Though among the first to be arrested at the time of the panic before Montaignac, the Baron1 d’Escorval had not for an instant deluded2 himself with false hopes.
“I am a lost man,” he thought. And confronting death calmly, he now thought only of the danger that threatened his son.
His mistake before the judges was the result of his preoccupation.
He did not breathe freely until he saw Maurice led from the hall by Abbe Midon and the friendly officers, for he knew that his son would try to confess connection with the affair.
Then, calm and composed, with head erect3, and steadfast4 eye, he listened to the death-sentence.
In the confusion that ensued in removing the prisoners from the hall, the baron found himself beside Chanlouineau, who had begun his noisy lamentations.
“Courage, my boy,” he said, indignant at such apparent cowardice5.
“Ah! it is easy to talk,” whined6 the young farmer.
Then seeing that no one was observing them, he leaned toward the baron, and whispered:
“It is for you I am working. Save all your strength for to-night.”
Chanlouineau’s words and burning glance surprised M. d’Escorval, but he attributed both to fear. When the guards took him back to his cell, he threw himself upon his pallet, and before him rose that vision of the last hour, which is at once the hope and despair of those who are about to die.
He knew the terrible laws that govern a court-martial7. The next day — in a few hours — at dawn, perhaps, they would take him from his cell, place him in front of a squad9 of soldiers, an officer would lift his sword, and all would be over.
Then what was to become of his wife and his son?
His agony on thinking of these dear ones was terrible. He was alone; he wept.
But suddenly he started up, ashamed of his weakness. He must not allow these thoughts to unnerve him. He was determined10 to meet death unflinchingly. Resolved to shake off the profound melancholy11 that was creeping over him, he walked about his cell, forcing his mind to occupy itself with material objects.
The room which had been allotted12 to him was very large. It had once communicated with the apartment adjoining; but the door had been walled up for a long time. The cement which held the large blocks of stone together had crumbled13 away, leaving crevices15 through which one might look from one room into the other.
M. d’Escorval mechanically applied16 his eye to one of these interstices. Perhaps he had a friend for a neighbor, some wretched man who was to share his fate. He saw no one. He called, first in a whisper, then louder. No voice responded to his.
“If I could only tear down this thin partition,” he thought.
He trembled, then shrugged17 his shoulders. And if he did, what then? He would only find himself in another apartment similar to his own, and opening like his upon a corridor full of guards, whose monotonous18 tramp he could plainly hear as they passed to and fro.
What folly19 to think of escape! He knew that every possible precaution must have been taken to guard against it.
Yes, he knew this, and yet he could not refrain from examining his window. Two rows of iron bars protected it. These were placed in such a way that it was impossible for him to put out his head and see how far he was above the ground. The height, however, must be considerable, judging from the extent of the view.
The sun was setting; and through the violet haze20 the baron could discern an undulating line of hills, whose culminating point must be the land of the Reche.
The dark masses of foliage21 that he saw on the right were probably the forests of Sairmeuse. On the left, he divined rather than saw, nestling between the hills, the valley of the Oiselle and Escorval.
Escorval, that lovely retreat where he had known such happiness, where he had hoped to die the calm and serene22 death of the just.
And remembering his past felicity, and thinking of his vanished dreams, his eyes once more filled with tears. But he quickly dried them on hearing the door of his cell open.
Two soldiers appeared.
One of the men bore a torch, the other, one of those long baskets divided into compartments23 which are used in carrying meals to the officers on guard.
These men were evidently deeply moved, and yet, obeying a sentiment of instinctive24 delicacy25, they affected26 a sort of gayety.
“Here is your dinner, Monsieur,” said one soldier; “it ought to be very good, for it comes from the cuisine27 of the commander of the citadel28.”
M. d’Escorval smiled sadly. Some attentions on the part of one’s jailer have a sinister29 significance. Still, when he seated himself before the little table which they prepared for him, he found that he was really hungry.
He ate with a relish30, and chatted quite cheerfully with the soldiers.
“Always hope for the best, sir,” said one of these worthy31 fellows. “Who knows? Stranger things have happened!”
When the baron finished his repast, he asked for pen, ink, and paper. They brought what he desired.
He found himself again alone; but his conversation with the soldiers had been of service to him. His weakness had passed; his sang-froid had returned; he would now reflect.
He was surprised that he had heard nothing from Mme. d’Escorval and from Maurice.
Could it be that they had been refused access to the prison? No, they could not be; he could not imagine that there existed men sufficiently32 cruel to prevent a doomed33 man from pressing to his heart, in a last embrace, his wife and his son.
Yet, how was it that neither the baroness34 nor Maurice had made an attempt to see him! Something must have prevented them from doing so. What could it be?
He imagined the worst misfortunes. He saw his wife writhing35 in agony, perhaps dead. He pictured Maurice, wild with grief, upon his knees at the bedside of his mother.
But they might come yet. He consulted his watch. It marked the hour of seven.
But he waited in vain. No one came.
He took up his pen, and was about to write, when he heard a bustle36 in the corridor outside. The clink of spurs resounded37 on the flags; he heard the sharp clink of the rifle as the guard presented arms.
Trembling, the baron sprang up, saying:
“They have come at last!”
He was mistaken; the footsteps died away in the distance.
“A round of inspection38!” he murmured.
But at the same moment, two objects thrown through the tiny opening in the door of his cell fell on the floor in the middle of the room.
M. d’Escorval caught them up. Someone had thrown him two files.
His first feeling was one of distrust. He knew that there were jailers who left no means untried to dishonor their prisoners before delivering them to the executioner.
Was it a friend, or an enemy, that had given him these instruments of deliverance and of liberty.
Chanlouineau’s words and the look that accompanied them recurred39 to his mind, perplexing him still more.
He was standing40 with knitted brows, turning and returning the fine and well-tempered files in his hands, when he suddenly perceived upon the floor a tiny scrap41 of paper which had, at first, escaped his notice.
He snatched it up, unfolded it, and read:
“Your friends are at work. Everything is prepared for your escape.
Make haste and saw the bars of your window. Maurice and his mother
embrace you. Hope, courage!”
Beneath these few lines was the letter M.
But the baron did not need this initial to be reassured42. He had recognized Abbe Midon’s handwriting.
“Ah! he is a true friend,” he murmured.
Then the recollection of his doubts and despair arose in his mind.
“This explains why neither my wife nor son came to visit me,” he thought. “And I doubted their energy — and I was complaining of their neglect!”
Intense joy filled his breast; he raised the letter that promised him life and liberty to his lips, and enthusiastically exclaimed:
“To work! to work!”
He had chosen the finest of the two files, and was about to attack the ponderous43 bars, when he fancied he heard someone open the door of the next room.
Someone had opened it, certainly. The person closed it again, but did not lock it.
Then the baron heard someone moving cautiously about. What did all this mean? Were they incarcerating44 some new prisoner, or were they stationing a spy there?
Listening breathlessly, the baron heard a singular sound, whose cause it was absolutely impossible to explain.
Noiselessly he advanced to the former communicating door, knelt, and peered through one of the interstices.
The sight that met his eyes amazed him.
A man was standing in a corner of the room. The baron could see the lower part of the man’s body by the light of a large lantern which he had deposited on the floor at his feet. He was turning around and around very quickly, by this movement unwinding a long rope which had been twined around his body as thread is wound about a bobbin.
M. d’Escorval rubbed his eyes as if to assure himself that he was not dreaming. Evidently this rope was intended for him. It was to be attached to the broken bars.
But how had this man succeeded in gaining admission to this room? Who could it be that enjoyed such liberty in the prison? He was not a soldier — or, at least, he did not wear a uniform.
Unfortunately, the highest crevice14 was in such a place that the visual ray did not strike the upper part of the man’s body; and, despite the baron’s efforts, he was unable to see the face of this friend — he judged him to be such — whose boldness verged45 on folly.
Unable to resist his intense curiosity, M. d’Escorval was on the point of rapping on the wall to question him, when the door of the room occupied by this man, whom the baron already called his saviour46, was impetuously thrown open.
Another man entered, whose face was also outside the baron’s range of vision; and the new-comer, in a tone of astonishment47, exclaimed:
“Good heavens! what are you doing?”
The baron drew back in despair.
“All is discovered!” he thought.
The man whom M. d’Escorval believed to be his friend did not pause in his labor48 of unwinding the rope, and it was in the most tranquil49 voice that he responded:
“As you see, I am freeing myself from this burden of rope, which I find extremely uncomfortable. There are at least sixty yards of it, I should think — and what a bundle it makes! I feared they would discover it under my cloak.”
“And what are you going to do with all this rope?” inquired the new-comer.
“I am going to hand it to Baron d’Escorval, to whom I have already given a file. He must make his escape to-night.”
So improbable was this scene that the baron could not believe his own ears.
“I cannot be awake; I must be dreaming,” he thought.
The new-comer uttered a terrible oath, and, in an almost threatening tone, he said:
“We will see about that! If you have gone mad, I, thank God! still possess my reason! I will not permit ——”
“Pardon!” interrupted the other, coldly, “you will permit it. This is merely the result of your own — credulity. When Chanlouineau asked you to allow him to receive a visit from Mademoiselle Lacheneur, that was the time you should have said: ‘I will not permit it.’ Do you know what the fellow desired? Simply to give Mademoiselle Lacheneur a letter of mine, so compromising in its natures that if it ever reaches the hands of a certain person of my acquaintance, my father and I will be obliged to reside in London in future. Then farewell to the projects for an alliance between our two families!”
The new-comer heaved a mighty50 sigh, accompanied by a half-angry, half-sorrowful exclamation51; but the other, without giving him any opportunity to reply, resumed:
“You, yourself, Marquis, would doubtless be compromised. Were you not a chamberlain during the reign52 of Bonaparte? Ah, Marquis! how could a man of your experience, a man so subtle, and penetrating53, and acute, allow himself to be duped by a low, ignorant peasant?”
Now M. d’Escorval understood. He was not dreaming; it was the Marquis de Courtornieu and Martial de Sairmeuse who were talking on the other side of the wall.
This poor M. de Courtornieu had been so entirely54 crushed by Martial’s revelation that he no longer made any effort to oppose him.
“And this terrible letter?” he groaned55.
“Marie-Anne Lacheneur gave it to Abbe Midon, who came to me and said: ‘Either the baron will escape, or this letter will be taken to the Duc de Richelieu.’ I voted for the baron’s escape, I assure you. The abbe procured56 all that was necessary; he met me at a rendezvous58 which I appointed in a quiet spot; he coiled all his rope about my body, and here I am.”
“Then you think if the baron escapes they will give you back your letter?”
“Most assuredly.”
“Deluded man! As soon as the baron is safe, they will demand the life of another prisoner, with the same menaces.”
“By no means.”
“You will see.”
“I shall see nothing of the kind, for a very simple reason. I have the letter now in my pocket. The abbe gave it to me in exchange for my word of honor.”
M. de Courtornieu’s exclamation proved that he considered the abbe an egregious59 fool.
“What!” he exclaimed. “You hold the proof, and — But this is madness! Burn this accursed letter by the flames of this lantern, and let the baron go where his slumbers60 will be undisturbed.”
Martial’s silence betrayed something like stupor61.
“What! you would do this — you?” he demanded, at last.
“Certainly — and without the slightest hesitation62.”
“Ah, well! I cannot say that I congratulate you.”
The sneer63 was so apparent that M. de Courtornieu was sorely tempted64 to make an angry response. But he was not a man to yield to his first impulse — this former chamberlain under the Emperor, now become a grand prevot under the Restoration.
He reflected. Should he, on account of a sharp word, quarrel with Martial — with the only suitor who had pleased his daughter? A rupture65 — then he would be left without any prospect66 of a son-in-law! When would Heaven send him such another? And how furious Mlle. Blanche would be!
He concluded to swallow the bitter pill; and it was with a paternal67 indulgence of manner that he said:
“You are young, my dear Martial.”
The baron was still kneeling by the partition, his ear glued to the crevices, holding his breath in an agony of suspense68.
“You are only twenty, my dear Martial,” pursued the Marquis de Courtornieu; “you possess the ardent69 enthusiasm and generosity70 of youth. Complete your undertaking71; I shall interpose no obstacle; but remember that all may be discovered — and then ——”
“Have no fears, sir,” interrupted the young marquis; “I have taken every precaution. Did you see a single soldier in the corridor, just now? No. That is because my father has, at my solicitation72, assembled all the officers and guards under pretext73 of ordering exceptional precautions. He is talking to them now. This gave me an opportunity to come here unobserved. No one will see me when I go out. Who, then, will dare suspect me of having any hand in the baron’s escape?”
“If the baron escapes, justice will demand to know who aided him.”
Martial laughed.
“If justice seeks to know, she will find a culprit of my providing. Go now; I have told you all. I had but one person to fear: that was yourself. A trusty messenger requested you to join me here. You came; you know all, you have agreed to remain neutral. I am tranquil. The baron will be safe in Piedmont when the sun rises.”
He picked up his lantern, and added, gayly:
“But let us go — my father cannot harangue74 those soldiers forever.”
“But,” insisted M. de Courtornieu, “you have not told me ——”
“I will tell you all, but not here. Come, come!”
They went out, locking the door behind them; and then the baron rose from his knees.
All sorts of contradictory75 ideas, doubts, and conjectures76 filled his mind.
What could this letter have contained? Why had not Chanlouineau used it to procure57 his own salvation77? Who would have believed that Martial would be so faithful to a promise wrested78 from him by threats?
But this was a time for action, not for reflection. The bars were heavy, and there were two rows of them.
M. d’Escorval set to work.
He had supposed that the task would be difficult. It was a thousand times more so than he had expected; he discovered this almost immediately.
It was the first time that he had ever worked with a file, and he did not know how to use it. His progress was despairingly slow.
Nor was that all. Though he worked as cautiously as possible, each movement of the instrument across the iron produced a harsh, grating sound that froze his blood with terror. What if someone should overhear this noise? And it seemed to him impossible for it to escape notice, since he could plainly distinguish the measured tread of the guards, who had resumed their watch in the corridor.
So slight was the result of his labors79, that at the end of twenty minutes he experienced a feeling of profound discouragement.
At this rate, it would be impossible for him to sever80 the first bar before daybreak, What, then, was the use of spending his time in fruitless labor? Why mar8 the dignity of death by the disgrace of an unsuccessful effort to escape?
He was hesitating when footsteps approached his cell. He hastened to seat himself at the table.
The door opened and a soldier entered, to whom an officer who did not cross the threshold remarked:
“You have your instructions, Corporal, keep a close watch. If the prisoner needs anything, call.”
M. de Escorval’s heart throbbed81 almost to bursting. What was coming now?
Had M. de Courtornieu’s counsels carried the day, or had Martial sent someone to aid him?
“We must not be dawdling82 here,” said the corporal, as soon as the door was closed.
M. d’Escorval bounded from his chair. This man was a friend. Here was aid and life.
“I am Bavois,” continued the corporal. “Someone said to me just now: ‘A friend of the Emperor is in danger; are you willing to lend him a helping83 hand?’ I replied: ‘Present,’ and here I am!”
This certainly was a brave soul. The baron extended his hand, and in a voice trembling with emotion:
“Thanks,” said he; “thanks to you who, without knowing me, expose yourself to the greatest danger for my sake.”
Bavois shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.
“Positively, my old hide is no more precious than yours. If we do not succeed, they will chop off our heads with the same axe84. But we shall succeed. Now, let us cease talking and proceed to business.”
As he spoke85 he drew from beneath his long overcoat a strong iron crowbar and a small vial of brandy, and deposited them upon the bed.
He then took the candle and passed it back and forth86 before the window five or six times.
“What are you doing?” inquired the baron, in suspense.
“I am signalling to your friends that everything is progressing favorably. They are down there waiting for us; and see, now they are answering.”
The baron looked, and three times they saw a little flash of flame like that produced by the burning of a pinch of gunpowder87.
“Now,” said the corporal, “we are all right. Let us see what progress you have made with the bars.”
“I have scarcely begun,” murmured M. d’Escorval.
The corporal inspected the work.
“You may indeed say that you have made no progress,” said he; “but, never mind, I have been a locksmith, and I know how to handle a file.”
Having drawn88 the cork89 from the vial of brandy which he had brought, he fastened the stopper to the end of one of the files, and swathed the handle of the instrument with a piece of damp linen90.
“That is what they call putting a stop on the instrument,” he remarked, by way of explanation.
Then he made an energetic attack on the bars. It at once became evident that he had not exaggerated his knowledge of the subject, nor the efficacy of his precautions for deadening the sound. The harsh grating that had so alarmed the baron was no longer heard, and Bavois, finding he had nothing more to dread92 from the keenest ears, now made preparations to shelter himself from observation.
To cover the opening in the door would arouse suspicion at once — so the corporal adopted another expedient93.
Moving the little table to another part of the room, he placed the light upon it, in such a position that the window remained entirely in shadow.
Then he ordered the baron to sit down, and handing him a paper, said:
“Now read aloud, without stopping for an instant, until you see me cease work.”
By this method they might reasonably hope to deceive the guards outside in the corridor. Some of them, indeed, did come to the door and look in, then went away to say to their companions:
“We have just taken a look at the prisoner. He is very pale, and his eyes are glittering feverishly94. He is reading aloud to divert his mind. Corporal Bavois is looking out of the window. It must be dull music for him.”
The baron’s voice would also be of advantage in overpowering any suspicious sound, should there be one.
And while Bavois worked, M. d’Escorval read, read, read.
He had completed the perusal95 of the entire paper, and was about to begin it again, when the old soldier, leaving the window, motioned him to stop.
“Half the task is completed,” he said, in a whisper. “The lower bars are cut.”
“Ah! how can I ever repay you for your devotion!” murmured the baron.
“Hush! not a word!” interrupted Bavois. “If I escape with you, I can never return here; and I shall not know where to go, for the regiment96, you see, is my only family. Ah, well! if you will give me a home with you, I shall be content.”
Whereupon he swallowed a big draught97 of brandy, and set to work with renewed ardor98.
The corporal had cut one of the second row of bars, when he was interrupted by M. d’Escorval, who, without discontinuing his reading, had approached and pulled Bavois’s long coat to attract his attention.
He turned quickly.
“What is it?”
“I heard a singular noise.”
“Where?”
“In the adjoining room where the ropes are.”
Honest Bavois muttered a terrible oath.
“Do they intend to betray us? I risked my life, and they promised me fair play.”
He placed his ear against an opening in the partition, and listened for a long time. Nothing, not the slightest sound.
“It must have been some rat that you heard,” he said, at last. “Resume your reading.”
And he began his work again. This was the only interruption, and a little before four o’clock everything was ready. The bars were cut, and the ropes, which had been drawn through an opening in the wall, were coiled under the window.
The decisive moment had come. Bavois took the counterpane from the bed, fastened it over the opening in the door, and filled up the key-hole.
“Now,” said he, in the same measured tone which he would have used in instructing his recruits, “attention, sir, and obey the word of command.” Then he calmly explained that the escape would consist of two distinct operations; the first in gaining the narrow platform at the base of the tower; the second, in descending99 to the foot of the precipitous rock.
The abbe, who understood this, had brought Martial two ropes; the one to be used in the descent of the precipice100 being considerably101 longer than the other.
“I will fasten the shortest rope under your arms, Monsieur, and I will let you down to the base of the tower. When you have reached it, I will pass you the longer rope and the crowbar. Do not miss them. If we find ourselves without them, on that narrow ledge91 of rock, we shall either be compelled to deliver ourselves up, or throw ourselves down the precipice. I shall not be long in joining you. Are you ready?”
M. d’Escorval lifted his arms, the rope was fastened securely about him, and he crawled through the window.
From there the height seemed immense. Below, in the barren fields that surrounded the citadel, eight persons were waiting, silent, anxious, breathless.
They were Mme. d’Escorval and Maurice, Marie-Anne, Abbe Midon, and the four retired102 army officers.
There was no moon; but the night was very clear, and they could see the tower quite plainly.
Soon after four o’clock sounded they saw a dark object glide103 slowly down the side of the tower — it was the baron. After a little, another form followed very rapidly — it was Bavois.
Half of the perilous104 journey was accomplished105.
From below, they could see the two figures moving about on the narrow platform. The corporal and the baron were exerting all their strength to fix the crowbar securely in a crevice of the rock.
In a moment or two one of the figures stepped from the projecting rock and glided106 gently down the side of the precipice.
It could be none other than M. d’Escorval. Transported with happiness, his wife sprang forward with open arms to receive him.
Wretched woman! A terrific cry rent the still night air.
M. d’Escorval was falling from a height of fifty feet; he was hurled107 down to the foot of the rocky precipice. The rope had parted.
Had it broken naturally?
Maurice, who examined the end of it, exclaimed with horrible imprecations of hatred108 and vengeance109 that they had been betrayed — that their enemy had arranged to deliver only a dead body into their hands — that the rope, in short, had been foully110 tampered111 with — cut!
收听单词发音 |
1
baron
|
|
| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
deluded
|
|
| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
steadfast
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
cowardice
|
|
| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
whined
|
|
| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
martial
|
|
| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
mar
|
|
| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
squad
|
|
| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
allotted
|
|
| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
crumbled
|
|
| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
crevice
|
|
| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
crevices
|
|
| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
haze
|
|
| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
foliage
|
|
| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
compartments
|
|
| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
instinctive
|
|
| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
cuisine
|
|
| n.烹调，烹饪法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
citadel
|
|
| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
sinister
|
|
| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
relish
|
|
| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
doomed
|
|
| 命定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
baroness
|
|
| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
writhing
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
bustle
|
|
| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
resounded
|
|
| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
inspection
|
|
| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
recurred
|
|
| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
scrap
|
|
| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
reassured
|
|
| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
ponderous
|
|
| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
incarcerating
|
|
| vt.监禁，禁闭（incarcerate的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
45
verged
|
|
| 接近，逼近（verge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
saviour
|
|
| n.拯救者，救星 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
labor
|
|
| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
tranquil
|
|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
penetrating
|
|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
procured
|
|
| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
procure
|
|
| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
rendezvous
|
|
| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
egregious
|
|
| adj.非常的，过分的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
slumbers
|
|
| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
stupor
|
|
| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
rupture
|
|
| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
paternal
|
|
| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
generosity
|
|
| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
undertaking
|
|
| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
solicitation
|
|
| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
pretext
|
|
| n.借口，托词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
harangue
|
|
| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
contradictory
|
|
| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
conjectures
|
|
| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
salvation
|
|
| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
wrested
|
|
| （用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
labors
|
|
| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
sever
|
|
| v.切开，割开；断绝，中断 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
throbbed
|
|
| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
dawdling
|
|
| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
axe
|
|
| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
gunpowder
|
|
| n.火药 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
cork
|
|
| n.软木，软木塞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
linen
|
|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
ledge
|
|
| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
expedient
|
|
| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
feverishly
|
|
| adv. 兴奋地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
perusal
|
|
| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
regiment
|
|
| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
draught
|
|
| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
ardor
|
|
| n.热情，狂热 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
descending
|
|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
precipice
|
|
| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
glide
|
|
| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
perilous
|
|
| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
glided
|
|
| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
hurled
|
|
| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
vengeance
|
|
| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
foully
|
|
| ad.卑鄙地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
tampered
|
|
| v.窜改( tamper的过去式 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |