He stood gazing on the door, and inwardly lamenting7, when a low hollow sound was heard from beneath. Emilia and Julia seized his arm; and almost sinking with apprehension8, listened in profound silence. A footstep was distinctly heard, as if passing through the apartment below, after which all was still. Ferdinand, fired by this confirmation9 of the late report, rushed on to the door, and again tried to burst his way, but it resisted all the efforts of his strength. The ladies now rejoiced in that circumstance which they so lately lamented10; for the sounds had renewed their terror, and though the night passed without further disturbance11, their fears were very little abated12.
Ferdinand, whose mind was wholly occupied with wonder, could with difficulty await the return of night. Emilia and Julia were scarcely less impatient. They counted the minutes as they passed; and when the family retired13 to rest, hastened with palpitating hearts to the apartment of madame. They were soon after joined by Ferdinand, who brought with him tools for cutting away the lock of the door. They paused a few moments in the chamber in fearful silence, but no sound disturbed the stillness of night. Ferdinand applied a knife to the door, and in a short time separated the lock. The door yielded, and disclosed a large and gloomy gallery. He took a light. Emilia and Julia, fearful of remaining in the chamber, resolved to accompany him, and each seizing an arm of madame, they followed in silence. The gallery was in many parts falling to decay, the ceiling was broke, and the window-shutters shattered, which, together with the dampness of the walls, gave the place an air of wild desolation.
They passed lightly on, for their steps ran in whispering echoes through the gallery, and often did Julia cast a fearful glance around.
The gallery terminated in a large old stair-case, which led to a hall below; on the left appeared several doors which seemed to lead to separate apartments. While they hesitated which course to pursue, a light flashed faintly up the stair-case, and in a moment after passed away; at the same time was heard the sound of a distant footstep. Ferdinand drew his sword and sprang forward; his companions, screaming with terror, ran back to madame's apartment.
Ferdinand descended14 a large vaulted15 hall; he crossed it towards a low arched door, which was left half open, and through which streamed a ray of light. The door opened upon a narrow winding16 passage; he entered, and the light retiring, was quickly lost in the windings17 of the place. Still he went on. The passage grew narrower, and the frequent fragments of loose stone made it now difficult to proceed. A low door closed the avenue, resembling that by which he had entered. He opened it, and discovered a square room, from whence rose a winding stair-case, which led up the south tower of the castle. Ferdinand paused to listen; the sound of steps was ceased, and all was profoundly silent. A door on the right attracted his notice; he tried to open it, but it was fastened. He concluded, therefore, that the person, if indeed a human being it was that bore the light he had seen, had passed up the tower. After a momentary18 hesitation19, he determined20 to ascend21 the stair-case, but its ruinous condition made this an adventure of some difficulty. The steps were decayed and broken, and the looseness of the stones rendered a footing very insecure. Impelled22 by an irresistible23 curiosity, he was undismayed, and began the ascent24. He had not proceeded very far, when the stones of a step which his foot had just quitted, loosened by his weight, gave way; and dragging with them those adjoining, formed a chasm25 in the stair-case that terrified even Ferdinand, who was left tottering26 on the suspended half of the steps, in momentary expectation of falling to the bottom with the stone on which he rested. In the terror which this occasioned, he attempted to save himself by catching28 at a kind of beam which projected over the stairs, when the lamp dropped from his hand, and he was left in total darkness. Terror now usurped29 the place of every other interest, and he was utterly30 perplexed31 how to proceed. He feared to go on, lest the steps above, as infirm as those below, should yield to his weight;—to return was impracticable, for the darkness precluded32 the possibility of discovering a means. He determined, therefore, to remain in this situation till light should dawn through the narrow grates in the walls, and enable him to contrive33 some method of letting himself down to the ground.
He had remained here above an hour, when he suddenly heard a voice from below. It seemed to come from the passage leading to the tower, and perceptibly drew nearer. His agitation34 was now extreme, for he had no power of defending himself, and while he remained in this state of torturing expectation, a blaze of light burst upon the stair-case beneath him. In the succeeding moment he heard his own name sounded from below. His apprehensions35 instantly vanished, for he distinguished36 the voices of madame and his sisters.
They had awaited his return in all the horrors of apprehension, till at length all fear for themselves was lost in their concern for him; and they, who so lately had not dared to enter this part of the edifice37, now undauntedly searched it in quest of Ferdinand. What were their emotions when they discovered his perilous38 situation!
The light now enabled him to take a more accurate survey of the place. He perceived that some few stones of the steps which had fallen still remained attached to the wall, but he feared to trust to their support only. He observed, however, that the wall itself was partly decayed, and consequently rugged39 with the corners of half-worn stones. On these small projections40 he contrived41, with the assistance of the steps already mentioned, to suspend himself, and at length gained the unbroken part of the stairs in safety. It is difficult to determine which individual of the party rejoiced most at this escape. The morning now dawned, and Ferdinand desisted for the present from farther enquiry.
The interest which these mysterious circumstances excited in the mind of Julia, had withdrawn42 her attention from a subject more dangerous to its peace. The image of Vereza, notwithstanding, would frequently intrude43 upon her fancy; and, awakening44 the recollection of happy emotions, would call forth46 a sigh which all her efforts could not suppress. She loved to indulge the melancholy47 of her heart in the solitude48 of the woods. One evening she took her lute49 to a favorite spot on the seashore, and resigning herself to a pleasing sadness, touched some sweet and plaintive50 airs. The purple flush of evening was diffused51 over the heavens. The sun, involved in clouds of splendid and innumerable hues52, was setting o'er the distant waters, whose clear bosom53 glowed with rich reflection. The beauty of the scene, the soothing54 murmur55 of the high trees, waved by the light air which overshadowed her, and the soft shelling of the waves that flowed gently in upon the shores, insensibly sunk her mind into a state of repose56. She touched the chords of her lute in sweet and wild melody, and sung the following ode:
EVENING
Evening veil'd in dewy shades,
Slowly sinks upon the main;
See th'empurpled glory fades,
In sweet illapses meet the sight,
Crown'd their brows with closing flow'rs
Rich with chrystal dews of night.
Her hands, the dusky hues arrange
Insensibly the colours change,
Wide o'er the waves her shadowy veil she draws.
As faint they die along the distant shores;
Through the still air I mark each solemn pause,
Each rising murmur which the wild wave pours.
A browner shadow spreads upon the air,
The rocks—the woods a wilder beauty wear,
And the deep wave in softer music flows;
And now the distant view where vision fails,
Till all the landscape sinks into the shade.
While sleeps the scene beneath the purple glow:
Wrapt let me view the magic world below!
The distant torrent's melancholy note
And the soft warblings of the lover's lute.
Still through the deep'ning gloom of bow'ry shades
To Fancy's eye fantastic forms appear;
And thrill the ear with wildly-pleasing fear.
Parent of shades!—of silence!—dewy airs!
To thee my soul her pensive tribute bears,
And hails thy gradual step, thy influence mild.
Having ceased to sing, her fingers wandered over the lute in melancholy symphony, and for some moments she remained lost in the sweet sensations which the music and the scenery had inspired. She was awakened73 from her reverie, by a sigh that stole from among the trees, and directing her eyes whence it came, beheld74—Hippolitus! A thousand sweet and mingled75 emotions pressed upon her heart, yet she scarcely dared to trust the evidence of sight. He advanced, and throwing himself at her feet: 'Suffer me,' said he, in a tremulous voice, 'to disclose to you the sentiments which you have inspired, and to offer you the effusions of a heart filled only with love and admiration76.' 'Rise, my lord,' said Julia, moving from her seat with an air of dignity, 'that attitude is neither becoming you to use, or me to suffer. The evening is closing, and Ferdinand will be impatient to see you.'
'Never will I rise, madam,' replied the count, with an impassioned air, 'till'—He was interrupted by the marchioness, who at this moment entered the grove77. On observing the position of the count she was retiring. 'Stay, madam,' said Julia, almost sinking under her confusion. 'By no means,' replied the marchioness, in a tone of irony78, 'my presence would only interrupt a very agreeable scene. The count, I see, is willing to pay you his earliest respects.' Saying this she disappeared, leaving Julia distressed80 and offended, and the count provoked at the intrusion. He attempted to renew the subject, but Julia hastily followed the steps of the marchioness, and entered the castle.
The scene she had witnessed, raised in the marchioness a tumult81 of dreadful emotions. Love, hatred82, and jealousy83, raged by turns in her heart, and defied all power of controul. Subjected to their alternate violence, she experienced a misery84 more acute than any she had yet known. Her imagination, invigorated by opposition85, heightened to her the graces of Hippolitus; her bosom glowed with more intense passion, and her brain was at length exasperated86 almost to madness.
In Julia this sudden and unexpected interview excited a mingled emotion of love and vexation, which did not soon subside87. At length, however, the delightful88 consciousness of Vereza's love bore her high above every other sensation; again the scene more brightly glowed, and again her fancy overcame the possibility of evil.
During the evening a tender and timid respect distinguished the behaviour of the count towards Julia, who, contented89 with the certainty of being loved, resolved to conceal90 her sentiments till an explanation of his abrupt91 departure from Mazzini, and subsequent absence, should have dissipated the shadow of mystery which hung over this part of his conduct. She observed that the marchioness pursued her with steady and constant observation, and she carefully avoided affording the count an opportunity of renewing the subject of the preceding interview, which, whenever he approached her, seemed to tremble on his lips.
Night returned, and Ferdinand repaired to the chamber of Julia to pursue his enquiry. Here he had not long remained, when the strange and alarming sounds which had been heard on the preceding night were repeated. The circumstance that now sunk in terror the minds of Emilia and Julia, fired with new wonder that of Ferdinand, who seizing a light, darted93 through the discovered door, and almost instantly disappeared.
He descended into the same wild hall he had passed on the preceding night. He had scarcely reached the bottom of the stair-case, when a feeble light gleamed across the hall, and his eye caught the glimpse of a figure retiring through the low arched door which led to the south tower. He drew his sword and rushed on. A faint sound died away along the passage, the windings of which prevented his seeing the figure he pursued. Of this, indeed, he had obtained so slight a view, that he scarcely knew whether it bore the impression of a human form. The light quickly disappeared, and he heard the door that opened upon the tower suddenly close. He reached it, and forcing it open, sprang forward; but the place was dark and solitary94, and there was no appearance of any person having passed along it. He looked up the tower, and the chasm which the stair-case exhibited, convinced him that no human being could have passed up. He stood silent and amazed; examining the place with an eye of strict enquiry, he perceived a door, which was partly concealed95 by hanging stairs, and which till now had escaped his notice. Hope invigorated curiosity, but his expectation was quickly disappointed, for this door also was fastened. He tried in vain to force it. He knocked, and a hollow sullen96 sound ran in echoes through the place, and died away at a distance. It was evident that beyond this door were chambers97 of considerable extent, but after long and various attempts to reach them, he was obliged to desist, and he quitted the tower as ignorant and more dissatisfied than he had entered it. He returned to the hall, which he now for the first time deliberately98 surveyed. It was a spacious99 and desolate100 apartment, whose lofty roof rose into arches supported by pillars of black marble. The same substance inlaid the floor, and formed the stair-case. The windows were high and gothic. An air of proud sublimity101, united with singular wildness, characterized the place, at the extremity102 of which arose several gothic arches, whose dark shade veiled in obscurity the extent beyond. On the left hand appeared two doors, each of which was fastened, and on the right the grand entrance from the courts. Ferdinand determined to explore the dark recess103 which terminated his view, and as he traversed the hall, his imagination, affected104 by the surrounding scene, often multiplied the echoes of his footsteps into uncertain sounds of strange and fearful import.
He reached the arches, and discovered beyond a kind of inner hall, of considerable extent, which was closed at the farther end by a pair of massy folding-doors, heavily ornamented105 with carving106. They were fastened by a lock, and defied his utmost strength.
As he surveyed the place in silent wonder, a sullen groan107 arose from beneath the spot where he stood. His blood ran cold at the sound, but silence returning, and continuing unbroken, he attributed his alarm to the illusion of a fancy, which terror had impregnated. He made another effort to force the door, when a groan was repeated more hollow, and more dreadful than the first. At this moment all his courage forsook108 him; he quitted the door, and hastened to the stair-case, which he ascended109 almost breathless with terror.
He found Madame de Menon and his sisters awaiting his return in the most painful anxiety; and, thus disappointed in all his endeavours to penetrate110 the secret of these buildings, and fatigued111 with fruitless search, he resolved to suspend farther enquiry.
When he related the circumstances of his late adventure, the terror of Emilia and Julia was heightened to a degree that overcame every prudent112 consideration. Their apprehension of the marquis's displeasure was lost in a stronger feeling, and they resolved no longer to remain in apartments which offered only terrific images to their fancy. Madame de Menon almost equally alarmed, and more perplexed, by this combination of strange and unaccountable circumstances, ceased to oppose their design. It was resolved, therefore, that on the following day madame should acquaint the marchioness with such particulars of the late occurrence as their purpose made it necessary she should know, concealing113 their knowledge of the hidden door, and the incidents immediately dependant114 on it; and that madame should entreat115 a change of apartments.
Madame accordingly waited on the marchioness. The marchioness having listened to the account at first with surprise, and afterwards with indifference116, condescended117 to reprove madame for encouraging superstitious118 belief in the minds of her young charge. She concluded with ridiculing119 as fanciful the circumstances related, and with refusing, on account of the numerous visitants at the castle, the request preferred to her.
It is true the castle was crowded with visitors; the former apartments of Madame de Menon were the only ones unoccupied, and these were in magnificent preparation for the pleasure of the marchioness, who was unaccustomed to sacrifice her own wishes to the comfort of those around her. She therefore treated lightly the subject, which, seriously attended to, would have endangered her new plan of delight.
But Emilia and Julia were too seriously terrified to obey the scruples120 of delicacy121, or to be easily repulsed122. They prevailed on Ferdinand to represent their situation to the marquis.
Meanwhile Hippolitus, who had passed the night in a state of sleepless123 anxiety, watched, with busy impatience124, an opportunity of more fully3 disclosing to Julia the passion which glowed in his heart. The first moment in which he beheld her, had awakened in him an admiration which had since ripened125 into a sentiment more tender. He had been prevented formally declaring his passion by the circumstance which so suddenly called him to Naples. This was the dangerous illness of the Marquis de Lomelli, his near and much-valued relation. But it was a task too painful to depart in silence, and he contrived to inform Julia of his sentiments in the air which she heard so sweetly sung beneath her window.
When Hippolitus reached Naples, the marquis was yet living, but expired a few days after his arrival, leaving the count heir to the small possessions which remained from the extravagance of their ancestors.
The business of adjusting his rights had till now detained him from Sicily, whither he came for the sole purpose of declaring his love. Here unexpected obstacles awaited him. The jealous vigilance of the marchioness conspired126 with the delicacy of Julia, to withhold127 from him the opportunity he so anxiously sought.
When Ferdinand entered upon the subject of the southern buildings to the marquis, he carefully avoided mentioning the hidden door. The marquis listened for some time to the relation in gloomy silence, but at length assuming an air of displeasure, reprehended128 Ferdinand for yielding his confidence to those idle alarms, which he said were the suggestions of a timid imagination. 'Alarms,' continued he, 'which will readily find admittance to the weak mind of a woman, but which the firmer nature of man should disdain129.—Degenerate boy! Is it thus you reward my care? Do I live to see my son the sport of every idle tale a woman may repeat? Learn to trust reason and your senses, and you will then be worthy130 of my attention.'
The marquis was retiring, and Ferdinand now perceived it necessary to declare, that he had himself witnessed the sounds he mentioned. 'Pardon me, my lord,' said he, 'in the late instance I have been just to your command—my senses have been the only evidences I have trusted. I have heard those sounds which I cannot doubt.' The marquis appeared shocked. Ferdinand perceived the change, and urged the subject so vigorously, that the marquis, suddenly assuming a look of grave importance, commanded him to attend him in the evening in his closet.
Ferdinand in passing from the marquis met Hippolitus. He was pacing the gallery in much seeming agitation, but observing Ferdinand, he advanced to him. 'I am ill at heart,' said he, in a melancholy tone, 'assist me with your advice. We will step into this apartment, where we can converse132 without interruption.'
'You are not ignorant,' said he, throwing himself into a chair, 'of the tender sentiments which your sister Julia has inspired. I entreat you by that sacred friendship which has so long united us, to afford me an opportunity of pleading my passion. Her heart, which is so susceptible133 of other impressions, is, I fear, insensible to love. Procure134 me, however, the satisfaction of certainty upon a point where the tortures of suspence are surely the most intolerable.'
'Your penetration,' replied Ferdinand, 'has for once forsaken135 you, else you would now be spared the tortures of which you complain, for you would have discovered what I have long observed, that Julia regards you with a partial eye.'
'Do not,' said Hippolitus, 'make disappointment more terrible by flattery; neither suffer the partiality of friendship to mislead your judgment136. Your perceptions are affected by the warmth of your feelings, and because you think I deserve her distinction, you believe I possess it. Alas137! you deceive yourself, but not me!'
'The very reverse,' replied Ferdinand; 'tis you who deceive yourself, or rather it is the delicacy of the passion which animates138 you, and which will ever operate against your clear perception of a truth in which your happiness is so deeply involved. Believe me, I speak not without reason:—she loves you.'
At these words Hippolitus started from his seat, and clasping his hands in fervent139 joy, 'Enchanting140 sounds!' cried he, in a voice tenderly impassioned; 'could I but believe ye!—could I but believe ye-this world were paradise!'
During this exclamation141, the emotions of Julia, who sat in her closet adjoining, can with difficulty be imagined. A door which opened into it from the apartment where this conversation was held, was only half closed. Agitated142 with the pleasure this declaration excited, she yet trembled with apprehension lest she should be discovered. She hardly dared to breathe, much less to move across the closet to the door, which opened upon the gallery, whence she might probably have escaped unnoticed, lest the sound of her step should betray her. Compelled, therefore, to remain where she was, she sat in a state of fearful distress79, which no colour of language can paint.
'Alas!' resumed Hippolitus, 'I too eagerly admit the possibility of what I wish. If you mean that I should really believe you, confirm your assertion by some proof.'—'Readily,' rejoined Ferdinand.
The heart of Julia beat quick.
'When you was so suddenly called to Naples upon the illness of the Marquis Lomelli, I marked her conduct well, and in that read the sentiments of her heart. On the following morning, I observed in her countenance143 a restless anxiety which I had never seen before. She watched the entrance of every person with an eager expectation, which was as often succeeded by evident disappointment. At dinner your departure was mentioned:—she spilt the wine she was carrying to her lips, and for the remainder of the day was spiritless and melancholy. I saw her ineffectual struggles to conceal the oppression at her heart. Since that time she has seized every opportunity of withdrawing from company. The gaiety with which she was so lately charmed—charmed her no longer; she became pensive, retired, and I have often heard her singing in some lonely spot, the most moving and tender airs. Your return produced a visible and instantaneous alteration144; she has now resumed her gaiety; and the soft confusion of her countenance, whenever you approach, might alone suffice to convince you of the truth of my assertion.'
'O! talk for ever thus!' sighed Hippolitus. 'These words are so sweet, so soothing to my soul, that I could listen till I forgot I had a wish beyond them. Yes!—Ferdinand, these circumstances are not to be doubted, and conviction opens upon my mind a flow of extacy I never knew till now. O! lead me to her, that I may speak the sentiments which swell68 my heart.'
They arose, when Julia, who with difficulty had supported herself, now impelled by an irresistible fear of instant discovery, rose also, and moved softly towards the gallery. The sound of her step alarmed the count, who, apprehensive145 lest his conversation had been overheard, was anxious to be satisfied whether any person was in the closet. He rushed in, and discovered Julia! She caught at a chair to support her trembling frame; and overwhelmed with mortifying146 sensations, sunk into it, and hid her face in her robe. Hippolitus threw himself at her feet, and seizing her hand, pressed it to his lips in expressive147 silence. Some moments passed before the confusion of either would suffer them to speak. At length recovering his voice, 'Can you, madam,' said he, 'forgive this intrusion, so unintentional? or will it deprive me of that esteem148 which I have but lately ventured to believe I possessed149, and which I value more than existence itself. O! speak my pardon! Let me not believe that a single accident has destroyed my peace for ever.'—'If your peace, sir, depends upon a knowledge of my esteem,' said Julia, in a tremulous voice, 'that peace is already secure. If I wished even to deny the partiality I feel, it would now be useless; and since I no longer wish this, it would also be painful.' Hippolitus could only weep his thanks over the hand he still held. 'Be sensible, however, of the delicacy of my situation,' continued she, rising, 'and suffer me to withdraw.' Saying this she quitted the closet, leaving Hippolitus overcome with this sweet confirmation of his wishes, and Ferdinand not yet recovered from the painful surprize which the discovery of Julia had excited. He was deeply sensible of the confusion he had occasioned her, and knew that apologies would not restore the composure he had so cruelly yet unwarily disturbed.
Ferdinand awaited the hour appointed by the marquis in impatient curiosity. The solemn air which the marquis assumed when he commanded him to attend, had deeply impressed his mind. As the time drew nigh, expectation increased, and every moment seemed to linger into hours. At length he repaired to the closet, where he did not remain long before the marquis entered. The same chilling solemnity marked his manner. He locked the door of the closet, and seating himself, addressed Ferdinand as follows:—
'I am now going to repose in you a confidence which will severely150 prove the strength of your honour. But before I disclose a secret, hitherto so carefully concealed, and now reluctantly told, you must swear to preserve on this subject an eternal silence. If you doubt the steadiness of your discretion151—now declare it, and save yourself from the infamy152, and the fatal consequences, which may attend a breach153 of your oath;—if, on the contrary, you believe yourself capable of a strict integrity—now accept the terms, and receive the secret I offer.' Ferdinand was awed154 by this exordium—the impatience of curiosity was for a while suspended, and he hesitated whether he should receive the secret upon such terms. At length he signified his consent, and the marquis arising, drew his sword from the scabbard.—'Here,' said he, offering it to Ferdinand, 'seal your vows—swear by this sacred pledge of honor never to repeat what I shall now reveal.' Ferdinand vowed155 upon the sword, and raising his eyes to heaven, solemnly swore. The marquis then resumed his seat, and proceeded.
'You are now to learn that, about a century ago, this castle was in the possession of Vincent, third marquis of Mazzini, my grandfather. At that time there existed an inveterate156 hatred between our family and that of della Campo. I shall not now revert157 to the origin of the animosity, or relate the particulars of the consequent feuds—suffice it to observe, that by the power of our family, the della Campos were unable to preserve their former consequence in Sicily, and they have therefore quitted it for a foreign land to live in unmolested security. To return to my subject.—My grandfather, believing his life endangered by his enemy, planted spies upon him. He employed some of the numerous banditti who sought protection in his service, and after some weeks past in waiting for an opportunity, they seized Henry della Campo, and brought him secretly to this castle. He was for some time confined in a close chamber of the southern buildings, where he expired; by what means I shall forbear to mention. The plan had been so well conducted, and the secrecy158 so strictly159 preserved, that every endeavour of his family to trace the means of his disappearance160 proved ineffectual. Their conjectures161, if they fell upon our family, were supported by no proof; and the della Campos are to this day ignorant of the mode of his death. A rumour162 had prevailed long before the death of my father, that the southern buildings of the castle were haunted. I disbelieved the fact, and treated it accordingly. One night, when every human being of the castle, except myself, was retired to rest, I had such strong and dreadful proofs of the general assertion, that even at this moment I cannot recollect45 them without horror. Let me, if possible, forget them. From that moment I forsook those buildings; they have ever since been shut up, and the circumstance I have mentioned, is the true reason why I have resided so little at the castle.'
Ferdinand listened to this narrative163 in silent horror. He remembered the temerity164 with which he had dared to penetrate those apartments—the light, and figure he had seen—and, above all, his situation in the stair-case of the tower. Every nerve thrilled at the recollection; and the terrors of remembrance almost equalled those of reality.
The marquis permitted his daughters to change their apartments, but he commanded Ferdinand to tell them, that, in granting their request, he consulted their ease only, and was himself by no means convinced of its propriety165. They were accordingly reinstated in their former chambers, and the great room only of madame's apartments was reserved for the marchioness, who expressed her discontent to the marquis in terms of mingled censure166 and lamentation167. The marquis privately168 reproved his daughters, for what he termed the idle fancies of a weak mind; and desired them no more to disturb the peace of the castle with the subject of their late fears. They received this reproof169 with silent submission—too much pleased with the success of their suit to be susceptible of any emotion but joy.
Ferdinand, reflecting on the late discovery, was shocked to learn, what was now forced upon his belief, that he was the descendant of a murderer. He now knew that innocent blood had been shed in the castle, and that the walls were still the haunt of an unquiet spirit, which seemed to call aloud for retribution on the posterity170 of him who had disturbed its eternal rest. Hippolitus perceived his dejection, and entreated171 that he might participate his uneasiness; but Ferdinand, who had hitherto been frank and ingenuous172, was now inflexibly173 reserved. 'Forbear,' said he, 'to urge a discovery of what I am not permitted to reveal; this is the only point upon which I conjure174 you to be silent, and this even to you, I cannot explain.' Hippolitus was surprized, but pressed the subject no farther.
Julia, though she had been extremely mortified175 by the circumstances attendant on the discovery of her sentiments to Hippolitus, experienced, after the first shock had subsided176, an emotion more pleasing than painful. The late conversation had painted in strong colours the attachment177 of her lover. His diffidence—his slowness to perceive the effect of his merit—his succeeding rapture178, when conviction was at length forced upon his mind; and his conduct upon discovering Julia, proved to her at once the delicacy and the strength of his passion, and she yielded her heart to sensations of pure and unmixed delight. She was roused from this state of visionary happiness, by a summons from the marquis to attend him in the library. A circumstance so unusual surprized her, and she obeyed with trembling curiosity. She found him pacing the room in deep thought, and she had shut the door before he perceived her. The authoritative179 severity in his countenance alarmed her, and prepared her for a subject of importance. He seated himself by her, and continued a moment silent. At length, steadily180 observing her, 'I sent for you, my child,' said he, 'to declare the honor which awaits you. The Duke de Luovo has solicited181 your hand. An alliance so splendid was beyond my expectation. You will receive the distinction with the gratitude183 it claims, and prepare for the celebration of the nuptials184.'
This speech fell like the dart92 of death upon the heart of Julia. She sat motionless—stupified and deprived of the power of utterance185. The marquis observed her consternation186; and mistaking its cause, 'I acknowledge,' said he, 'that there is somewhat abrupt in this affair; but the joy occasioned by a distinction so unmerited on your part, ought to overcome the little feminine weakness you might otherwise indulge. Retire and compose yourself; and observe,' continued he, in a stern voice, 'this is no time for finesse187.' These words roused Julia from her state of horrid188 stupefaction. 'O! sir,' said she, throwing herself at his feet, 'forbear to enforce authority upon a point where to obey you would be worse than death; if, indeed, to obey you were possible.'—'Cease,' said the marquis, 'this affectation, and practice what becomes you.'—'Pardon me, my lord,' she replied, 'my distress is, alas! unfeigned. I cannot love the duke.'—'Away!' interrupted the marquis, 'nor tempt27 my rage with objections thus childish and absurd.'—'Yet hear me, my lord,' said Julia, tears swelling189 in her eyes, 'and pity the sufferings of a child, who never till this moment has dared to dispute your commands.'
'Nor shall she now,' said the marquis. 'What—when wealth, honor, and distinction, are laid at my feet, shall they be refused, because a foolish girl—a very baby, who knows not good from evil, cries, and says she cannot love! Let me not think of it—My just anger may, perhaps, out-run discretion, and tempt me to chastise190 your folly191.—Attend to what I say—accept the duke, or quit this castle for ever, and wander where you will.' Saying this, he burst away, and Julia, who had hung weeping upon his knees, fell prostrate192 upon the floor. The violence of the fall completed the effect of her distress, and she fainted. In this state she remained a considerable time. When she recovered her senses, the recollection of her calamity193 burst upon her mind with a force that almost again overwhelmed her. She at length raised herself from the ground, and moved towards her own apartment, but had scarcely reached the great gallery, when Hippolitus entered it. Her trembling limbs would no longer support her; she caught at a bannister to save herself; and Hippolitus, with all his speed, was scarcely in time to prevent her falling. The pale distress exhibited in her countenance terrified him, and he anxiously enquired194 concerning it. She could answer him only with her tears, which she found it impossible to suppress; and gently disengaging herself, tottered195 to her closet. Hippolitus followed her to the door, but desisted from further importunity196. He pressed her hand to his lips in tender silence, and withdrew, surprized and alarmed.
Julia, resigning herself to despair, indulged in solitude the excess of her grief. A calamity, so dreadful as the present, had never before presented itself to her imagination. The union proposed would have been hateful to her, even if she had no prior attachment; what then must have been her distress, when she had given her heart to him who deserved all her admiration, and returned all her affection.
The Duke de Luovo was of a character very similar to that of the marquis. The love of power was his ruling passion;—with him no gentle or generous sentiment meliorated the harshness of authority, or directed it to acts of beneficence. He delighted in simple undisguised tyranny. He had been twice married, and the unfortunate women subjected to his power, had fallen victims to the slow but corroding197 hand of sorrow. He had one son, who some years before had escaped the tyranny of his father, and had not been since heard of. At the late festival the duke had seen Julia; and her beauty made so strong an impression upon him, that he had been induced now to solicit182 her hand. The marquis, delighted with the prospect198 of a connection so flattering to his favorite passion, readily granted his consent, and immediately sealed it with a promise.
Julia remained for the rest of the day shut up in her closet, where the tender efforts of Madame and Emilia were exerted to soften199 her distress. Towards the close of evening Ferdinand entered. Hippolitus, shocked at her absence, had requested him to visit her, to alleviate200 her affliction, and, if possible, to discover its cause. Ferdinand, who tenderly loved his sister, was alarmed by the words of Hippolitus, and immediately sought her. Her eyes were swelled201 with weeping, and her countenance was but too expressive of the state of her mind. Ferdinand's distress, when told of his father's conduct, was scarcely less than her own. He had pleased himself with the hope of uniting the sister of his heart with the friend whom he loved. An act of cruel authority now dissolved the fairy dream of happiness which his fancy had formed, and destroyed the peace of those most dear to him. He sat for a long time silent and dejected; at length, starting from his melancholy reverie, he bad Julia good-night, and returned to Hippolitus, who was waiting for him with anxious impatience in the north hall.
Ferdinand dreaded202 the effect of that despair, which the intelligence he had to communicate would produce in the mind of Hippolitus. He revolved203 some means of softening204 the dreadful truth; but Hippolitus, quick to apprehend205 the evil which love taught him to fear, seized at once upon the reality. 'Tell me all,' said he, in a tone of assumed firmness. 'I am prepared for the worst.' Ferdinand related the decree of the marquis, and Hippolitus soon sunk into an excess of grief which defied, as much as it required, the powers of alleviation206.
Julia, at length, retired to her chamber, but the sorrow which occupied her mind withheld the blessings207 of sleep. Distracted and restless she arose, and gently opened the window of her apartment. The night was still, and not a breath disturbed the surface of the waters. The moon shed a mild radiance over the waves, which in gentle undulations flowed upon the sands. The scene insensibly tranquilized her spirits. A tender and pleasing melancholy diffused itself over her mind; and as she mused208, she heard the dashing of distant oars209. Presently she perceived upon the light surface of the sea a small boat. The sound of the oars ceased, and a solemn strain of harmony (such as fancy wafts210 from the abodes211 of the blessed) stole upon the silence of night. A chorus of voices now swelled upon the air, and died away at a distance. In the strain Julia recollected212 the midnight hymn213 to the virgin214, and holy enthusiasm filled her heart. The chorus was repeated, accompanied by a solemn striking of oars. A sigh of exstacy stole from her bosom. Silence returned. The divine melody she had heard calmed the tumult of her mind, and she sunk in sweet repose.
She arose in the morning refreshed by light slumbers215; but the recollection of her sorrows soon returned with new force, and sickening faintness overcame her. In this situation she received a message from the marquis to attend him instantly. She obeyed, and he bade her prepare to receive the duke, who that morning purposed to visit the castle. He commanded her to attire216 herself richly, and to welcome him with smiles. Julia submitted in silence. She saw the marquis was inflexibly resolved, and she withdrew to indulge the anguish62 of her heart, and prepare for this detested217 interview.
The clock had struck twelve, when a flourish of trumpets218 announced the approach of the duke. The heart of Julia sunk at the sound, and she threw herself on a sopha, overwhelmed with bitter sensations. Here she was soon disturbed by a message from the marquis. She arose, and tenderly embracing Emilia, their tears for some moments flowed together. At length, summoning all her fortitude219, she descended to the hall, where she was met by the marquis. He led her to the saloon in which the duke sat, with whom having conversed220 a short time, he withdrew. The emotion of Julia at this instant was beyond any thing she had before suffered; but by a sudden and strange exertion221 of fortitude, which the force of desperate calamity sometimes affords us, but which inferior sorrow toils222 after in vain, she recovered her composure, and resumed her natural dignity. For a moment she wondered at herself, and she formed the dangerous resolution of throwing herself upon the generosity223 of the duke, by acknowledging her reluctance224 to the engagement, and soliciting225 him to withdraw his suit.
The duke approached her with an air of proud condescension226; and taking her hand, placed himself beside her. Having paid some formal and general compliments to her beauty, he proceeded to profess227 himself her admirer. She listened for some time to his professions, and when he appeared willing to hear her, she addressed him—'I am justly sensible, my lord, of the distinction you offer me, and must lament6 that respectful gratitude is the only sentiment I can return. Nothing can more strongly prove my confidence in your generosity, than when I confess to you, that parental228 authority urges me to give my hand whither my heart cannot accompany it.'
She paused—the duke continued silent.—''Tis you only, my lord, who can release me from a situation so distressing229; and to your goodness and justice I appeal, certain that necessity will excuse the singularity of my conduct, and that I shall not appeal in vain.'
The duke was embarrassed—a flush of pride overspread his countenance, and he seemed endeavouring to stifle230 the feelings that swelled his heart. 'I had been prepared, madam,' said he, 'to expect a very different reception, and had certainly no reason to believe that the Duke de Luovo was likely to sue in vain. Since, however, madam, you acknowledge that you have already disposed of your affections, I shall certainly be very willing, if the marquis will release me from our mutual231 engagements, to resign you to a more favored lover.'
'Pardon me, my lord,' said Julia, blushing, 'suffer me to'—'I am not easily deceived, madam,' interrupted the duke,—'your conduct can be attributed only to the influence of a prior attachment; and though for so young a lady, such a circumstance is somewhat extraordinary, I have certainly no right to arraign232 your choice. Permit me to wish you a good morning.' He bowed low, and quitted the room. Julia now experienced a new distress; she dreaded the resentment233 of the marquis, when he should be informed of her conversation with the duke, of whose character she now judged too justly not to repent234 the confidence she had reposed235 in him.
The duke, on quitting Julia, went to the marquis, with whom he remained in conversation some hours. When he had left the castle, the marquis sent for his daughter, and poured forth his resentment with all the violence of threats, and all the acrimony of contempt. So severely did he ridicule236 the idea of her disposing of her heart, and so dreadfully did he denounce vengeance237 on her disobedience, that she scarcely thought herself safe in his presence. She stood trembling and confused, and heard his reproaches without the power to reply. At length the marquis informed her, that the nuptials would be solemnized on the third day from the present; and as he quitted the room, a flood of tears came to her relief, and saved her from fainting.
Julia passed the remainder of the day in her closet with Emilia. Night returned, but brought her no peace. She sat long after the departure of Emilia; and to beguile238 recollection, she selected a favorite author, endeavouring to revive those sensations his page had once excited. She opened to a passage, the tender sorrow of which was applicable to her own situation, and her tears flowed wean. Her grief was soon suspended by apprehension. Hitherto a deadly silence had reigned239 through the castle, interrupted only by the wind, whose low sound crept at intervals240 through the galleries. She now thought she heard a footstep near her door, but presently all was still, for she believed she had been deceived by the wind. The succeeding moment, however, convinced her of her error, for she distinguished the low whisperings of some persons in the gallery. Her spirits, already weakened by sorrow, deserted242 her: she was seized with an universal terror, and presently afterwards a low voice called her from without, and the door was opened by Ferdinand.
She shrieked243, and fainted. On recovering, she found herself supported by Ferdinand and Hippolitus, who had stolen this moment of silence and security to gain admittance to her presence. Hippolitus came to urge a proposal which despair only could have suggested. 'Fly,' said he, 'from the authority of a father who abuses his power, and assert the liberty of choice, which nature assigned you. Let the desperate situation of my hopes plead excuse for the apparent boldness of this address, and let the man who exists but for you be the means of saving you from destruction. Alas! madam, you are silent, and perhaps I have forfeited244, by this proposal, the confidence I so lately flattered myself I possessed. If so, I will submit to my fate in silence, and will to-morrow quit a scene which presents only images of distress to my mind.'
Julia could speak but with her tears. A variety of strong and contending emotions struggled at her breast, and suppressed the power of utterance. Ferdinand seconded the proposal of the count. 'It is unnecessary,' my sister, said he, 'to point out the misery which awaits you here. I love you too well tamely to suffer you to be sacrificed to ambition, and to a passion still more hateful. I now glory in calling Hippolitus my friend—let me ere long receive him as a brother. I can give no stronger testimony245 of my esteem for his character, than in the wish I now express. Believe me he has a heart worthy of your acceptance—a heart noble and expansive as your own.'—'Ah, cease,' said Julia, 'to dwell upon a character of whose worth I am fully sensible. Your kindness and his merit can never be forgotten by her whose misfortunes you have so generously suffered to interest you.' She paused in silent hesitation. A sense of delicacy made her hesitate upon the decision which her heart so warmly prompted. If she fled with Hippolitus, she would avoid one evil, and encounter another. She would escape the dreadful destiny awaiting her, but must, perhaps, sully the purity of that reputation, which was dearer to her than existence. In a mind like hers, exquisitely246 susceptible of the pride of honor, this fear was able to counteract247 every other consideration, and to keep her intentions in a state of painful suspense248. She sighed deeply, and continued silent. Hippolitus was alarmed by the calm distress which her countenance exhibited. 'O! Julia,' said he, 'relieve me from this dreadful suspense!—speak to me—explain this silence.' She looked mournfully upon him—her lips moved, but no sounds were uttered. As he repeated his question, she waved her hand, and sunk back in her chair. She had not fainted, but continued some time in a state of stupor249 not less alarming. The importance of the present question, operating upon her mind, already harassed250 by distress, had produced a temporary suspension of reason. Hippolitus hung over her in an agony not to be described, and Ferdinand vainly repeated her name. At length uttering a deep sigh, she raised herself, and, like one awakened from a dream, gazed around her. Hippolitus thanked God fervently251 in his heart. 'Tell me but that you are well,' said he, 'and that I may dare to hope, and we will leave you to repose.'—'My sister,' said Ferdinand, 'consult only your own wishes, and leave the rest to me. Suffer a confidence in me to dissipate the doubts with which you are agitated.'—'Ferdinand,' said Julia, emphatically, 'how shall I express the gratitude your kindness has excited?'—'Your gratitude,' said he, 'will be best shown in consulting your own wishes; for be assured, that whatever procures252 your happiness, will most effectually establish mine. Do not suffer the prejudices of education to render you miserable253. Believe me, that a choice which involves the happiness or misery of your whole life, ought to be decided254 only by yourself.'
'Let us forbear for the present,' said Hippolitus, 'to urge the subject. Repose is necessary for you,' addressing Julia, 'and I will not suffer a selfish consideration any longer to with-hold you from it.—Grant me but this request—that at this hour to-morrow night, I may return hither to receive my doom255.' Julia having consented to receive Hippolitus and Ferdinand, they quitted the closet. In turning into the grand gallery, they were surprised by the appearance of a light, which gleamed upon the wall that terminated their view. It seemed to proceed from a door which opened upon a back stair-case. They pushed on, but it almost instantly disappeared, and upon the stair-case all was still. They then separated, and retired to their apartments, somewhat alarmed by this circumstance, which induced them to suspect that their visit to Julia had been observed.
Julia passed the night in broken slumbers, and anxious consideration. On her present decision hung the crisis of her fate. Her consciousness of the influence of Hippolitus over her heart, made her fear to indulge its predilection256, by trusting to her own opinion of its fidelity257. She shrunk from the disgraceful idea of an elopement; yet she saw no means of avoiding this, but by rushing upon the fate so dreadful to her imagination.
On the following night, when the inhabitants of the castle were retired to rest, Hippolitus, whose expectation had lengthened258 the hours into ages, accompanied by Ferdinand, revisited the closet. Julia, who had known no interval241 of rest since they last left her, received them with much agitation. The vivid glow of health had fled her cheek, and was succeeded by a languid delicacy, less beautiful, but more interesting. To the eager enquiries of Hippolitus, she returned no answer, but faintly smiling through her tears, presented him her hand, and covered her face with her robe. 'I receive it,' cried he, 'as the pledge of my happiness;—yet—yet let your voice ratify259 the gift.' 'If the present concession260 does not sink me in your esteem,' said Julia, in a low tone, 'this hand is yours.'—'The concession, my love, (for by that tender name I may now call you) would, if possible, raise you in my esteem; but since that has been long incapable261 of addition, it can only heighten my opinion of myself, and increase my gratitude to you: gratitude which I will endeavour to shew by an anxious care of your happiness, and by the tender attentions of a whole life. From this blessed moment,' continued he, in a voice of rapture, 'permit me, in thought, to hail you as my wife. From this moment let me banish262 every vestige263 of sorrow;—let me dry those tears,' gently pressing her cheek with his lips, 'never to spring again.'—The gratitude and joy which Ferdinand expressed upon this occasion, united with the tenderness of Hippolitus to soothe264 the agitated spirits of Julia, and she gradually recovered her complacency.
They now arranged their plan of escape; in the execution of which, no time was to be lost, since the nuptials with the duke were to be solemnized on the day after the morrow. Their scheme, whatever it was that should be adopted, they, therefore, resolved to execute on the following night. But when they descended from the first warmth of enterprize, to minuter examination, they soon found the difficulties of the undertaking265. The keys of the castle were kept by Robert, the confidential266 servant of the marquis, who every night deposited them in an iron chest in his chamber. To obtain them by stratagem267 seemed impossible, and Ferdinand feared to tamper268 with the honesty of this man, who had been many years in the service of the marquis. Dangerous as was the attempt, no other alternative appeared, and they were therefore compelled to rest all their hopes upon the experiment. It was settled, that if the keys could be procured269, Ferdinand and Hippolitus should meet Julia in the closet; that they should convey her to the seashore, from whence a boat, which was to be kept in waiting, would carry them to the opposite coast of Calabria, where the marriage might be solemnized without danger of interruption. But, as it was necessary that Ferdinand should not appear in the affair, it was agreed that he should return to the castle immediately upon the embarkation270 of his sister. Having thus arranged their plan of operation, they separated till the following night, which was to decide the fate of Hippolitus and Julia.
Julia, whose mind was soothed271 by the fraternal kindness of Ferdinand, and the tender assurances of Hippolitus, now experienced an interval of repose. At the return of day she awoke refreshed, and tolerably composed. She selected a few clothes which were necessary, and prepared them for her journey. A sentiment of generosity justified272 her in the reserve she preserved to Emilia and Madame de Menon, whose faithfulness and attachment she could not doubt, but whom she disdained273 to involve in the disgrace that must fall upon them, should their knowledge of her flight be discovered.
In the mean time the castle was a scene of confusion. The magnificent preparations which were making for the nuptials, engaged all eyes, and busied all hands. The marchioness had the direction of the whole; and the alacrity274 with which she acquitted275 herself, testified how much she was pleased with the alliance, and created a suspicion, that it had not been concerted without some exertion of her influence. Thus was Julia designed the joint276 victim of ambition and illicit277 love.
The composure of Julia declined with the day, whose hours had crept heavily along. As the night drew on, her anxiety for the success of Ferdinand's negociation with Robert increased to a painful degree. A variety of new emotions pressed at her heart, and subdued278 her spirits. When she bade Emilia good night, she thought she beheld her for the last time. The ideas of the distance which would separate them, of the dangers she was going to encounter, with a train of wild and fearful anticipations279, crouded upon her mind, tears sprang in her eyes, and it was with difficulty she avoided betraying her emotions. Of madame, too, her heart took a tender farewell. At length she heard the marquis retire to his apartment, and the doors belonging to the several chambers of the guests successively close. She marked with trembling attention the gradual change from bustle281 to quiet, till all was still.
She now held herself in readiness to depart at the moment in which Ferdinand and Hippolitus, for whose steps in the gallery she eagerly listened, should appear. The castle clock struck twelve. The sound seemed to shake the pile. Julia felt it thrill upon her heart. 'I hear you,' sighed she, 'for the last time.' The stillness of death succeeded. She continued to listen; but no sound met her ear. For a considerable time she sat in a state of anxious expectation not to be described. The clock chimed the successive quarters; and her fear rose to each additional sound. At length she heard it strike one. Hollow was that sound, and dreadful to her hopes; for neither Hippolitus nor Ferdinand appeared. She grew faint with fear and disappointment. Her mind, which for two hours had been kept upon the stretch of expectation, now resigned itself to despair. She gently opened the door of her closet, and looked upon the gallery; but all was lonely and silent. It appeared that Robert had refused to be accessary to their scheme; and it was probable that he had betrayed it to the marquis. Overwhelmed with bitter reflections, she threw herself upon the sopha in the first distraction282 of despair. Suddenly she thought she heard a noise in the gallery; and as she started from her posture283 to listen to the sound, the door of her closet was gently opened by Ferdinand. 'Come, my love,' said he, 'the keys are ours, and we have not a moment to lose; our delay has been unavoidable; but this is no time for explanation.' Julia, almost fainting, gave her hand to Ferdinand, and Hippolitus, after some short expression of his thankfulness, followed. They passed the door of madame's chamber; and treading the gallery with slow and silent steps, descended to the hall. This they crossed towards a door, after opening which, they were to find their way, through various passages, to a remote part of the castle, where a private door opened upon the walls. Ferdinand carried the several keys. They fastened the hall door after them, and proceeded through a narrow passage terminating in a stair-case.
They descended, and had hardly reached the bottom, when they heard a loud noise at the door above, and presently the voices of several people. Julia scarcely felt the ground she trod on, and Ferdinand flew to unlock a door that obstructed284 their way. He applied the different keys, and at length found the proper one; but the lock was rusted131, and refused to yield. Their distress was not now to be conceived. The noise above increased; and it seemed as if the people were forcing the door. Hippolitus and Ferdinand vainly tried to turn the key. A sudden crash from above convinced them that the door had yielded, when making another desperate effort, the key broke in the lock. Trembling and exhausted285, Julia gave herself up for lost. As she hung upon Ferdinand, Hippolitus vainly endeavoured to sooth her—the noise suddenly ceased. They listened, dreading286 to hear the sounds renewed; but, to their utter astonishment287, the silence of the place remained undisturbed. They had now time to breathe, and to consider the possibility of effecting their escape; for from the marquis they had no mercy to hope. Hippolitus, in order to ascertain288 whether the people had quitted the door above, began to ascend the passage, in which he had not gone many steps when the noise was renewed with increased violence. He instantly retreated; and making a desperate push at the door below, which obstructed their passage, it seemed to yield, and by another effort of Ferdinand, burst open. They had not an instant to lose; for they now heard the steps of persons descending289 the stairs. The avenue they were in opened into a kind of chamber, whence three passages branched, of which they immediately chose the first. Another door now obstructed their passage; and they were compelled to wait while Ferdinand applied the keys. 'Be quick,' said Julia, 'or we are lost. O! if this lock too is rusted!'—'Hark!' said Ferdinand. They now discovered what apprehension had before prevented them from perceiving, that the sounds of pursuit were ceased, and all again was silent. As this could happen only by the mistake of their pursuers, in taking the wrong route, they resolved to preserve their advantage, by concealing the light, which Ferdinand now covered with his cloak. The door was opened, and they passed on; but they were perplexed in the intricacies of the place, and wandered about in vain endeavour to find their way. Often did they pause to listen, and often did fancy give them sounds of fearful import. At length they entered on the passage which Ferdinand knew led directly to a door that opened on the woods. Rejoiced at this certainty, they soon reached the spot which was to give them liberty.
Ferdinand turned the key; the door unclosed, and, to their infinite joy, discovered to them the grey dawn. 'Now, my love,' said Hippolitus, 'you are safe, and I am happy.'—Immediately a loud voice from without exclaimed, 'Take, villain290, the reward of your perfidy291!' At the same instant Hippolitus received a sword in his body, and uttering a deep sigh, fell to the ground. Julia shrieked and fainted; Ferdinand drawing his sword, advanced towards the assassin, upon whose countenance the light of his lamp then shone, and discovered to him his father! The sword fell from his grasp, and he started back in an agony of horror. He was instantly surrounded, and seized by the servants of the marquis, while the marquis himself denounced vengeance upon his head, and ordered him to be thrown into the dungeon292 of the castle. At this instant the servants of the count, who were awaiting his arrival on the seashore, hearing the tumult, hastened to the scene, and there beheld their beloved master lifeless and weltering in his blood. They conveyed the bleeding body, with loud lamentations, on board the vessel293 which had been prepared for him, and immediately set sail for Italy.
Julia, on recovering her senses, found herself in a small room, of which she had no remembrance, with her maid weeping over her. Recollection, when it returned, brought to her mind an energy of grief, which exceeded even all former conceptions of sufferings. Yet her misery was heightened by the intelligence which she now received. She learned that Hippolitus had been borne away lifeless by his people, that Ferdinand was confined in a dungeon by order of the marquis, and that herself was a prisoner in a remote room, from which, on the day after the morrow, she was to be removed to the chapel294 of the castle, and there sacrificed to the ambition of her father, and the absurd love of the Duke de Luovo.
This accumulation of evil subdued each power of resistance, and reduced Julia to a state little short of distraction. No person was allowed to approach her but her maid, and the servant who brought her food. Emilia, who, though shocked by Julia's apparent want of confidence, severely sympathized in her distress, solicited to see her; but the pain of denial was so sharply aggravated295 by rebuke296, that she dared not again to urge the request.
In the mean time Ferdinand, involved in the gloom of a dungeon, was resigned to the painful recollection of the past, and a horrid anticipation280 of the future. From the resentment of the marquis, whose passions were wild and terrible, and whose rank gave him an unlimited297 power of life and death in his own territories, Ferdinand had much to fear. Yet selfish apprehension soon yielded to a more noble sorrow. He mourned the fate of Hippolitus, and the sufferings of Julia. He could attribute the failure of their scheme only to the treachery of Robert, who had, however, met the wishes of Ferdinand with strong apparent sincerity298, and generous interest in the cause of Julia. On the night of the intended elopement, he had consigned299 the keys to Ferdinand, who, immediately on receiving them, went to the apartment of Hippolitus. There they were detained till after the clock had struck one by a low noise, which returned at intervals, and convinced them that some part of the family was not yet retired to rest. This noise was undoubtedly300 occasioned by the people whom the marquis had employed to watch, and whose vigilance was too faithful to suffer the fugitives301 to escape. The very caution of Ferdinand defeated its purpose; for it is probable, that had he attempted to quit the castle by the common entrance, he might have escaped. The keys of the grand door, and those of the courts, remaining in the possession of Robert, the marquis was certain of the intended place of their departure; and was thus enabled to defeat their hopes at the very moment when they exulted302 in their success.
When the marchioness learned the fate of Hippolitus, the resentment of jealous passion yielded to emotions of pity. Revenge was satisfied, and she could now lament the sufferings of a youth whose personal charms had touched her heart as much as his virtues303 had disappointed her hopes. Still true to passion, and inaccessible304 to reason, she poured upon the defenceless Julia her anger for that calamity of which she herself was the unwilling305 cause. By a dextrous adaptation of her powers, she had worked upon the passions of the marquis so as to render him relentless306 in the pursuit of ambitious purposes, and insatiable in revenging his disappointment. But the effects of her artifices307 exceeded her intention in exerting them; and when she meant only to sacrifice a rival to her love, she found she had given up its object to revenge.
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1 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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2 tapestry | |
n.挂毯,丰富多采的画面 | |
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3 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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4 withheld | |
withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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5 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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6 lament | |
n.悲叹,悔恨,恸哭;v.哀悼,悔恨,悲叹 | |
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7 lamenting | |
adj.悲伤的,悲哀的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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8 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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9 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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10 lamented | |
adj.被哀悼的,令人遗憾的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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12 abated | |
减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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13 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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14 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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15 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
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16 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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17 windings | |
(道路、河流等)蜿蜒的,弯曲的( winding的名词复数 ); 缠绕( wind的现在分词 ); 卷绕; 转动(把手) | |
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18 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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19 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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20 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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21 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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22 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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24 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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25 chasm | |
n.深坑,断层,裂口,大分岐,利害冲突 | |
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26 tottering | |
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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27 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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28 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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29 usurped | |
篡夺,霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 ); 盗用; 篡夺,篡权 | |
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30 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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31 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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32 precluded | |
v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 );排除;妨碍;使…行不通 | |
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33 contrive | |
vt.谋划,策划;设法做到;设计,想出 | |
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34 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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35 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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36 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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37 edifice | |
n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿,教室) | |
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38 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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39 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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40 projections | |
预测( projection的名词复数 ); 投影; 投掷; 突起物 | |
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41 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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42 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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43 intrude | |
vi.闯入;侵入;打扰,侵扰 | |
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44 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
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45 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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46 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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47 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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48 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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49 lute | |
n.琵琶,鲁特琴 | |
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50 plaintive | |
adj.可怜的,伤心的 | |
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51 diffused | |
散布的,普及的,扩散的 | |
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52 hues | |
色彩( hue的名词复数 ); 色调; 信仰; 观点 | |
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53 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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54 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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55 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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56 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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57 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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58 pensive | |
a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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59 tints | |
色彩( tint的名词复数 ); 带白的颜色; (淡色)染发剂; 痕迹 | |
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60 tint | |
n.淡色,浅色;染发剂;vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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61 languish | |
vi.变得衰弱无力,失去活力,(植物等)凋萎 | |
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62 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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63 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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64 pervade | |
v.弥漫,遍及,充满,渗透,漫延 | |
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65 lone | |
adj.孤寂的,单独的;唯一的 | |
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66 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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67 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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68 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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69 swells | |
增强( swell的第三人称单数 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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70 flute | |
n.长笛;v.吹笛 | |
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71 glades | |
n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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72 musing | |
n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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73 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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74 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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75 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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76 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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77 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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78 irony | |
n.反语,冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事,嘲弄 | |
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79 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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80 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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81 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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82 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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83 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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84 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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85 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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86 exasperated | |
adj.恼怒的 | |
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87 subside | |
vi.平静,平息;下沉,塌陷,沉降 | |
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88 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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89 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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90 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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91 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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92 dart | |
v.猛冲,投掷;n.飞镖,猛冲 | |
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93 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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94 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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95 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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96 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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97 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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98 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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99 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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100 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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101 sublimity | |
崇高,庄严,气质高尚 | |
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102 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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103 recess | |
n.短期休息,壁凹(墙上装架子,柜子等凹处) | |
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104 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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105 ornamented | |
adj.花式字体的v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106 carving | |
n.雕刻品,雕花 | |
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107 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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108 forsook | |
forsake的过去式 | |
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109 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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111 fatigued | |
adj. 疲乏的 | |
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112 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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113 concealing | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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114 dependant | |
n.依靠的,依赖的,依赖他人生活者 | |
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115 entreat | |
v.恳求,恳请 | |
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116 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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117 condescended | |
屈尊,俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 ); 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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118 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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119 ridiculing | |
v.嘲笑,嘲弄,奚落( ridicule的现在分词 ) | |
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120 scruples | |
n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 );顾虑,顾忌v.感到于心不安,有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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121 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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122 repulsed | |
v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 );驳斥;拒绝 | |
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123 sleepless | |
adj.不睡眠的,睡不著的,不休息的 | |
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124 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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125 ripened | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126 conspired | |
密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 ); 搞阴谋; (事件等)巧合; 共同导致 | |
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127 withhold | |
v.拒绝,不给;使停止,阻挡 | |
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128 reprehended | |
v.斥责,指摘,责备( reprehend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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130 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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131 rusted | |
v.(使)生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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133 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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134 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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135 Forsaken | |
adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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136 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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137 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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138 animates | |
v.使有生气( animate的第三人称单数 );驱动;使栩栩如生地动作;赋予…以生命 | |
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139 fervent | |
adj.热的,热烈的,热情的 | |
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140 enchanting | |
a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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141 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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142 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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143 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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144 alteration | |
n.变更,改变;蚀变 | |
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145 apprehensive | |
adj.担心的,恐惧的,善于领会的 | |
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146 mortifying | |
adj.抑制的,苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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147 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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148 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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149 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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150 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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151 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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152 infamy | |
n.声名狼藉,出丑,恶行 | |
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153 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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154 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155 vowed | |
起誓,发誓(vow的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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156 inveterate | |
adj.积习已深的,根深蒂固的 | |
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157 revert | |
v.恢复,复归,回到 | |
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158 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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159 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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160 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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161 conjectures | |
推测,猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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162 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
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163 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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164 temerity | |
n.鲁莽,冒失 | |
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165 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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166 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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167 lamentation | |
n.悲叹,哀悼 | |
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168 privately | |
adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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169 reproof | |
n.斥责,责备 | |
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170 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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171 entreated | |
恳求,乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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172 ingenuous | |
adj.纯朴的,单纯的;天真的;坦率的 | |
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173 inflexibly | |
adv.不屈曲地,不屈地 | |
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174 conjure | |
v.恳求,祈求;变魔术,变戏法 | |
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175 mortified | |
v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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176 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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177 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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178 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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179 authoritative | |
adj.有权威的,可相信的;命令式的;官方的 | |
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180 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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181 solicited | |
v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 );(指娼妇)拉客;索求;征求 | |
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182 solicit | |
vi.勾引;乞求;vt.请求,乞求;招揽(生意) | |
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183 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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184 nuptials | |
n.婚礼;婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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185 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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186 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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187 finesse | |
n.精密技巧,灵巧,手腕 | |
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188 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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189 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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190 chastise | |
vt.责骂,严惩 | |
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191 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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192 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
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193 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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194 enquired | |
打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 ); 询问; 问问题; 查问 | |
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195 tottered | |
v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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196 importunity | |
n.硬要,强求 | |
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197 corroding | |
使腐蚀,侵蚀( corrode的现在分词 ) | |
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198 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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199 soften | |
v.(使)变柔软;(使)变柔和 | |
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200 alleviate | |
v.减轻,缓和,缓解(痛苦等) | |
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201 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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202 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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203 revolved | |
v.(使)旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 );细想 | |
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204 softening | |
变软,软化 | |
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205 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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206 alleviation | |
n. 减轻,缓和,解痛物 | |
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207 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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208 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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209 oars | |
n.桨,橹( oar的名词复数 );划手v.划(行)( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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210 wafts | |
n.空中飘来的气味,一阵气味( waft的名词复数 );摇转风扇v.吹送,飘送,(使)浮动( waft的第三人称单数 ) | |
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211 abodes | |
住所( abode的名词复数 ); 公寓; (在某地的)暂住; 逗留 | |
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212 recollected | |
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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213 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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214 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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215 slumbers | |
睡眠,安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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216 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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217 detested | |
v.憎恶,嫌恶,痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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218 trumpets | |
喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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219 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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220 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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221 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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222 toils | |
网 | |
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223 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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224 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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225 soliciting | |
v.恳求( solicit的现在分词 );(指娼妇)拉客;索求;征求 | |
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226 condescension | |
n.自以为高人一等,贬低(别人) | |
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227 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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228 parental | |
adj.父母的;父的;母的 | |
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229 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
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230 stifle | |
vt.使窒息;闷死;扼杀;抑止,阻止 | |
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231 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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232 arraign | |
v.提讯;控告 | |
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233 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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234 repent | |
v.悔悟,悔改,忏悔,后悔 | |
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235 reposed | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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236 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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237 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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238 beguile | |
vt.欺骗,消遣 | |
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239 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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240 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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241 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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242 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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243 shrieked | |
v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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244 forfeited | |
(因违反协议、犯规、受罚等)丧失,失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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245 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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246 exquisitely | |
adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
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247 counteract | |
vt.对…起反作用,对抗,抵消 | |
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248 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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249 stupor | |
v.昏迷;不省人事 | |
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250 harassed | |
adj. 疲倦的,厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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251 fervently | |
adv.热烈地,热情地,强烈地 | |
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252 procures | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的第三人称单数 );拉皮条 | |
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253 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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254 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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255 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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256 predilection | |
n.偏好 | |
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257 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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258 lengthened | |
(时间或空间)延长,伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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259 ratify | |
v.批准,认可,追认 | |
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260 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
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261 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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262 banish | |
vt.放逐,驱逐;消除,排除 | |
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263 vestige | |
n.痕迹,遗迹,残余 | |
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264 soothe | |
v.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承 | |
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265 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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266 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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267 stratagem | |
n.诡计,计谋 | |
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268 tamper | |
v.干预,玩弄,贿赂,窜改,削弱,损害 | |
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269 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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270 embarkation | |
n. 乘船, 搭机, 开船 | |
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271 soothed | |
v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
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272 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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273 disdained | |
鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 ); 不屑于做,不愿意做 | |
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274 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
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275 acquitted | |
宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(自己)作出某种表现 | |
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276 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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277 illicit | |
adj.非法的,禁止的,不正当的 | |
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278 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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279 anticipations | |
预期( anticipation的名词复数 ); 预测; (信托财产收益的)预支; 预期的事物 | |
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280 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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281 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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282 distraction | |
n.精神涣散,精神不集中,消遣,娱乐 | |
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283 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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284 obstructed | |
阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 ); 堵塞; 阻碍; 阻止 | |
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285 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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286 dreading | |
v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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287 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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288 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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289 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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290 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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291 perfidy | |
n.背信弃义,不忠贞 | |
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292 dungeon | |
n.地牢,土牢 | |
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293 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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294 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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295 aggravated | |
使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 ); 使更严重; 激怒; 使恼火 | |
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296 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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297 unlimited | |
adj.无限的,不受控制的,无条件的 | |
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298 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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299 consigned | |
v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的过去式和过去分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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300 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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301 fugitives | |
n.亡命者,逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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302 exulted | |
狂喜,欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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303 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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304 inaccessible | |
adj.达不到的,难接近的 | |
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305 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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306 relentless | |
adj.残酷的,不留情的,无怜悯心的 | |
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307 artifices | |
n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 );诡计;巧妙办法;虚伪行为 | |
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