An aerial voice was heard to call,
And thrice the raven1 flapp’d its wing
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.
Mickle.
We are now to return to that part of our story where we intimated that Varney, possessed2 of the authority of the Earl of Leicester, and of the Queen’s permission to the same effect, hastened to secure himself against discovery of his perfidy3 by removing the Countess from Kenilworth Castle. He had proposed to set forth5 early in the morning; but reflecting that the Earl might relent in the interim6, and seek another interview with the Countess, he resolved to prevent, by immediate7 departure, all chance of what would probably have ended in his detection and ruin. For this purpose he called for Lambourne, and was exceedingly incensed8 to find that his trusty attendant was abroad on some ramble9 in the neighbouring village, or elsewhere. As his return was expected, Sir Richard commanded that he should prepare himself for attending him on an immediate journey, and follow him in case he returned after his departure.
In the meanwhile, Varney used the ministry10 of a servant called Robin11 Tider, one to whom the mysteries of Cumnor Place were already in some degree known, as he had been there more than once in attendance on the Earl. To this man, whose character resembled that of Lambourne, though he was neither quite so prompt nor altogether so profligate12, Varney gave command to have three horses saddled, and to prepare a horse-litter, and have them in readiness at the postern gate. The natural enough excuse of his lady’s insanity13, which was now universally believed, accounted for the secrecy14 with which she was to be removed from the Castle, and he reckoned on the same apology in case the unfortunate Amy’s resistance or screams should render such necessary. The agency of Anthony Foster was indispensable, and that Varney now went to secure.
This person, naturally of a sour, unsocial disposition16, and somewhat tired, besides, with his journey from Cumnor to Warwickshire, in order to bring the news of the Countess’s escape, had early extricated17 himself from the crowd of wassailers, and betaken himself to his chamber18, where he lay asleep, when Varney, completely equipped for travelling, and with a dark lantern in his hand, entered his apartment. He paused an instant to listen to what his associate was murmuring in his sleep, and could plainly distinguish the words, “Ave Maria — ora pro4 nobis. No, it runs not so — deliver us from evil — ay, so it goes.”
“Praying in his sleep,” said Varney, “and confounding his old and new devotions. He must have more need of prayer ere I am done with him.— What ho! holy man, most blessed penitent19!— awake — awake! The devil has not discharged you from service yet.”
As Varney at the same time shook the sleeper20 by the arm, it changed the current of his ideas, and he roared out, “Thieves!— thieves! I will die in defence of my gold — my hard-won gold — that has cost me so dear. Where is Janet?— Is Janet safe?”
“Safe enough, thou bellowing21 fool!” said Varney; “art thou not ashamed of thy clamour?”
Foster by this time was broad awake, and sitting up in his bed, asked Varney the meaning of so untimely a visit. “It augurs22 nothing good,” he added.
“A false prophecy, most sainted Anthony,” returned Varney; “it augurs that the hour is come for converting thy leasehold23 into copyhold. What sayest thou to that?”
“Hadst thou told me this in broad day,” said Foster, “I had rejoiced; but at this dead hour, and by this dim light, and looking on thy pale face, which is a ghastly contradiction to thy light words, I cannot but rather think of the work that is to be done, than the guerdon to be gained by it.”
“Why, thou fool, it is but to escort thy charge back to Cumnor Place.”
“Is that indeed all?” said Foster; “thou lookest deadly pale, and thou art not moved by trifles — is that indeed all?”
“Ay, that — and maybe a trifle more,” said Varney.
“Ah, that trifle more!” said Foster; “still thou lookest paler and paler.”
“Heed not my countenance24,” said Varney; “you see it by this wretched light. Up and be doing, man. Think of Cumnor Place — thine own proper copyhold. Why, thou mayest found a weekly lectureship, besides endowing Janet like a baron’s daughter. Seventy pounds and odd.”
“Seventy-nine pounds, five shillings and fivepence half-penny, besides the value of the wood,” said Foster; “and I am to have it all as copyhold?”
“All, man — squirrels and all. No gipsy shall cut the value of a broom — no boy so much as take a bird’s nest — without paying thee a quittance.— Ay, that is right — don thy matters as fast as possible; horses and everything are ready, all save that accursed villain26 Lambourne, who is out on some infernal gambol27.”
“Ay, Sir Richard,” said Foster, “you would take no advice. I ever told you that drunken profligate would fail you at need. Now I could have helped you to a sober young man.”
“What, some slow-spoken, long-breathed brother of the congregation? Why, we shall have use for such also, man. Heaven be praised, we shall lack labourers of every kind.— Ay, that is right — forget not your pistols. Come now, and let us away.”
“Whither?” said Anthony.
“To my lady’s chamber; and, mind, she must along with us. Thou art not a fellow to be startled by a shriek29?”
“Not if Scripture30 reason can be rendered for it; and it is written, ‘Wives obey your husbands.’ But will my lord’s commands bear us out if we use violence?”
“Tush, man! here is his signet,” answered Varney; and having thus silenced the objections of his associate, they went together to Lord Hunsdon’s apartments, and acquainting the sentinel with their purpose, as a matter sanctioned by the Queen and the Earl of Leicester, they entered the chamber of the unfortunate Countess.
The horror of Amy may be conceived when, starting from a broken slumber31, she saw at her bedside Varney, the man on earth she most feared and hated. It was even a consolation32 to see that he was not alone, though she had so much reason to dread33 his sullen34 companion.
“Madam,” said Varney, “there is no time for ceremony. My Lord of Leicester, having fully35 considered the exigencies36 of the time, sends you his orders immediately to accompany us on our return to Cumnor Place. See, here is his signet, in token of his instant and pressing commands.”
“It is false!” said the Countess; “thou hast stolen the warrant — thou, who art capable of every villainy, from the blackest to the basest!”
“It is true, madam,” replied Varney; “so true, that if you do not instantly arise, and prepare to attend us, we must compel you to obey our orders.”
“Compel! Thou darest not put it to that issue, base as thou art!” exclaimed the unhappy Countess.
“That remains37 to be proved, madam,” said Varney, who had determined38 on intimidation39 as the only means of subduing40 her high spirit; “if you put me to it, you will find me a rough groom41 of the chambers42.”
It was at this threat that Amy screamed so fearfully that, had it not been for the received opinion of her insanity, she would quickly have had Lord Hunsdon and others to her aid. Perceiving, however, that her cries were vain, she appealed to Foster in the most affecting terms, conjuring43 him, as his daughter Janet’s honour and purity were dear to him, not to permit her to be treated with unwomanly violence.
“Why, madam, wives must obey their husbands —-there’s Scripture warrant for it,” said Foster; “and if you will dress yourself, and come with us patiently, there’s no one shall lay finger on you while I can draw a pistol-trigger.”
Seeing no help arrive, and comforted even by the dogged language of Foster, the Countess promised to arise and dress herself, if they would agree to retire from the room. Varney at the same time assured her of all safety and honour while in their hands, and promised that he himself would not approach her, since his presence was so displeasing44. Her husband, he added, would be at Cumnor Place within twenty-four hours after they had reached it.
Somewhat comforted by this assurance, upon which, however, she saw little reason to rely, the unhappy Amy made her toilette by the assistance of the lantern, which they left with her when they quitted the apartment.
Weeping, trembling, and praying, the unfortunate lady dressed herself with sensations how different from the days in which she was wont46 to decorate herself in all the pride of conscious beauty! She endeavoured to delay the completing her dress as long as she could, until, terrified by the impatience47 of Varney, she was obliged to declare herself ready to attend them.
When they were about to move, the Countess clung to Foster with such an appearance of terror at Varney’s approach that the latter protested to her, with a deep oath, that he had no intention whatever of even coming near her. “If you do but consent to execute your husband’s will in quietness, you shall,” he said, “see but little of me. I will leave you undisturbed to the care of the usher48 whom your good taste prefers.”
“My husband’s will!” she exclaimed. “But it is the will of God, and let that be sufficient to me. I will go with Master Foster as unresistingly as ever did a literal sacrifice. He is a father at least; and will have decency49, if not humanity. For thee, Varney, were it my latest word, thou art an equal stranger to both.”
Varney replied only she was at liberty to choose, and walked some paces before them to show the way; while, half leaning on Foster, and half carried by him, the Countess was transported from Saintlowe’s Tower to the postern gate, where Tider waited with the litter and horses.
The Countess was placed in the former without resistance. She saw with some satisfaction that, while Foster and Tider rode close by the litter, which the latter conducted, the dreaded50 Varney lingered behind, and was soon lost in darkness. A little while she strove, as the road winded round the verge52 of the lake, to keep sight of those stately towers which called her husband lord, and which still, in some places, sparkled with lights, where wassailers were yet revelling53. But when the direction of the road rendered this no longer possible, she drew back her head, and sinking down in the litter, recommended herself to the care of Providence54.
Besides the desire of inducing the Countess to proceed quietly on her journey, Varney had it also in view to have an interview with Lambourne, by whom he every moment expected to be joined, without the presence of any witnesses. He knew the character of this man, prompt, bloody55, resolute56, and greedy, and judged him the most fit agent he could employ in his further designs. But ten miles of their journey had been measured ere he heard the hasty clatter57 of horse’s hoofs58 behind him, and was overtaken by Michael Lambourne.
Fretted59 as he was with his absence, Varney received his profligate servant with a rebuke60 of unusual bitterness. “Drunken villain,” he said, “thy idleness and debauched folly61 will stretch a halter ere it be long, and, for me, I care not how soon!”
This style of objurgation Lambourne, who was elated to an unusual degree, not only by an extraordinary cup of wine, but by the sort of confidential62 interview he had just had with the Earl, and the secret of which he had made himself master, did not receive with his wonted humility63. “He would take no insolence64 of language,” he said, “from the best knight65 that ever wore spurs. Lord Leicester had detained him on some business of import, and that was enough for Varney, who was but a servant like himself.”
Varney was not a little surprised at his unusual tone of insolence; but ascribing it to liquor, suffered it to pass as if unnoticed, and then began to tamper66 with Lambourne touching67 his willingness to aid in removing out of the Earl of Leicester’s way an obstacle to a rise, which would put it in his power to reward his trusty followers68 to their utmost wish. And upon Michael Lambourne’s seeming ignorant what was meant, he plainly indicated “the litter-load, yonder,” as the impediment which he desired should be removed.
“Look you, Sir Richard, and so forth,” said Michael, “some are wiser than some, that is one thing, and some are worse than some, that’s another. I know my lord’s mind on this matter better than thou, for he hath trusted me fully in the matter. Here are his mandates69, and his last words were, Michael Lambourne — for his lordship speaks to me as a gentleman of the sword, and useth not the words drunken villain, or such like phrase, of those who know not how to bear new dignities — Varney, says he, must pay the utmost respect to my Countess. I trust to you for looking to it, Lambourne, says his lordship, and you must bring back my signet from him peremptorily70.”
“Ay,” replied Varney, “said he so, indeed? You know all, then?”
“All — all; and you were as wise to make a friend of me while the weather is fair betwixt us.”
“And was there no one present,” said Varney, “when my lord so spoke28?”
“Not a breathing creature,” replied Lambourne. “Think you my lord would trust any one with such matters, save an approved man of action like myself?”
“Most true,” said Varney; and making a pause, he looked forward on the moonlight road. They were traversing a wide and open heath. The litter being at least a mile before them, was both out of sight and hearing. He looked behind, and there was an expanse, lighted by the moonbeams, without one human being in sight. He resumed his speech to Lambourne: “And will you turn upon your master, who has introduced you to this career of court-like favour — whose apprentice71 you have been, Michael — who has taught you the depths and shallows of court intrigue72?”
“Michael not me!” said Lambourne; “I have a name will brook73 a Master before it as well as another; and as to the rest, if I have been an apprentice, my indenture74 is out, and I am resolute to set up for myself.”
“Take thy quittance first, thou fool!” said Varney; and with a pistol, which he had for some time held in his hand, shot Lambourne through the body.
The wretch25 fell from his horse without a single groan75; and Varney, dismounting, rifled his pockets, turning out the lining76, that it might appear he had fallen by robbers. He secured the Earl’s packet, which was his chief object; but he also took Lambourne”s purse, containing some gold pieces, the relics77 of what his debauchery had left him, and from a singular combination of feelings, carried it in his hand only the length of a small river, which crossed the road, into which he threw it as far as he could fling. Such are the strange remnants of conscience which remain after she seems totally subdued78, that this cruel and remorseless man would have felt himself degraded had he pocketed the few pieces belonging to the wretch whom he had thus ruthlessly slain81.
The murderer reloaded his pistol after cleansing82 the lock and barrel from the appearances of late explosion, and rode calmly after the litter, satisfying himself that he had so adroitly83 removed a troublesome witness to many of his intrigues84, and the bearer of mandates which he had no intentions to obey, and which, therefore, he was desirous it should be thought had never reached his hand.
The remainder of the journey was made with a degree of speed which showed the little care they had for the health of the unhappy Countess. They paused only at places where all was under their command, and where the tale they were prepared to tell of the insane Lady Varney would have obtained ready credit had she made an attempt to appeal to the compassion85 of the few persons admitted to see her. But Amy saw no chance of obtaining a hearing from any to whom she had an opportunity of addressing herself; and besides, was too terrified for the presence of Varney to violate the implied condition under which she was to travel free from his company. The authority of Varney, often so used during the Earl’s private journeys to Cumnor, readily procured86 relays of horses where wanted, so that they approached Cumnor Place upon the night after they left Kenilworth.
At this period of the journey Varney came up to the rear of the litter, as he had done before repeatedly during their progress, and asked, “How does she?”
“She sleeps,” said Foster. “I would we were home — her strength is exhausted87.”
“Rest will restore her,” answered Varney. “She shall soon sleep sound and long. We must consider how to lodge88 her in safety.”
“In her own apartments, to be sure,” said Foster. “I have sent Janet to her aunt’s with a proper rebuke, and the old women are truth itself — for they hate this lady cordially.”
“We will not trust them, however, friend Anthony,” said Varney; “We must secure her in that stronghold where you keep your gold.”
“My gold!” said Anthony, much alarmed; “why, what gold have I? God help me, I have no gold — I would I had!”
“Now, marry hang thee, thou stupid brute89, who thinks of or cares for thy gold? If I did, could I not find an hundred better ways to come at it? In one word, thy bedchamber, which thou hast fenced so curiously90, must be her place of seclusion91; and thou, thou hind51, shalt press her pillows of down. I dare to say the Earl will never ask after the rich furniture of these four rooms.”
This last consideration rendered Foster tractable92; he only asked permission to ride before, to make matters ready, and spurring his horse, he posted before the litter, while Varney falling about threescore paces behind it, it remained only attended by Tider.
When they had arrived at Cumnor Place, the Countess asked eagerly for Janet, and showed much alarm when informed that she was no longer to have the attendance of that amiable93 girl.
“My daughter is dear to me, madam,” said Foster gruffly; “and I desire not that she should get the court-tricks of lying and ‘scaping — somewhat too much of that has she learned already, an it please your ladyship.”
The Countess, much fatigued94 and greatly terrified by the circumstances of her journey, made no answer to this insolence, but mildly expressed a wish to retire to her chamber,
“Ay, ay,” muttered Foster, “’tis but reasonable; but, under favour, you go not to your gew-gaw toy-house yonder — you will sleep to-night in better security.”
“I would it were in my grave,” said the Countess; “but that mortal feelings shiver at the idea of soul and body parting.”
“You, I guess, have no chance to shiver at that,” replied Foster. “My lord comes hither tomorrow, and doubtless you will make your own ways good with him.”
“But does he come hither?— does he indeed, good Foster?”
“Oh, ay, good Foster!” replied the other. “But what Foster shall I be tomorrow when you speak of me to my lord — though all I have done was to obey his own orders?”
“You shall be my protector — a rough one indeed — but still a protector,” answered the Countess. “Oh that Janet were but here!”
“She is better where she is,” answered Foster —“one of you is enough to perplex a plain head. But will you taste any refreshment95?”
“Oh no, no — my chamber — my chamber! I trust,” she said apprehensively96, “I may secure it on the inside?”
“With all my heart,” answered Foster, “so I may secure it on the outside;” and taking a light, he led the way to a part of the building where Amy had never been, and conducted her up a stair of great height, preceded by one of the old women with a lamp. At the head of the stair, which seemed of almost immeasurable height, they crossed a short wooden gallery, formed of black oak, and very narrow, at the farther end of which was a strong oaken door, which opened and admitted them into the miser’s apartment, homely97 in its accommodations in the very last degree, and, except in name, little different from a prison-room.
Foster stopped at the door, and gave the lamp to the Countess, without either offering or permitting the attendance of the old woman who had carried it. The lady stood not on ceremony, but taking it hastily, barred the door, and secured it with the ample means provided on the inside for that purpose.
Varney, meanwhile, had lurked98 behind on the stairs; but hearing the door barred, he now came up on tiptoe, and Foster, winking99 to him, pointed100 with self-complacence to a piece of concealed101 machinery102 in the wall, which, playing with much ease and little noise, dropped a part of the wooden gallery, after the manner of a drawbridge, so as to cut off all communication between the door of the bedroom, which he usually inhabited, and the landing-place of the high, winding103 stair which ascended104 to it. The rope by which this machinery was wrought105 was generally carried within the bedchamber, it being Foster’s object to provide against invasion from without; but now that it was intended to secure the prisoner within, the cord had been brought over to the landing-place, and was there made fast, when Foster with much complacency had dropped the unsuspected trap-door.
Varney looked with great attention at the machinery, and peeped more than once down the abyss which was opened by the fall of the trap-door. It was dark as pitch, and seemed profoundly deep, going, as Foster informed his confederate in a whisper, nigh to the lowest vault106 of the Castle. Varney cast once more a fixed107 and long look down into this sable15 gulf108, and then followed Foster to the part of the manor-house most usually inhabited.
When they arrived in the parlour which we have mentioned, Varney requested Foster to get them supper, and some of the choicest wine. “I will seek Alasco,” he added; “we have work for him to do, and we must put him in good heart.”
Foster groaned109 at this intimation, but made no remonstrance110. The old woman assured Varney that Alasco had scarce eaten or drunken since her master’s departure, living perpetually shut up in the laboratory, and talking as if the world’s continuance depended on what he was doing there.
“I will teach him that the world hath other claims on him,” said Varney, seizing a light, and going in quest of the alchemist. He returned, after a considerable absence, very pale, but yet with his habitual111 sneer112 on his cheek and nostril113. “Our friend,” he said, “has exhaled114.”
“How!— what mean you?” said Foster —“run away — fled with my forty pounds, that should have been multiplied a thousand-fold? I will have Hue115 and Cry!”
“I will tell thee a surer way,” said Varney.
“How!— which way?” exclaimed Foster; “I will have back my forty pounds — I deemed them as surely a thousand times multiplied — I will have back my input116, at the least.”
“Go hang thyself, then, and sue Alasco in the Devil’s Court of Chancery, for thither117 he has carried the cause.”
“How!— what dost thou mean is he dead?”
“Ay, truly is he,” said Varney; “and properly swollen118 already in the face and body. He had been mixing some of his devil’s medicines, and the glass mask which he used constantly had fallen from his face, so that the subtle poison entered the brain, and did its work.”
“Sancta Maria!” said Foster —“I mean, God in His mercy preserve us from covetousness119 and deadly sin!— Had he not had projection120, think you? Saw you no ingots in the crucibles121?”
“Nay, I looked not but at the dead carrion,” answered Varney; “an ugly spectacle — he was swollen like a corpse122 three days exposed on the wheel. Pah! give me a cup of wine.”
“I will go,” said Foster, “I will examine myself —” He took the lamp, and hastened to the door, but there hesitated and paused. “Will you not go with me?” said he to Varney.
“To what purpose?” said Varney; “I have seen and smelled enough to spoil my appetite. I broke the window, however, and let in the air; it reeked123 of sulphur, and such like suffocating124 steams, as if the very devil had been there.”
“And might it not be the act of the demon125 himself?” said Foster, still hesitating; “I have heard he is powerful at such times, and with such people.”
“Still, if it were that Satan of thine,” answered Varney, “who thus jades126 thy imagination, thou art in perfect safety, unless he is a most unconscionable devil indeed. He hath had two good sops127 of late.”
“How two sops — what mean you?” said Foster —“what mean you?”
“You will know in time,” said Varney;—“and then this other banquet — but thou wilt128 esteem129 Her too choice a morsel80 for the fiend’s tooth — she must have her psalms130, and harps131, and seraphs.”
Anthony Foster heard, and came slowly back to the table. “God! Sir Richard, and must that then be done?”
“Ay, in very truth, Anthony, or there comes no copyhold in thy way,” replied his inflexible132 associate.
“I always foresaw it would land there!” said Foster. “But how, Sir Richard, how?— for not to win the world would I put hands on her.”
“I cannot blame thee,” said Varney; “I should be reluctant to do that myself. We miss Alasco and his manna sorely — ay, and the dog Lambourne.”
“Why, where tarries Lambourne?” said Anthony.
“Ask no questions,” said Varney, “thou wilt see him one day if thy creed133 is true. But to our graver matter. I will teach thee a spring, Tony, to catch a pewit. Yonder trap-door — yonder gimcrack of thine, will remain secure in appearance, will it not, though the supports are withdrawn134 beneath?”
“Ay, marry, will it,” said Foster; “so long as it is not trodden on.”
“But were the lady to attempt an escape over it,” replied Varney, “her weight would carry it down?”
“A mouse’s weight would do it,” said Foster.
“Why, then, she dies in attempting her escape, and what could you or I help it, honest Tony? Let us to bed, we will adjust our project tomorrow.”
On the next day, when evening approached, Varney summoned Foster to the execution of their plan. Tider and Foster’s old man-servant were sent on a feigned135 errand down to the village, and Anthony himself, as if anxious to see that the Countess suffered no want of accommodation, visited her place of confinement136. He was so much staggered at the mildness and patience with which she seemed to endure her confinement, that he could not help earnestly recommending to her not to cross the threshold of her room on any account whatever, until Lord Leicester should come, “which,” he added, “I trust in God, will be very soon.” Amy patiently promised that she would resign herself to her fate. and Foster returned to his hardened companion with his conscience half-eased of the perilous137 load that weighed on it. “I have warned her,” he said; “surely in vain is the snare138 set in the sight of any bird!”
He left, therefore, the Countess’s door unsecured on the outside, and, under the eye of Varney, withdrew the supports which sustained the falling trap, which, therefore, kept its level position merely by a slight adhesion. They withdrew to wait the issue on the ground-floor adjoining; but they waited long in vain. At length Varney, after walking long to and fro, with his face muffled139 in his cloak, threw it suddenly back and exclaimed, “Surely never was a woman fool enough to neglect so fair an opportunity of escape!”
“Perhaps she is resolved,” said Foster, “to await her husband’s return,”
“True!— most true!” said Varney, rushing out; “I had not thought of that before.”
In less than two minutes, Foster, who remained behind, heard the tread of a horse in the courtyard, and then a whistle similar to that which was the Earl’s usual signal. The instant after the door of the Countess’s chamber opened, and in the same moment the trap-door gave way. There was a rushing sound — a heavy fall — a faint groan — and all was over.
At the same instant, Varney called in at the window, in an accent and tone which was an indescribable mixture betwixt horror and raillery, “Is the bird caught?— is the deed done?”
“O God, forgive us!” replied Anthony Foster.
“Why, thou fool,” said Varney, “thy toil45 is ended, and thy reward secure. Look down into the vault — what seest thou?”
“I see only a heap of white clothes, like a snowdrift,” said Foster. “O God, she moves her arm!”
“Hurl something down on her — thy gold chest, Tony — it is an heavy one.”
“Varney, thou art an incarnate140 fiend!” replied Foster.
“There needs nothing more — she is gone!”
“So pass our troubles,” said Varney, entering the room; “I dreamed not I could have mimicked141 the Earl’s call so well.”
“Oh, if there be judgment142 in heaven, thou hast deserved it,” said Foster, “and wilt meet it! Thou hast destroyed her by means of her best affections — it is a seething143 of the kid in the mother’s milk!”
“Thou art a fanatical ass,” replied Varney; “let us now think how the alarm should be given — the body is to remain where it is.”
But their wickedness was to be permitted no longer; for even while they were at this consultation144, Tressilian and Raleigh broke in upon them, having obtained admittance by means of Tider and Foster’s servant, whom they had secured at the village.
Anthony Foster fled on their entrance, and knowing each corner and pass of the intricate old house, escaped all search. But Varney was taken on the spot; and instead of expressing compunction for what he had done, seemed to take a fiendish pleasure in pointing out to them the remains of the murdered Countess, while at the same time he defied them to show that he had any share in her death. The despairing grief of Tressilian, on viewing the mangled145 and yet warm remains of what had lately been so lovely and so beloved, was such that Raleigh was compelled to have him removed from the place by force, while he himself assumed the direction of what was to be done.
Varney, upon a second examination, made very little mystery either of the crime or of its motives146 —-alleging, as a reason for his frankness, that though much of what he confessed could only have attached to him by suspicion, yet such suspicion would have been sufficient to deprive him of Leicester’s confidence, and to destroy all his towering plans of ambition. “I was not born,” he said, “to drag on the remainder of life a degraded outcast; nor will I so die that my fate shall make a holiday to the vulgar herd147.”
From these words it was apprehended148 he had some design upon himself, and he was carefully deprived of all means by which such could be carried into execution. But like some of the heroes of antiquity149, he carried about his person a small quantity of strong poison, prepared probably by the celebrated150 Demetrius Alasco. Having swallowed this potion over-night, he was found next morning dead in his cell; nor did he appear to have suffered much agony, his countenance presenting, even in death, the habitual expression of sneering151 sarcasm152 which was predominant while he lived. “The wicked man,” saith Scripture, “hath no bands in his death.”
The fate of his colleague in wickedness was long unknown. Cumnor Place was deserted153 immediately after the murder; for in the vicinity of what was called the Lady Dudley’s Chamber, the domestics pretended to hear groans154, and screams, and other supernatural noises. After a certain length of time, Janet, hearing no tidings of her father, became the uncontrolled mistress of his property, and conferred it with her hand upon Wayland, now a man of settled character, and holding a place in Elizabeth’s household. But it was after they had been both dead for some years that their eldest155 son and heir, in making some researches about Cumnor Hall, discovered a secret passage, closed by an iron door, which, opening from behind the bed in the Lady Dudley’s Chamber, descended156 to a sort of cell, in which they found an iron chest containing a quantity of gold, and a human skeleton stretched above it. The fate of Anthony Foster was now manifest. He had fled to this place of concealment157, forgetting the key of the spring-lock; and being barred from escape by the means he had used for preservation158 of that gold, for which he had sold his salvation159, he had there perished miserably160. Unquestionably the groans and screams heard by the domestics were not entirely161 imaginary, but were those of this wretch, who, in his agony, was crying for relief and succour.
The news of the Countess’s dreadful fate put a sudden period to the pleasures of Kenilworth. Leicester retired162 from court, and for a considerable time abandoned himself to his remorse79. But as Varney in his last declaration had been studious to spare the character of his patron, the Earl was the object rather of compassion than resentment163. The Queen at length recalled him to court; he was once more distinguished164 as a statesman and favourite; and the rest of his career is well known to history. But there was something retributive in his death, if, according to an account very generally received, it took place from his swallowing a draught165 of poison which was designed by him for another person. 25
Sir Hugh Robsart died very soon after his daughter, having settled his estate on Tressilian. But neither the prospect166 of rural independence, nor the promises of favour which Elizabeth held out to induce him to follow the court, could remove his profound melancholy167. Wherever he went he seemed to see before him the disfigured corpse of the early and only object of his affection. At length, having made provision for the maintenance of the old friends and old servants who formed Sir Hugh’s family at Lidcote Hall, he himself embarked168 with his friend Raleigh for the Virginia expedition, and, young in years but old in grief, died before his day in that foreign land.
Of inferior persons it is only necessary to say that Blount’s wit grew brighter as his yellow roses faded; that, doing his part as a brave commander in the wars, he was much more in his element than during the short period of his following the court; and that Flibbertigibbet’s acute genius raised him to favour and distinction in the employment both of Burleigh and Walsingham.
The End
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1 raven | |
n.渡鸟,乌鸦;adj.乌亮的 | |
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2 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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3 perfidy | |
n.背信弃义,不忠贞 | |
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4 pro | |
n.赞成,赞成的意见,赞成者 | |
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5 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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6 interim | |
adj.暂时的,临时的;n.间歇,过渡期间 | |
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7 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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8 incensed | |
盛怒的 | |
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9 ramble | |
v.漫步,漫谈,漫游;n.漫步,闲谈,蔓延 | |
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10 ministry | |
n.(政府的)部;牧师 | |
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11 robin | |
n.知更鸟,红襟鸟 | |
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12 profligate | |
adj.行为不检的;n.放荡的人,浪子,肆意挥霍者 | |
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13 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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14 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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15 sable | |
n.黑貂;adj.黑色的 | |
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16 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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17 extricated | |
v.使摆脱困难,脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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19 penitent | |
adj.后悔的;n.后悔者;忏悔者 | |
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20 sleeper | |
n.睡眠者,卧车,卧铺 | |
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21 bellowing | |
v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的现在分词 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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22 augurs | |
n.(古罗马的)占兆官( augur的名词复数 );占卜师,预言者v.预示,预兆,预言( augur的第三人称单数 );成为预兆;占卜 | |
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23 leasehold | |
n.租赁,租约,租赁权,租赁期,adj.租(来)的 | |
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24 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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25 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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26 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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27 gambol | |
v.欢呼,雀跃 | |
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28 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 | |
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29 shriek | |
v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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30 scripture | |
n.经文,圣书,手稿;Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》,《圣经》中的一段 | |
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31 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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32 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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33 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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34 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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35 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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36 exigencies | |
n.急切需要 | |
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37 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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38 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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39 intimidation | |
n.恐吓,威胁 | |
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40 subduing | |
征服( subdue的现在分词 ); 克制; 制服; 色变暗 | |
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41 groom | |
vt.给(马、狗等)梳毛,照料,使...整洁 | |
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42 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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43 conjuring | |
n.魔术 | |
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44 displeasing | |
不愉快的,令人发火的 | |
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45 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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46 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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47 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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48 usher | |
n.带位员,招待员;vt.引导,护送;vi.做招待,担任引座员 | |
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49 decency | |
n.体面,得体,合宜,正派,庄重 | |
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50 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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51 hind | |
adj.后面的,后部的 | |
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52 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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53 revelling | |
v.作乐( revel的现在分词 );狂欢;着迷;陶醉 | |
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54 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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55 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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56 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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57 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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58 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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59 fretted | |
焦躁的,附有弦马的,腐蚀的 | |
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60 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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61 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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62 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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63 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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64 insolence | |
n.傲慢;无礼;厚颜;傲慢的态度 | |
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65 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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66 tamper | |
v.干预,玩弄,贿赂,窜改,削弱,损害 | |
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67 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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68 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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69 mandates | |
托管(mandate的第三人称单数形式) | |
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70 peremptorily | |
adv.紧急地,不容分说地,专横地 | |
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71 apprentice | |
n.学徒,徒弟 | |
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72 intrigue | |
vt.激起兴趣,迷住;vi.耍阴谋;n.阴谋,密谋 | |
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73 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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74 indenture | |
n.契约;合同 | |
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75 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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76 lining | |
n.衬里,衬料 | |
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77 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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78 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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79 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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80 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
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81 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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82 cleansing | |
n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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83 adroitly | |
adv.熟练地,敏捷地 | |
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84 intrigues | |
n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 );神秘气氛;引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 );激起…的好奇心 | |
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85 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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86 procured | |
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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87 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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88 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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89 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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90 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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91 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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92 tractable | |
adj.易驾驭的;温顺的 | |
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93 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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94 fatigued | |
adj. 疲乏的 | |
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95 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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96 apprehensively | |
adv.担心地 | |
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97 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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98 lurked | |
vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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99 winking | |
n.瞬眼,目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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100 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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101 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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102 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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103 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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104 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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106 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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107 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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108 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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109 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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110 remonstrance | |
n抗议,抱怨 | |
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111 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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112 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
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113 nostril | |
n.鼻孔 | |
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114 exhaled | |
v.呼出,发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 );吐出(肺中的空气、烟等),呼气 | |
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115 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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116 input | |
n.输入(物);投入;vt.把(数据等)输入计算机 | |
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117 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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118 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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119 covetousness | |
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120 projection | |
n.发射,计划,突出部分 | |
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121 crucibles | |
n.坩埚,严酷的考验( crucible的名词复数 ) | |
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122 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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123 reeked | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 );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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124 suffocating | |
a.使人窒息的 | |
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125 demon | |
n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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126 jades | |
n.玉,翡翠(jade的复数形式)v.(使)疲(jade的第三人称单数形式) | |
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127 sops | |
n.用以慰藉或讨好某人的事物( sop的名词复数 );泡湿的面包片等v.将(面包等)在液体中蘸或浸泡( sop的第三人称单数 );用海绵、布等吸起(液体等) | |
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128 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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129 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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130 psalms | |
n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 );圣诗;圣歌;(中的) | |
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131 harps | |
abbr.harpsichord 拨弦古钢琴n.竖琴( harp的名词复数 ) | |
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132 inflexible | |
adj.不可改变的,不受影响的,不屈服的 | |
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133 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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134 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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135 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
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136 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
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137 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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138 snare | |
n.陷阱,诱惑,圈套;(去除息肉或者肿瘤的)勒除器;响弦,小军鼓;vt.以陷阱捕获,诱惑 | |
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139 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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140 incarnate | |
adj.化身的,人体化的,肉色的 | |
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141 mimicked | |
v.(尤指为了逗乐而)模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 );酷似 | |
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142 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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143 seething | |
沸腾的,火热的 | |
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144 consultation | |
n.咨询;商量;商议;会议 | |
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145 mangled | |
vt.乱砍(mangle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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146 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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147 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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148 apprehended | |
逮捕,拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 ); 理解 | |
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149 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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150 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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151 sneering | |
嘲笑的,轻蔑的 | |
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152 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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153 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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154 groans | |
n.呻吟,叹息( groan的名词复数 );呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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155 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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156 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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157 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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158 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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159 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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160 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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161 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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162 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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163 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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164 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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165 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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166 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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167 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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168 embarked | |
乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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