Acquaint you with the perfect spy o’ the time,
The moment on ‘t; for ‘t must be done to-night.
MACBETH
Emily was somewhat surprised, on the following day, to find that Annette had heard of Madame Montoni’s confinement1 in the chamber2 over the portal, as well as of her purposed visit there, on the approaching night. That the circumstance, which Barnardine had so solemnly enjoined3 her to conceal4, he had himself told to so indiscreet an hearer as Annette, appeared very improbable, though he had now charged her with a message, concerning the intended interview. He requested, that Emily would meet him, unattended, on the terrace, at a little after midnight, when he himself would lead her to the place he had promised; a proposal, from which she immediately shrunk, for a thousand vague fears darted6 athwart her mind, such as had tormented7 her on the preceding night, and which she neither knew how to trust, or to dismiss. It frequently occurred to her, that Barnardine might have deceived her, concerning Madame Montoni, whose murderer, perhaps, he really was; and that he had deceived her by order of Montoni, the more easily to draw her into some of the desperate designs of the latter. The terrible suspicion, that Madame Montoni no longer lived, thus came, accompanied by one not less dreadful for herself. Unless the crime, by which the aunt had suffered, was instigated8 merely by resentment9, unconnected with profit, a motive10, upon which Montoni did not appear very likely to act, its object must be unattained, till the niece was also dead, to whom Montoni knew that his wife’s estates must descend11. Emily remembered the words, which had informed her, that the contested estates in France would devolve to her, if Madame Montoni died, without consigning12 them to her husband, and the former obstinate13 perseverance14 of her aunt made it too probable, that she had, to the last, withheld15 them. At this instant, recollecting17 Barnardine’s manner, on the preceding night, she now believed, what she had then fancied, that it expressed malignant18 triumph. She shuddered19 at the recollection, which confirmed her fears, and determined20 not to meet him on the terrace. Soon after, she was inclined to consider these suspicions as the extravagant21 exaggerations of a timid and harassed22 mind, and could not believe Montoni liable to such preposterous23 depravity as that of destroying, from one motive, his wife and her niece. She blamed herself for suffering her romantic imagination to carry her so far beyond the bounds of probability, and determined to endeavour to check its rapid flights, lest they should sometimes extend into madness. Still, however, she shrunk from the thought of meeting Barnardine, on the terrace, at midnight; and still the wish to be relieved from this terrible suspense24, concerning her aunt, to see her, and to sooth her sufferings, made her hesitate what to do.
‘Yet how is it possible, Annette, I can pass to the terrace at that hour?’ said she, recollecting herself, ‘the sentinels will stop me, and Signor Montoni will hear of the affair.’
‘O ma’amselle! that is well thought of,’ replied Annette. ‘That is what Barnardine told me about. He gave me this key, and bade me say it unlocks the door at the end of the vaulted25 gallery, that opens near the end of the east rampart, so that you need not pass any of the men on watch. He bade me say, too, that his reason for requesting you to come to the terrace was, because he could take you to the place you want to go to, without opening the great doors of the hall, which grate so heavily.’
Emily’s spirits were somewhat calmed by this explanation, which seemed to be honestly given to Annette. ‘But why did he desire I would come alone, Annette?’ said she.
‘Why that was what I asked him myself, ma’amselle. Says I, Why is my young lady to come alone?— Surely I may come with her!— What harm can I do? But he said “No — no — I tell you not,” in his gruff way. Nay26, says I, I have been trusted in as great affairs as this, I warrant, and it’s a hard matter if I can’t keep a secret now. Still he would say nothing but —“No — no — no.” Well, says I, if you will only trust me, I will tell you a great secret, that was told me a month ago, and I have never opened my lips about it yet — so you need not be afraid of telling me. But all would not do. Then, ma’amselle, I went so far as to offer him a beautiful new sequin, that Ludovico gave me for a keep sake, and I would not have parted with it for all St. Marco’s Place; but even that would not do! Now what can be the reason of this? But I know, you know, ma’am, who you are going to see.’
‘Pray did Barnardine tell you this?’
‘He! No, ma’amselle, that he did not.’
Emily enquired28 who did, but Annette shewed, that she COULD keep a secret.
During the remainder of the day, Emily’s mind was agitated29 with doubts and fears and contrary determinations, on the subject of meeting this Barnardine on the rampart, and submitting herself to his guidance, she scarcely knew whither. Pity for her aunt and anxiety for herself alternately swayed her determination, and night came, before she had decided30 upon her conduct. She heard the castle clock strike eleven — twelve — and yet her mind wavered. The time, however, was now come, when she could hesitate no longer: and then the interest she felt for her aunt overcame other considerations, and, bidding Annette follow her to the outer door of the vaulted gallery, and there await her return, she descended31 from her chamber. The castle was perfectly32 still, and the great hall, where so lately she had witnessed a scene of dreadful contention33, now returned only the whispering footsteps of the two solitary34 figures gliding35 fearfully between the pillars, and gleamed only to the feeble lamp they carried. Emily, deceived by the long shadows of the pillars and by the catching37 lights between, often stopped, imagining she saw some person, moving in the distant obscurity of the perspective; and, as she passed these pillars, she feared to turn her eyes toward them, almost expecting to see a figure start out from behind their broad shaft38. She reached, however, the vaulted gallery, without interruption, but unclosed its outer door with a trembling hand, and, charging Annette not to quit it and to keep it a little open, that she might be heard if she called, she delivered to her the lamp, which she did not dare to take herself because of the men on watch, and, alone, stepped out upon the dark terrace. Every thing was so still, that she feared, lest her own light steps should be heard by the distant sentinels, and she walked cautiously towards the spot, where she had before met Barnardine, listening for a sound, and looking onward39 through the gloom in search of him. At length, she was startled by a deep voice, that spoke40 near her, and she paused, uncertain whether it was his, till it spoke again, and she then recognized the hollow tones of Barnardine, who had been punctual to the moment, and was at the appointed place, resting on the rampart wall. After chiding41 her for not coming sooner, and saying, that he had been waiting nearly half an hour, he desired Emily, who made no reply, to follow him to the door, through which he had entered the terrace.
While he unlocked it, she looked back to that she had left, and, observing the rays of the lamp stream through a small opening, was certain, that Annette was still there. But her remote situation could little befriend Emily, after she had quitted the terrace; and, when Barnardine unclosed the gate, the dismal42 aspect of the passage beyond, shewn by a torch burning on the pavement, made her shrink from following him alone, and she refused to go, unless Annette might accompany her. This, however, Barnardine absolutely refused to permit, mingling43 at the same time with his refusal such artful circumstances to heighten the pity and curiosity of Emily towards her aunt, that she, at length, consented to follow him alone to the portal.
He then took up the torch, and led her along the passage, at the extremity44 of which he unlocked another door, whence they descended, a few steps, into a chapel45, which, as Barnardine held up the torch to light her, Emily observed to be in ruins, and she immediately recollected46 a former conversation of Annette, concerning it, with very unpleasant emotions. She looked fearfully on the almost roofless walls, green with damps, and on the gothic points of the windows, where the ivy47 and the briony had long supplied the place of glass, and ran mantling48 among the broken capitals of some columns, that had once supported the roof. Barnardine stumbled over the broken pavement, and his voice, as he uttered a sudden oath, was returned in hollow echoes, that made it more terrific. Emily’s heart sunk; but she still followed him, and he turned out of what had been the principal aisle49 of the chapel. ‘Down these steps, lady,’ said Barnardine, as he descended a flight, which appeared to lead into the vaults50; but Emily paused on the top, and demanded, in a tremulous tone, whither he was conducting her.
‘To the portal,’ said Barnardine.
‘Cannot we go through the chapel to the portal?’ said Emily.
‘No, Signora, that leads to the inner court, which I don’t choose to unlock. This way, and we shall reach the outer court presently.’
Emily still hesitated; fearing not only to go on, but, since she had gone thus far, to irritate Barnardine by refusing to go further.
‘Come, lady,’ said the man, who had nearly reached the bottom of the flight, ‘make a little haste; I cannot wait here all night.’
‘Whither do these steps lead?’ said Emily, yet pausing.
‘To the portal,’ repeated Barnardine, in an angry tone, ‘I will wait no longer.’ As he said this, he moved on with the light, and Emily, fearing to provoke him by further delay, reluctantly followed. From the steps, they proceeded through a passage, adjoining the vaults, the walls of which were dropping with unwholesome dews, and the vapours, that crept along the ground, made the torch burn so dimly, that Emily expected every moment to see it extinguished, and Barnardine could scarcely find his way. As they advanced, these vapours thickened, and Barnardine, believing the torch was expiring, stopped for a moment to trim it. As he then rested against a pair of iron gates, that opened from the passage, Emily saw, by uncertain flashes of light, the vaults beyond, and, near her, heaps of earth, that seemed to surround an open grave. Such an object, in such a scene, would, at any time, have disturbed her; but now she was shocked by an instantaneous presentiment51, that this was the grave of her unfortunate aunt, and that the treacherous52 Barnardine was leading herself to destruction. The obscure and terrible place, to which he had conducted her, seemed to justify53 the thought; it was a place suited for murder, a receptacle for the dead, where a deed of horror might be committed, and no vestige54 appear to proclaim it. Emily was so overwhelmed with terror, that, for a moment, she was unable to determine what conduct to pursue. She then considered, that it would be vain to attempt an escape from Barnardine, by flight, since the length and the intricacy of the way she had passed would soon enable him to overtake her, who was unacquainted with the turnings, and whose feebleness would not suffer her to run long with swiftness. She feared equally to irritate him by a disclosure of her suspicions, which a refusal to accompany him further certainly would do; and, since she was already as much in his power as it was possible she could be, if she proceeded, she, at length, determined to suppress, as far as she could, the appearance of apprehension55, and to follow silently whither he designed to lead her. Pale with horror and anxiety, she now waited till Barnardine had trimmed the torch, and, as her sight glanced again upon the grave, she could not forbear enquiring56, for whom it was prepared. He took his eyes from the torch, and fixed57 them upon her face without speaking. She faintly repeated the question, but the man, shaking the torch, passed on; and she followed, trembling, to a second flight of steps, having ascended59 which, a door delivered them into the first court of the castle. As they crossed it, the light shewed the high black walls around them, fringed with long grass and dank weeds, that found a scanty60 soil among the mouldering61 stones; the heavy buttresses62, with, here and there, between them, a narrow grate, that admitted a freer circulation of air to the court, the massy iron gates, that led to the castle, whose clustering turrets63 appeared above, and, opposite, the huge towers and arch of the portal itself. In this scene the large, uncouth64 person of Barnardine, bearing the torch, formed a characteristic figure. This Barnardine was wrapt in a long dark cloak, which scarcely allowed the kind of half-boots, or sandals, that were laced upon his legs, to appear, and shewed only the point of a broad sword, which he usually wore, slung65 in a belt across his shoulders. On his head was a heavy flat velvet66 cap, somewhat resembling a turban, in which was a short feather; the visage beneath it shewed strong features, and a countenance67 furrowed68 with the lines of cunning and darkened by habitual69 discontent.
The view of the court, however, reanimated Emily, who, as she crossed silently towards the portal, began to hope, that her own fears, and not the treachery of Barnardine, had deceived her. She looked anxiously up at the first casement70, that appeared above the lofty arch of the portcullis; but it was dark, and she enquired, whether it belonged to the chamber, where Madame Montoni was confined. Emily spoke low, and Barnardine, perhaps, did not hear her question, for he returned no answer; and they, soon after, entered the postern door of the gate-way, which brought them to the foot of a narrow stair-case, that wound up one of the towers.
‘Up this stair-case the Signora lies,’ said Barnardine.
‘Lies!’ repeated Emily faintly, as she began to ascend58.
‘She lies in the upper chamber,’ said Barnardine.
As they passed up, the wind, which poured through the narrow cavities in the wall, made the torch flare71, and it threw a stronger gleam upon the grim and sallow countenance of Barnardine, and discovered more fully36 the desolation of the place — the rough stone walls, the spiral stairs, black with age, and a suit of antient armour72, with an iron visor, that hung upon the walls, and appeared a trophy73 of some former victory.
Having reached a landing-place, ‘You may wait here, lady,’ said he, applying a key to the door of a chamber, ‘while I go up, and tell the Signora you are coming.’
‘That ceremony is unnecessary,’ replied Emily, ‘my aunt will rejoice to see me.’
‘I am not so sure of that,’ said Barnardine, pointing to the room he had opened: ‘Come in here, lady, while I step up.’
Emily, surprised and somewhat shocked, did not dare to oppose him further, but, as he was turning away with the torch, desired he would not leave her in darkness. He looked around, and, observing a tripod lamp, that stood on the stairs, lighted and gave it to Emily, who stepped forward into a large old chamber, and he closed the door. As she listened anxiously to his departing steps, she thought he descended, instead of ascending74, the stairs; but the gusts75 of wind, that whistled round the portal, would not allow her to hear distinctly any other sound. Still, however, she listened, and, perceiving no step in the room above, where he had affirmed Madame Montoni to be, her anxiety increased, though she considered, that the thickness of the floor in this strong building might prevent any sound reaching her from the upper chamber. The next moment, in a pause of the wind, she distinguished77 Barnardine’s step descending78 to the court, and then thought she heard his voice; but, the rising gust76 again overcoming other sounds, Emily, to be certain on this point, moved softly to the door, which, on attempting to open it, she discovered was fastened. All the horrid79 apprehensions80, that had lately assailed81 her, returned at this instant with redoubled force, and no longer appeared like the exaggerations of a timid spirit, but seemed to have been sent to warn her of her fate. She now did not doubt, that Madame Montoni had been murdered, perhaps in this very chamber; or that she herself was brought hither for the same purpose. The countenance, the manners and the recollected words of Barnardine, when he had spoken of her aunt, confirmed her worst fears. For some moments, she was incapable82 of considering of any means, by which she might attempt an escape. Still she listened, but heard footsteps neither on the stairs, or in the room above; she thought, however, that she again distinguished Barnardine’s voice below, and went to a grated window, that opened upon the court, to enquire27 further. Here, she plainly heard his hoarse83 accents, mingling with the blast, that swept by, but they were lost again so quickly, that their meaning could not be interpreted; and then the light of a torch, which seemed to issue from the portal below, flashed across the court, and the long shadow of a man, who was under the arch-way, appeared upon the pavement. Emily, from the hugeness of this sudden portrait, concluded it to be that of Barnardine; but other deep tones, which passed in the wind, soon convinced her he was not alone, and that his companion was not a person very liable to pity.
When her spirits had overcome the first shock of her situation, she held up the lamp to examine, if the chamber afforded a possibility of an escape. It was a spacious84 room, whose walls, wainscoted with rough oak, shewed no casement but the grated one, which Emily had left, and no other door than that, by which she had entered. The feeble rays of the lamp, however, did not allow her to see at once its full extent; she perceived no furniture, except, indeed, an iron chair, fastened in the centre of the chamber, immediately over which, depending on a chain from the ceiling, hung an iron ring. Having gazed upon these, for some time, with wonder and horror, she next observed iron bars below, made for the purpose of confining the feet, and on the arms of the chair were rings of the same metal. As she continued to survey them, she concluded, that they were instruments of torture, and it struck her, that some poor wretch85 had once been fastened in this chair, and had there been starved to death. She was chilled by the thought; but, what was her agony, when, in the next moment, it occurred to her, that her aunt might have been one of these victims, and that she herself might be the next! An acute pain seized her head, she was scarcely able to hold the lamp, and, looking round for support, was seating herself, unconsciously, in the iron chair itself; but suddenly perceiving where she was, she started from it in horror, and sprung towards a remote end of the room. Here again she looked round for a seat to sustain her, and perceived only a dark curtain, which, descending from the ceiling to the floor, was drawn86 along the whole side of the chamber. Ill as she was, the appearance of this curtain struck her, and she paused to gaze upon it, in wonder and apprehension.
It seemed to conceal a recess87 of the chamber; she wished, yet dreaded88, to lift it, and to discover what it veiled: twice she was withheld by a recollection of the terrible spectacle her daring hand had formerly89 unveiled in an apartment of the castle, till, suddenly conjecturing90, that it concealed91 the body of her murdered aunt, she seized it, in a fit of desperation, and drew it aside. Beyond, appeared a corpse92, stretched on a kind of low couch, which was crimsoned93 with human blood, as was the floor beneath. The features, deformed94 by death, were ghastly and horrible, and more than one livid wound appeared in the face. Emily, bending over the body, gazed, for a moment, with an eager, frenzied95 eye; but, in the next, the lamp dropped from her hand, and she fell senseless at the foot of the couch.
When her senses returned, she found herself surrounded by men, among whom was Barnardine, who were lifting her from the floor, and then bore her along the chamber. She was sensible of what passed, but the extreme languor96 of her spirits did not permit her to speak, or move, or even to feel any distinct fear. They carried her down the stair- case, by which she had ascended; when, having reached the arch-way, they stopped, and one of the men, taking the torch from Barnardine, opened a small door, that was cut in the great gate, and, as he stepped out upon the road, the light he bore shewed several men on horseback, in waiting. Whether it was the freshness of the air, that revived Emily, or that the objects she now saw roused the spirit of alarm, she suddenly spoke, and made an ineffectual effort to disengage herself from the grasp of the ruffians, who held her.
Barnardine, meanwhile, called loudly for the torch, while distant voices answered, and several persons approached, and, in the same instant, a light flashed upon the court of the castle. Again he vociferated for the torch, and the men hurried Emily through the gate. At a short distance, under the shelter of the castle walls, she perceived the fellow, who had taken the light from the porter, holding it to a man, busily employed in altering the saddle of a horse, round which were several horsemen, looking on, whose harsh features received the full glare of the torch; while the broken ground beneath them, the opposite walls, with the tufted shrubs97, that overhung their summits, and an embattled watch-tower above, were reddened with the gleam, which, fading gradually away, left the remoter ramparts and the woods below to the obscurity of night.
‘What do you waste time for, there?’ said Barnardine with an oath, as he approached the horsemen. ‘Dispatch — dispatch!’
‘The saddle will be ready in a minute,’ replied the man who was buckling98 it, at whom Barnardine now swore again, for his negligence99, and Emily, calling feebly for help, was hurried towards the horses, while the ruffians disputed on which to place her, the one designed for her not being ready. At this moment a cluster of lights issued from the great gates, and she immediately heard the shrill100 voice of Annette above those of several other persons, who advanced. In the same moment, she distinguished Montoni and Cavigni, followed by a number of ruffian-faced fellows, to whom she no longer looked with terror, but with hope, for, at this instant, she did not tremble at the thought of any dangers, that might await her within the castle, whence so lately, and so anxiously she had wished to escape. Those, which threatened her from without, had engrossed101 all her apprehensions.
A short contest ensued between the parties, in which that of Montoni, however, were presently victors, and the horsemen, perceiving that numbers were against them, and being, perhaps, not very warmly interested in the affair they had undertaken, galloped102 off, while Barnardine had run far enough to be lost in the darkness, and Emily was led back into the castle. As she re-passed the courts, the remembrance of what she had seen in the portal-chamber came, with all its horror, to her mind; and when, soon after, she heard the gate close, that shut her once more within the castle walls, she shuddered for herself, and, almost forgetting the danger she had escaped, could scarcely think, that any thing less precious than liberty and peace was to be found beyond them.
Montoni ordered Emily to await him in the cedar103 parlour, whither he soon followed, and then sternly questioned her on this mysterious affair. Though she now viewed him with horror, as the murderer of her aunt, and scarcely knew what she said in reply to his impatient enquiries, her answers and her manner convinced him, that she had not taken a voluntary part in the late scheme, and he dismissed her upon the appearance of his servants, whom he had ordered to attend, that he might enquire further into the affair, and discover those, who had been accomplices104 in it.
Emily had been some time in her apartment, before the tumult105 of her mind allowed her to remember several of the past circumstances. Then, again, the dead form, which the curtain in the portal-chamber had disclosed, came to her fancy, and she uttered a groan106, which terrified Annette the more, as Emily forbore to satisfy her curiosity, on the subject of it, for she feared to trust her with so fatal a secret, lest her indiscretion should call down the immediate5 vengeance108 of Montoni on herself.
Thus compelled to bear within her own mind the whole horror of the secret, that oppressed it, her reason seemed to totter109 under the intolerable weight. She often fixed a wild and vacant look on Annette, and, when she spoke, either did not hear her, or answered from the purpose. Long fits of abstraction succeeded; Annette spoke repeatedly, but her voice seemed not to make any impression on the sense of the long agitated Emily, who sat fixed and silent, except that, now and then, she heaved a heavy sigh, but without tears.
Terrified at her condition, Annette, at length, left the room, to inform Montoni of it, who had just dismissed his servants, without having made any discoveries on the subject of his enquiry. The wild description, which this girl now gave of Emily, induced him to follow her immediately to the chamber.
At the sound of his voice, Emily turned her eyes, and a gleam of recollection seemed to shoot athwart her mind, for she immediately rose from her seat, and moved slowly to a remote part of the room. He spoke to her in accents somewhat softened110 from their usual harshness, but she regarded him with a kind of half curious, half terrified look, and answered only ‘yes,’ to whatever he said. Her mind still seemed to retain no other impression, than that of fear.
Of this disorder111 Annette could give no explanation, and Montoni, having attempted, for some time, to persuade Emily to talk, retired112, after ordering Annette to remain with her, during the night, and to inform him, in the morning, of her condition.
When he was gone, Emily again came forward, and asked who it was, that had been there to disturb her. Annette said it was the Signor- Signor Montoni. Emily repeated the name after her, several times, as if she did not recollect16 it, and then suddenly groaned113, and relapsed into abstraction.
With some difficulty, Annette led her to the bed, which Emily examined with an eager, frenzied eye, before she lay down, and then, pointing, turned with shuddering114 emotion, to Annette, who, now more terrified, went towards the door, that she might bring one of the female servants to pass the night with them; but Emily, observing her going, called her by name, and then in the naturally soft and plaintive115 tone of her voice, begged, that she, too, would not forsake116 her.— —‘For since my father died,’ added she, sighing, ‘every body forsakes117 me.’
‘Your father, ma’amselle!’ said Annette, ‘he was dead before you knew me.’
‘He was, indeed!’ rejoined Emily, and her tears began to flow. She now wept silently and long, after which, becoming quite calm, she at length sunk to sleep, Annette having had discretion107 enough not to interrupt her tears. This girl, as affectionate as she was simple, lost in these moments all her former fears of remaining in the chamber, and watched alone by Emily, during the whole night.
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1
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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3
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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5
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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6
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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7
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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8
instigated
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| v.使（某事物）开始或发生，鼓动( instigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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10
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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11
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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12
consigning
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的现在分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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13
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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14
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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15
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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16
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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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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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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22
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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23
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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24
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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25
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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27
enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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34
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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35
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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36
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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37
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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38
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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39
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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40
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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41
chiding
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| v.责骂，责备( chide的现在分词 ) | |
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42
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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43
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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44
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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45
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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46
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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48
mantling
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| 覆巾 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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52
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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enquiring
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| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
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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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58
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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59
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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buttresses
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| n.扶壁，扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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turrets
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| （六角）转台( turret的名词复数 )； （战舰和坦克等上的）转动炮塔； （摄影机等上的）镜头转台； （旧时攻城用的）塔车 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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71
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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75
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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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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81
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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82
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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83
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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84
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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85
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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86
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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90
conjecturing
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| v. & n. 推测，臆测 | |
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91
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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92
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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93
crimsoned
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| 变为深红色（crimson的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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95
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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96
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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97
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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98
buckling
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| 扣住 | |
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99
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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100
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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101
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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102
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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103
cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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104
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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105
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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106
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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107
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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108
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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109
totter
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| v.蹒跚， 摇摇欲坠；n.蹒跚的步子 | |
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110
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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111
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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112
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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113
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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114
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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115
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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116
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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117
forsakes
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| 放弃( forsake的第三人称单数 )； 弃绝； 抛弃； 摒弃 | |
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