceiling hung the tail of another, which the housemaid’s broom had scotched57 not killed: that side of the room they entered by was all books. The servant said, “Stay here a moment, sir, and I’ll send her to you.” With this he retired58 into the drawing-room, closing the door softly after him: once closed it became invisible; it fitted like wax, and left nothing to be seen but books; not even a knob. It shut to with that gentle but clean click which a spring bolt, however polished and oiled and gently closed, will emit. Altogether it was enough to give some people a turn. But Alfred’s nerves were not to be affected59 by trifles; he put his hands in his pockets and walked up and down the room, quietly enough at first, but by-and-bye uneasily. “Confound her for wasting my time,” thought he; “why doesn’t she come?
Then, as he had learned to pick up the fragments of time, and hated dawdling60, he went to take a book from the shelves.
He found it was a piece of iron, admirably painted: it chilled his hand with its unexpected coldness: and all the books on and about the door were iron and chilly61.
“Well,” thought he, “this is the first dummy62 ever took me in. What a fool the man must be! Why he could have bought books with ideas in them for the price of these impostors.”
Still Peggy did not come. So he went to a door opposite, and at right angles to the farthest window, meaning to open it and inquire after her: lo and behold63 he found this was a knob without a door. There had been a door but it was blocked up. The only available door on that side had a keyhole, but no latch64, nor handle.
Alfred was a prisoner.
He no sooner found this out than he began to hammer on the door with his fists, and call out.
This had a good effect, for he heard a woman’s dress come rustling65: a key was inserted, and the door opened. But, instead of Peggy, it was a tall well-formed woman of thirty, with dark grey eyes, and straightish eyebrows66 massive and black as jet. She was dressed quietly but like a lady. Mrs. Archbold, for that was her name, cast on Alfred one of those swift, all-devouring glances, with which her sex contrive67 to take in the features, character, and dress of a person from head to foot, and smiled most graciously on him, revealing a fine white set of teeth. She begged him to take a seat; and sat down herself. She had left the door ajar.
“I came to see Margaret Black,” said Alfred.
“Margaret Black? There is no such person here,” was the quiet reply.
“What! has she gone away so early as this?”
Mrs. Archbold smiled, and said soothingly68, “Are you sure she ever existed; except in your imagination?”
Alfred laughed at this, and showed her Peggy’s letter. She ran her eye over it, and returned it him with a smile of a different kind, half pitying, half cynical69. But presently resuming her former manner, “I remember now,” said she in dulcet70 tones: “the anxiety you are labouring under is about a large sum of money, is it not?”
“What, can you give me any information about it?” said he, surprised.
“I think we can render you great service in the matter, infinite service, Mr. Hardie,” was the reply, in a voice of very honey.
Alfred was amazed at this. “You say you don’t know Peggy! And yet you seem to know me. I never saw you in my life before, madam; what on earth is the meaning of all this?”
“Calm yourself,” said Mrs. Archbold, laying a white and finely moulded hand upon his arm, “there is no wonder nor mystery in the matter: you were expected.”
The colour rushed into Alfred’s face, and he started to his feet; some vague instinct told him to be gone from this place.
The lady fixed71 her eyes on him, put her hand to a gold chain that was round her neck, and drew out of her white bosom72, not a locket, nor a key, but an ivory whistle. Keeping her eye steadily73 fixed on Alfred, she breathed softly into the whistle. Then two men stepped quietly in at the door; one was a short, stout74 snob75, with great red whiskers, the other a wiry gentleman with iron-grey hair. The latter spoke30 to Alfred, and began to coax76 him. If Mrs. Archbold was honey, this personage was treacle77. “Be calm, my dear young gentleman; don’t agitate78 yourself. You have been sent here for your good; and that you may be cured, and so restored to society and to your anxious and affectionate friends.”
“What are you talking about? what do you mean?” cried Alfred; “are you mad?”
“No, we are not,” said the short snob, with a coarse laugh.
“Have done with this fooling, then,” said Alfred sharply; “the person I came to see is not here; good morning.”
The short man instantly stepped to the door, and put his back to it. The other said calmly, “ No, Mr. Hardie, you cannot leave the house at present.”
“Can’t I? Why not, pray?” said Alfred, drawing his breath hard: and his eyes began to glitter dangerously.
“We are responsible for your safety: we have force at hand if necessary; pray do not compel us to summon it.”
“Why, where am I?” said Alfred, panting now; “is this a prison?”
“No, no,” said Mrs. Archbold soothingly: “it is a place where you will be cured of your headaches and your delusions79, and subjected to no unnecessary pain nor restraint.”
“Oh, bother,” said the short snob brutally80. “Why make two bites of a cherry? You are in my asylum81, young gentleman, and a devilish lucky thing for you.”
At this fatal word, “asylum,” Alfred uttered a cry of horror and despair, and his eyes roved wildly round the room in search of escape. But the windows of the room, though outside the house they seemed to come as low as those of the drawing-room, were partly bricked-up within, and made just too high to be reached without a chair. And his captors read that wild glance directly, and the doctor whipped one chair away, while Mrs. Archbold, with more tact82, sat quietly down on the other. They all three blew their whistles shrilly83.
Alfred uttered an oath and rushed at the door; but heard heavy feet running on stone passages towards the whistles, and felt he had no chance out that way: his dilating84 eye fell upon the handle of the old defunct85 door: he made a high leap, came down with his left foot on its knob of brass86, and, though of course he could not stand on it, contrived87 to spring from it slap at the window — Mrs. Archbold screamed — he broke the glass with his shoulder, and tore and kicked the woodwork, and squeezed through on to a stone ledge88 outside, and stood there bleeding and panting, just as half a dozen keepers burst into the room at his back. He was more than twenty feet from the ground: to leap down was death or mutilation: he saw the flyman driving away. He yelled to him, “Hy! hy! stop! stop!” The flyman stopped and looked round. But soon as he saw who it was, he just grinned: Alfred could see his hideous89 grin; and there was the rattle90 of chairs being brought to the window, and men were mounting softly to secure him. A coarse hand stole towards his ankle; he took a swift step and sprang desperately91 on to the next ledge — it was an old manor92 house, and these ledges93 were nearly a foot broad — from this one he bounded to the next, and then to a third, the last but one on this side of the building. The corner ledge was but half the size, and offered no safe footing: but close to it he saw the outside leaves of a tree. That tree, then, must grow close to the corner; could he but get round to it he might yet reach the ground whole. Urged by that terror of a madhouse which is natural to a sane94 man, and in England is fed by occasional disclosures, and the general suspicion they excite, he leaped on to a piece of stone no bigger than one’s hat, and then whirled himself round into the tree, all eyes to see and claws to grasp.
It was a weeping ash: he could get hold of nothing but soft yielding slivers95, that went through his fingers, and so down with him like a bulrush, and souse he went with his hands full of green leaves over head and ears into the water of an enormous iron tank that fed the baths.
The heavy plunge96, the sudden cold water, the instant darkness, were appalling97: yet, like the fox among the hounds, the gallant98 young gentleman did not lose heart nor give tongue. He came up gurgling and gasping99, and swimming for his life in manly100 silence: he swam round and round the edge of the huge tank, trying in vain to get a hold upon its cold rusty101 walls. He heard whistles and voices about: they came faint to him where he was, but he knew they could not be very far off.
Life is sweet. It flashed across him how, a few years before, a university man of great promise had perished miserably102 in a tank on some Swiss mountain — a tank placed for the comfort of travellers. He lifted his eyes to Heaven in despair, and gave one great sob103.
Then he turned upon his back and floated: but he was obliged to paddle with his hands a little to keep up.
A window opened a few feet above him, and a face peered out between the bars.
Then he gave all up for lost, and looked to hear a voice denounce him; but no: the livid face and staring eyes at the window took no notice of him: it was a maniac104, whose eyes, bereft105 of reason, conveyed no images to the sentient106 brain. Only by some half vegetable instinct this darkened man was turning towards the morning sun, and staring it full in the face. Alfred saw the rays strike and sparkle on those glassy orbs107, and fire them; yet they never so much as winked108. He was appalled109 yet fascinated by this weird110 sight: could not take his eyes off it, and shuddered111 at it in the very water. With such creatures as that he must be confined, or die miserably like a mouse in a basin of water.
He hesitated between two horrors.
Presently his foot struck something, and he found it was a large pipe that entered the tank to the distance of about a foot This pipe was not more than three feet under water, and Alfred soon contrived to get upon it, and rest his fingers upon the iron edge of the tank. The position was painful: yet so he determined112 to remain till night: and then, if possible, steal away. Every faculty113 of mind and body was strung up to defend himself against the wretches115 who had entrapped116 him.
He had not been long in this position, when voices approached, and next the shadow of a ladder moved across the wall towards him. The keepers were going to search his pitiable hiding-place. They knew, what he did not, that there was no outlet117 from the premises118: so now, having hunted every other corner and cranny, they came by what is called the exhaustive process of reasoning to this tank; and when they got near it, something in the appearance of the tree caught the gardener’s quick eye. Alfred quaking heard him say, “Look here! He is not far from this.”
Another voice said, “Then the Lord have mercy on him; why there’s seven foot of water; I measured it last night.”
At this Alfred was conscious of a movement and a murmur119, that proved humanity was not extinct; and the ladder was fixed close to the tank, and feet came hastily up it.
Alfred despaired.
But, as usual with spirits so quickwitted and resolute120, it was but for a moment. “One man in his time plays many animals;” he caught at the words he had heard, and played the game the jackal desperate plays in India, the fox in England, the elephant in Ceylon: he feigned121 death; filled his mouth with water, floated on his back paddling imperceptibly, and half closed his eyes.
He was rewarded by a loud shout of dismay just above his head, and very soon another ladder was placed on the other side, and with ropes and hands he was drawn122 out and carried down the ladder: he took this opportunity to discharge the water from his mouth, on which a coarse voice said, “Look there! His troubles are at an end.”
However, they laid him on the grass, and sent for the doctor; then took off his coat, and one of them began to feel his heart to see whether there was any pulsation123 left: he found it thumping124. “Look out,” he cried in some alarm; “he’s shamming125 Abraham.”
But, before the words were well uttered, Alfred, who was a practised gymnast, bounded off the ground without touching126 it with his hands, and fled like a deer towards the front of the house: for he remembered the open iron gate. The attendants followed shouting, and whistle answered whistle all over the grounds. Alfred got safe to the iron gate: alas127! it had been closed at the first whistle twenty minutes ago. He turned in rage and desperation, and the head-keeper, a powerful man, was rushing incautiously upon him. Alfred instantly steadied himself, and with his long arm caught the man in full career a left-handed blow like the kick of a pony128, that laid his cheek open and knocked him stupid and staggering. He followed it up like lightning with his right, and, throwing his whole weight into this second blow, sent the staggering man to grass; slipped past another, and skirting the south side of the house got to the tank again well in advance of his pursuers, seized the ladder, carried it to the garden wall, and was actually half way up it, and saw the open country and liberty, when the ladder was dragged away and he fell heavily to the ground, and a keeper threw himself bodily on him. Alfred half expected this, and drawing up his foot in time, dashed it furiously in the coming face, actually knocking the man backwards129. Another kneeled on his chest: Alfred caught him by the throat so felly that he lost all power, and they rolled over and over together, and Alfred got clear and ran for it again, and got on the middle of the lawn, and hallooed to the house:—“Hy! hy! Are there any more sane men imprisoned130 there? Come out, and fight for your lives!” Instantly the open windows were filled with white faces, some grinning, some exulting131, all greatly excited; and a hideous uproar132 shook the whole place — for the poor souls were all sane in their own opinion — and the whole force of attendants, two of them bleeding profusely133 from his blows, made a cordon134 and approached him. But he was too cunning to wait to be fairly surrounded; he made his rush at an under-keeper, feinted at his head, caught him a heavy blow in the pit of the stomach, doubled him up in a moment, and off again, leaving the man on his knees vomiting135 and groaning136. Several mild maniacs137 ran out in vast agitation138, and, to curry139 favour, offered to help catch him. Vast was their zeal140. But when it came to the point, they only danced wildly about and cried, “Stop him! for God’s sake stop him! he’s ill, dreadfully ill; poor wretch114! knock out his brains!” And, whenever he came near them, away they ran whining141 like kicked curs.
Mrs. Archbold, looking out at a window, advised them all to let him alone, and she would come out and persuade him. But they would not be advised: they chased him about the lawn; but so swift of foot was he, and so long in the reach, that no one of them could stop him, nor indeed come near him, without getting a facer that came like a flash of lightning.
At last, however, they got so well round him, he saw his chance was gone: he took off his hat to Mrs. Archbold at the window, and said quietly, “I surrender to you, madam.”
At these words they rushed on him rashly. On this he planted two blows right and left, swift as a cat attacked by dogs; administered two fearful black eyes, and instantly folded his arms, saying haughtily142, “It was to the lady I yielded, not to you fellows.”
They seized him, shook their fists in his face, cursed him, and pinned him. He was quite passive: they handcuffed him, and drove him before them, shoving him every now and then roughly by the shoulders. He made no resistance, spoke no word. They took him to the strong-room, and manacled his ankles together with an iron hobble, and then strapped143 them to the bed-posts, and fastened his body down by broad bands of ticking with leathern straps144 at the ends: and so left him more helpless than a swaddled infant. The hurry and excitement of defence were over, and a cold stupor145 of misery146 came down and sat like lead on him. He lay mute as death in his gloomy cell, a tomb within a living tomb. And, as he lay, deeper horror grew and grew in his dilating eyes: gusts147 of rage swept over him, shook him, and passed: then gusts of despairing tenderness; all came and went, but his bonds. What would his Julia think? If he could only let her know! At this thought he called, he shouted, he begged for a messenger; there was no reply. The cry of a dangerous lunatic from the strong-room was less heeded148 here than a bark from any dog-kennel in Christendom. “This is my father’s doing,” he said. “Curse him! Curse him Curse him!” and his brain seemed on fire, his temples throbbed149: he vowed150 to God to be revenged on his father.
Then he writhed151 at his own meanness in coming to visit a servant and his folly152 in being caught by so shallow an artifice153. He groaned154 aloud. The clock in the hall struck ten. There was just time to get back if they would lend him a conveyance. He shouted, he screamed, he prayed. He offered terms humbly155, piteously; he would forgive his father, forgive them all, he would say no more about the money, would do anything, consent to anything, if they would only let him keep faith with his Julia: they had better consent, and not provoke his vengeance156. “Have mercy on me!” he cried. “Don’t make me insult her I love. They will all be waiting for me. It is my wedding-day; you can’t have known it is my wedding-day; fiends, monsters, I tell you it is my wedding-day. Oh, pray send the lady to me; she can’t be all stone, and my misery might melt a stone.” He listened for an answer, he prayed for an answer. There was none. Once in a mad-house, the sanest157 man is mad, however interested and barefaced158 the motive of the relative who has brought two of the most venal159 class upon the earth to sign away his wits behind his back. And once hobbled and strapped, he is a dangerous maniac, for just so many days, weeks, or years, as the hobbles, handcuffs, and jacket happen to be left upon him by inhumanity, economy, or simple carelessness. Poor Alfred’s cries and prayers were heard, but no more noticed than the night howl of a wolf on some distant mountain. All was sullen43 silence, but the grating tongue of the clock, which told the victim of a legislature’s shallowness and a father’s avarice160 — that Time, deaf to his woe161, as were the walls, the men, the women, and the cutting bands, was stealing away with iron finger his last chance of meeting his beloved at the altar.
He closed his eyes, and saw her lovelier than ever, dressed all in white, waiting for him with sweet concern in that peerless face. “Julia! Julia!” he cried, with a loud heart-broken cry. The half-hour struck. At that he struggled, he writhed, he bounded: he made the very room shake, and lacerated his flesh; but that was all. No answer. No motion. No help. No hope.
The perspiration162 rolled down his steaming body. The tears burst from his young eyes and ran down his cheeks. he sobbed163, and sobbing164 almost choked, so tight were his linen165 bands upon his bursting bosom.
The clock ticked harshly on: the rest was silence. With this miserable167 exception: ever and anon the victim’s jammed body shuddered so terribly it shook and rattled168 the iron bedstead, and told of the storm within, the agony of the racked and all foreboding soul.
For then rolled over that young head hours of mortal anguish169 that no tongue of man can utter, nor pen can shadow. Chained sane amongst the mad; on his wedding-day; expecting with tied hands the sinister170 acts of the soul-murderers who had the power to make their lie a truth! We can paint the body writhing171 vainly against its unjust bonds; but who can paint the loathing172, agonised soul in a mental situation so ghastly? For my part I feel it in my heart of hearts; but am impotent to convey it to others; impotent, impotent.
Pray think of it for yourselves, men and women, if you have not sworn never to think over a novel. Think of it for your own sakes: Alfred’s turn today, it may be yours tomorrow.
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grove
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beguiled
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repugnance
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worthy
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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insomnia
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| n.失眠，失眠症 | |
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8
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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9
galled
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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11
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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12
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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13
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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14
clandestinely
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| adv.秘密地，暗中地 | |
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15
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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16
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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17
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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18
solvent
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| n.溶剂；adj.有偿付能力的 | |
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19
circumlocution
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| n. 绕圈子的话，迂回累赘的陈述 | |
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20
vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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21
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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22
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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23
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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24
apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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25
apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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26
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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27
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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28
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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29
shun
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| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
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30
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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31
scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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32
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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33
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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34
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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35
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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36
conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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37
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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38
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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39
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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40
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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41
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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42
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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43
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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44
prattling
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的现在分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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45
compensating
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| 补偿，补助，修正 | |
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46
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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47
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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48
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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49
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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50
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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51
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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52
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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53
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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54
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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55
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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56
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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57
scotched
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| v.阻止( scotch的过去式和过去分词 )；制止（车轮）转动；弄伤；镇压 | |
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58
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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59
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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60
dawdling
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| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
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61
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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62
dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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63
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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64
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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65
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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66
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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67
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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68
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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69
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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70
dulcet
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| adj.悦耳的 | |
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71
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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72
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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73
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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75
snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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76
coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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77
treacle
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| n.糖蜜 | |
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78
agitate
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|
| vi.(for,against)煽动，鼓动；vt.搅动 | |
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79
delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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80
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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81
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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82
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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83
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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84
dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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85
defunct
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| adj.死亡的；已倒闭的 | |
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86
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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87
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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88
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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89
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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90
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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91
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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92
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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93
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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94
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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95
slivers
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| （切割或断裂下来的）薄长条，碎片( sliver的名词复数 ) | |
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96
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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97
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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98
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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99
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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100
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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101
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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102
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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103
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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104
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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105
bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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106
sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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107
orbs
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| abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球，天体，圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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108
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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109
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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110
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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111
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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112
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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113
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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114
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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115
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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116
entrapped
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| v.使陷入圈套，使入陷阱( entrap的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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118
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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119
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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120
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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121
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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122
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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123
pulsation
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| n.脉搏，悸动，脉动；搏动性 | |
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124
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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125
shamming
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| 假装，冒充( sham的现在分词 ) | |
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126
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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127
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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128
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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129
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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130
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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131
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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132
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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133
profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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134
cordon
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| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
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135
vomiting
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| 吐 | |
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136
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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137
maniacs
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| n.疯子（maniac的复数形式） | |
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138
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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139
curry
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| n.咖哩粉，咖哩饭菜；v.用咖哩粉调味，用马栉梳，制革 | |
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140
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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141
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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142
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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143
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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144
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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145
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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146
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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147
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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148
heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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150
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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151
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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153
artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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154
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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155
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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156
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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157
sanest
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| adj.心智健全的( sane的最高级 )；神志正常的；明智的；稳健的 | |
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158
barefaced
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| adj.厚颜无耻的，公然的 | |
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159
venal
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| adj.唯利是图的，贪脏枉法的 | |
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160
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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161
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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162
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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163
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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164
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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165
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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166
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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167
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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168
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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169
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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170
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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171
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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172
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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