She quitted the chamber with madame. In her way to the church, the gleam of tapers11 on the walls, and the glimpse which her eye often caught of the friars in their long black habits, descending13 silently through the narrow winding14 passages, with the solemn toll15 of the bell, conspired16 to kindle17 imagination, and to impress her heart with sacred awe18. But the church exhibited a scene of solemnity, such as she had never before witnessed. Its gloomy aisles19 were imperfectly seen by the rays of tapers from the high altar, which shed a solitary20 gleam over the remote parts of the fabric, and produced large masses of light and shade, striking and sublime21 in their effect.
While she gazed, she heard a distant chanting rise through the aisles; the sounds swelled22 in low murmurs23 on the ear, and drew nearer and nearer, till a sudden blaze of light issued from one of the portals, and the procession entered. The organ instantly sounded a high and solemn peal24, and the voices rising altogether swelled the sacred strain. In front appeared the Padre Abate25, with slow and measured steps, bearing the holy cross. Immediately followed a litter, on which lay the dying person covered with a white veil, borne along and surrounded by nuns27 veiled in white, each carrying in her hand a lighted taper10. Last came the friars, two and two, cloathed in black, and each bearing a light.
When they reached the high altar, the bier was rested, and in a few moments the anthem28 ceased. 'The Abate now approached to perform the unction; the veil of the dying nun was lifted—and Julia discovered her beloved Cornelia! Her countenance29 was already impressed with the image of death, but her eyes brightened with a faint gleam of recollection, when they fixed30 upon Julia, who felt a cold thrill run through her frame, and leaned for support on madame. Julia now for the first time distinguished the unhappy lover of Cornelia, on whose features was depictured the anguish31 of his heart, and who hung pale and silent over the bier. The ceremony being finished, the anthem struck up; the bier was lifted, when Cornelia faintly moved her hand, and it was again rested upon the steps of the altar. In a few minutes the music ceased, when lifting her heavy eyes to her lover, with an expression of ineffable32 tenderness and grief, she attempted to speak, but the sounds died on her closing lips. A faint smile passed over her countenance, and was succeeded by a fine devotional glow; she folded her hands upon her bosom33, and with a look of meek34 resignation, raising towards heaven her eyes, in which now sunk the last sparkles of expiring life—her soul departed in a short deep sigh.
Her lover sinking back, endeavoured to conceal35 his emotions, but the deep sobs36 which agitated37 his breast betrayed his anguish, and the tears of every spectator bedewed the sacred spot where beauty, sense, and innocence38 expired.
The organ now swelled in mournful harmony; and the voices of the assembly chanted in choral strain, a low and solemn requiem39 to the spirit of the departed.
Madame hurried Julia, who was almost as lifeless as her departed friend, from the church. A death so sudden heightened the grief which separation would otherwise have occasioned. It was the nature of Cornelia's disorder40 to wear a changeful but flattering aspect. Though she had long been declining, her decay was so gradual and imperceptible as to lull41 the apprehensions43 of her friends into security. It was otherwise with herself; she was conscious of the change, but forbore to afflict44 them with the knowledge of the truth. The hour of her dissolution was sudden, even to herself; but it was composed, and even happy. In the death of Cornelia, Julia seemed to mourn again that of Hippolitus. Her decease appeared to dissolve the last tie which connected her with his memory.
In one of the friars of the convent, madame was surprized to find the father who had confessed the dying Vincent. His appearance revived the remembrance of the scene she had witnessed at the castle of Mazzini; and the last words of Vincent, combined with the circumstances which had since occurred, renewed all her curiosity and astonishment45. But his appearance excited more sensations than those of wonder. She dreaded46 lest he should be corrupted48 by the marquis, to whom he was known, and thus be induced to use his interest with the Abate for the restoration of Julia.
From the walls of the monastery, Julia now never ventured to stray. In the gloom of evening she sometimes stole into the cloisters49, and often lingered at the grave of Cornelia, where she wept for Hippolitus, as well as for her friend. One evening, during vespers, the bell of the convent was suddenly rang out; the Abate, whose countenance expressed at once astonishment and displeasure, suspended the service, and quitted the altar. The whole congregation repaired to the hall, where they learned that a friar, retiring to the convent, had seen a troop of armed men advancing through the wood; and not doubting they were the people of the marquis, and were approaching with hostile intention, had thought it necessary to give the alarm. The Abate ascended50 a turret51, and thence discovered through the trees a glittering of arms, and in the succeeding moment a band of men issued from a dark part of the wood, into a long avenue which immediately fronted the spot where he stood. The clattering52 of hoofs53 was now distinctly heard; and Julia, sinking with terror, distinguished the marquis heading the troops, which, soon after separating in two divisions, surrounded the monastery. The gates were immediately secured; and the Abate, descending from the turret, assembled the friars in the hall, where his voice was soon heard above every other part of the tumult54. The terror of Julia made her utterly55 forgetful of the Padre's promise, and she wished to fly for concealment56 to the deep caverns57 belonging to the monastery, which wound under the woods. Madame, whose penetration58 furnished her with a just knowledge of the Abate's character, founded her security on his pride. She therefore dissuaded59 Julia from attempting to tamper60 with the honesty of a servant who had the keys of the vaults61, and advised her to rely entirely62 on the effect of the Abate's resentment63 towards the marquis. While madame endeavoured to soothe64 her to composure, a message from the Abate required her immediate26 attendance. She obeyed, and he bade her follow him to a room which was directly over the gates of the monastery. From thence she saw her father, accompanied by the Duke de Luovo; and as her spirits died away at the sight, the marquis called furiously to the Abate to deliver her instantly into his hands, threatening, if she was detained, to force the gates of the monastery. At this threat the countenance of the Abate grew dark: and leading Julia forcibly to the window, from which she had shrunk back, 'Impious menacer!' said he, 'eternal vengeance65 be upon thee! From this moment we expel thee from all the rights and communities of our church. Arrogant66 and daring as you are, your threats I defy—Look here,' said he, pointing to Julia, 'and learn that you are in my power; for if you dare to violate these sacred walls, I will proclaim aloud, in the face of day, a secret which shall make your heart's blood run cold; a secret which involves your honour, nay67, your very existence. Now triumph and exult68 in impious menace!' The marquis started involuntarily at this speech, and his features underwent a sudden change, but he endeavoured to recover himself, and to conceal his confusion. He hesitated for a few moments, uncertain how to act—to desist from violence was to confess himself conscious of the threatened secret; yet he dreaded to inflame69 the resentment of the Abate, whose menaces his own heart too surely seconded. At length—'All that you have uttered,' said he, 'I despise as the dastardly subterfuge70 of monkish71 cunning. Your new insults add to the desire of recovering my daughter, that of punishing you. I would proceed to instant violence, but that would now be an imperfect revenge. I shall, therefore, withdraw my forces, and appeal to a higher power. Thus shall you be compelled at once to restore my daughter and retract72 your scandalous impeachment73 of my honor.' Saying this, the turned his horse from the gates, and his people following him, quickly withdrew, leaving the Abate exulting74 in conquest, and Julia lost in astonishment and doubtful joy. When she recounted to madame the particulars of the conference, she dwelt with emphasis on the threats of the Abate; but madame, though her amazement75 was heightened at every word, very well understood how the secret, whatever it was, had been obtained. The confessor of Vincent she had already observed in the monastery, and there was no doubt that he had disclosed whatever could be collected from the dying words of Vincent. She knew, also, that the secret would never be published, unless as a punishment for immediate violence, it being one of the first principles of monastic duty, to observe a religious secrecy76 upon all matters entrusted77 to them in confession79.
When the first tumult of Julia's emotions subsided80, the joy which the sudden departure of the marquis occasioned yielded to apprehension42. He had threatened to appeal to a higher power, who would compel the Abate to surrender her. This menace excited a just terror, and there remained no means of avoiding the tyranny of the marquis but by quitting the monastery. She therefore requested an audience of the Abate; and having represented the danger of her present situation, she intreated his permission to depart in quest of a safer retreat. The Abate, who well knew the marquis was wholly in his power, smiled at the repetition of his menaces, and denied her request, under pretence81 of his having now become responsible for her to the church. He bade her be comforted, and promised her his protection; but his assurances were given in so distant and haughty82 a manner, that Julia left him with fears rather increased than subdued84. In crossing the hall, she observed a man hastily enter it, from an opposite door. He was not in the habit of the order, but was muffled85 up in a cloak, and seemed to wish concealment. As she passed he raised his head, and Julia discovered—her father! He darted86 at her a look of vengeance; but before she had time even to think, as if suddenly recollecting87 himself, he covered his face, and rushed by her. Her trembling frame could scarcely support her to the apartment of madame, where she sunk speechless upon a chair, and the terror of her look alone spoke88 the agony of her mind. When she was somewhat recovered, she related what she had seen, and her conversation with the Abate. But madame was lost in equal perplexity with herself, when she attempted to account for the marquis's appearance. Why, after his late daring menace, should he come secretly to visit the Abate, by whose connivance89 alone he could have gained admission to the monastery? And what could have influenced the Abate to such a conduct? These circumstances, though equally inexplicable90, united to confirm a fear of treachery and surrender. To escape from the abbey was now inpracticable, for the gates were constantly guarded; and even was it possible to pass them, certain detection awaited Julia without from the marquis's people, who were stationed in the woods. Thus encompassed91 with danger, she could only await in the monastery the issue of her destiny.
While she was lamenting92 with madame her unhappy fate, she was summoned once more to attend the Abate. At this moment her spirits entirely forsook93 her; the crisis of her fate seemed arrived; for she did not doubt that the Abate intended to surrender her to the marquis, with whom she supposed he had negotiated the terms of accommodation. It was some time before she could recover composure sufficient to obey the summons; and when she did, every step that bore her towards the Abate's room increased her dread47. She paused a moment at the door, 'ere she had courage to open it; the idea of her father's immediate resentment arose to her mind, and she was upon the point of retreating to her chamber, when a sudden step within, near the door, destroyed her hesitation94, and she entered the closet. The marquis was not there, and her spirits revived. The flush of triumph was diffused95 over the features of the Abate, though a shade of unappeased resentment yet remained visible. 'Daughter,' said he, 'the intelligence we have to communicate may rejoice you. Your safety now depends solely96 on yourself. I give your fate into your own hands, and its issue be upon your head.' He paused, and she was suspended in wondering expectation of the coming sentence. 'I here solemnly assure you of my protection, but it is upon one condition only—that you renounce97 the world, and dedicate your days to God.' Julia listened with a mixture of grief and astonishment. 'Without this concession98 on your part, I possess not the power, had I even the inclination99, to protect you. If you assume the veil, you are safe within the pale of the church from temporal violence. If you neglect or refuse to do this, the marquis may apply to a power from whom I have no appeal, and I shall be compelled at last to resign you.
'But to ensure your safety, should the veil be your choice, we will procure100 a dispensation from the usual forms of noviciation, and a few days shall confirm your vows101.' He ceased to speak; but Julia, agitated with the most cruel distress102, knew not what to reply. 'We grant you three days to decide upon this matter,' continued he, 'at the expiration103 of which, the veil, or the Duke de Luovo, awaits you.' Julia quitted the closet in mute despair, and repaired to madame, who could now scarcely offer her the humble104 benefit of consolation105.
Meanwhile the Abate exulted106 in successful vengeance, and the marquis smarted beneath the stings of disappointment. The menace of the former was too seriously alarming to suffer the marquis to prosecute107 violent measures; and he had therefore resolved, by opposing avarice108 to pride, to soothe the power which he could not subdue83. But he was unwilling109 to entrust78 the Abate with a proof of his compliance110 and his fears by offering a bribe111 in a letter, and preferred the more humiliating, but safer method, of a private interview. His magnificent offers created a temporary hesitation in the mind of the Abate, who, secure of his advantage, shewed at first no disposition112 to be reconciled, and suffered the marquis to depart in anxious uncertainty113. After maturely deliberating upon the proposals, the pride of the Abate surmounted114 his avarice, and he determined115 to prevail upon Julia effectually to destroy the hopes of the marquis, by consecrating116 her life to religion. Julia passed the night and the next day in a state of mental torture exceeding all description. The gates of the monastery beset117 with guards, and the woods surrounded by the marquis's people, made escape impossible. From a marriage with the duke, whose late conduct had confirmed the odious118 idea which his character had formerly119 impressed, her heart recoiled120 in horror, and to be immured121 for life within the walls of a convent, was a fate little less dreadful. Yet such was the effect of that sacred love she bore the memory of Hippolitus, and such her aversion to the duke, that she soon resolved to adopt the veil. On the following evening she informed the Abate of her determination. His heart swelled with secret joy; and even the natural severity of his manner relaxed at the intelligence. He assured her of his approbation122 and protection, with a degree of kindness which he had never before manifested, and told her the ceremony should be performed on the second day from the present. Her emotion scarcely suffered her to hear his last words. Now that her fate was fixed beyond recall, she almost repented123 of her choice. Her fancy attached to it a horror not its own; and that evil, which, when offered to her decision, she had accepted with little hesitation, she now paused upon in dubious124 regret; so apt we are to imagine that the calamity125 most certain, is also the most intolerable!
When the marquis read the answer of the Abate, all the baleful passions of his nature were roused and inflamed126 to a degree which bordered upon distraction127. In the first impulse of his rage, he would have forced the gates of the monastery, and defied the utmost malice128 of his enemy. But a moment's reflection revived his fear of the threatened secret, and he saw that he was still in the power of the Superior.
The Abate procured129 the necessary dispensation, and preparations were immediately began for the approaching ceremony. Julia watched the departure of those moments which led to her fate with the calm fortitude130 of despair. She had no means of escaping from the coming evil, without exposing herself to a worse; she surveyed it therefore with a steady eye, and no longer shrunk from its approach.
On the morning preceding the day of her consecration131, she was informed that a stranger enquired133 for her at the grate. Her mind had been so long accustomed to the vicissitudes134 of apprehension, that fear was the emotion which now occurred; she suspected, yet scarcely knew why, that the marquis was below, and hesitated whether to descend12. A little reflection determined her, and she went to the parlour—where, to her equal joy and surprise, she beheld—Ferdinand!
During the absence of the marquis from his castle, Ferdinand, who had been informed of the discovery of Julia, effected his escape from imprisonment135, and had hastened to the monastery in the design of rescuing her. He had passed the woods in disguise, with much difficulty eluding136 the observation of the marquis's people, who were yet dispersed137 round the abbey. To the monastery, as he came alone, he had been admitted without difficulty.
When he learned the conditions of the Abate's protection, and that the following day was appointed for the consecration of Julia, he was shocked, and paused in deliberation. A period so short as was this interval138, afforded little opportunity for contrivance, and less for hesitation. The night of the present day was the only time that remained for the attempt and execution of a plan of escape, which if it then failed of success, Julia would not only be condemned139 for life to the walls of a monastery, but would be subjected to whatever punishment the severity of the Abate, exasperated140 by the detection, should think fit to inflict141. The danger was desperate, but the occasion was desperate also.
The nobly disinterested142 conduct of her brother, struck Julia with gratitude143 and admiration144; but despair of success made her now hesitate whether she should accept his offer. She considered that his generosity145 would most probably involve him in destruction with herself; and she paused in deep deliberation, when Ferdinand informed her of a circumstance which, till now, he had purposely concealed146, and which at once dissolved every doubt and every fear. 'Hippolitus,' said Ferdinand, 'yet lives.'—'Lives!' repeated Julia faintly,—'lives, Oh! tell me where—how.'—Her breath refused to aid her, and she sunk in her chair overcome with the strong and various sensations that pressed upon her heart. Ferdinand, whom the grate withheld147 from assisting her, observed her situation with extreme distress. When she recovered, he informed her that a servant of Hippolitus, sent no doubt by his lord to enquire132 concerning Julia, had been lately seen by one of the marquis's people in the neighbourhood of the castle. From him it was known that the Count de Vereza was living, but that his life had been despaired of; and he was still confined, by dangerous wounds, in an obscure town on the coast of Italy. The man had steadily148 refused to mention the place of his lord's abode149. Learning that the marquis was then at the abbey of St Augustin, whither he pursued his daughter, the man disappeared from Mazzini, and had not since been heard of.
It was enough for Julia to know that Hippolitus lived; her fears of detection, and her scruples150 concerning Ferdinand, instantly vanished; she thought only of escape—and the means which had lately appeared so formidable—so difficult in contrivance, and so dangerous in execution, now seemed easy, certain, and almost accomplished151.
They consulted on the plan to be adopted, and agreed, that in attempting to bribe a servant of the monastery to their interest, they should incur152 a danger too imminent153, yet it appeared scarcely practicable to succeed in their scheme without risquing this. After much consideration, they determined to entrust their secret to no person but to madame. Ferdinand was to contrive154 to conceal himself till the dead of night in the church, between which and the monastery were several doors of communication. When the inhabitants of the abbey were sunk in repose, Julia might without difficulty pass to the church, where Ferdinand awaiting her, they might perhaps escape either through an outer door of the fabric, or through a window, for which latter attempt Ferdinand was to provide ropes.
A couple of horses were to be stationed among the rocks beyond the woods, to convey the fugitives155 to a sea-port, whence they could easily pass over to Italy. Having arranged this plan, they separated in the anxious hope of meeting on the ensuing night.
Madame warmly sympathized with Julia in her present expectations, and was now somewhat relieved from the pressure of that self-reproach, with which the consideration of having withdrawn156 her young friend from a secure asylum157, had long tormented158 her. In learning that Hippolitus lived, Julia experienced a sudden renovation159 of life and spirits. From the languid stupefaction which despair had occasioned she revived as from a dream, and her sensations resembled those of a person suddenly awakened from a frightful160 vision, whose thoughts are yet obscured in the fear and uncertainty which the passing images have impressed on his fancy. She emerged from despair; joy illumined her countenance; yet she doubted the reality of the scene which now opened to her view. The hours rolled heavily along till the evening, when expectation gave way to fear, for she was once more summoned by the Abate. He sent for her to administer the usual necessary exhortation161 on the approaching solemnity; and having detained her a considerable time in tedious and severe discourse162, dismissed her with a formal benediction163.
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1
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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3
awakened
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| 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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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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5
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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6
crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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7
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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12
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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16
conspired
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| 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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kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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21
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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swelled
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| 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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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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24
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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26
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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anthem
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| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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30
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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33
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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36
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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39
requiem
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| n.安魂曲，安灵曲 | |
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40
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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41
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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42
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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44
afflict
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| vt.使身体或精神受痛苦，折磨 | |
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45
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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46
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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47
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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48
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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49
cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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50
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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52
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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53
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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55
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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56
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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57
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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58
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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59
dissuaded
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| 劝（某人）勿做某事，劝阻( dissuade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
tamper
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| v.干预，玩弄，贿赂，窜改，削弱，损害 | |
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61
vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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62
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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63
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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64
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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65
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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66
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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67
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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68
exult
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| v.狂喜，欢腾；欢欣鼓舞 | |
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69
inflame
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| v.使燃烧；使极度激动；使发炎 | |
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70
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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71
monkish
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| adj.僧侣的，修道士的，禁欲的 | |
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72
retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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73
impeachment
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| n.弹劾；控告；怀疑 | |
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74
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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75
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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76
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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77
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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79
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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80
subsided
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| 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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81
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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82
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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83
subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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84
subdued
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| 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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85
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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86
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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87
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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88
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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89
connivance
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| n.纵容；默许 | |
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90
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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91
encompassed
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| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
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92
lamenting
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| 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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93
forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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94
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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95
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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96
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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97
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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98
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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99
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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100
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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101
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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102
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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103
expiration
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| n.终结，期满，呼气，呼出物 | |
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104
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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105
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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106
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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108
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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109
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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110
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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111
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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112
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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113
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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114
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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115
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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116
consecrating
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| v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的现在分词 )；奉献 | |
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117
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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118
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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119
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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120
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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121
immured
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| v.禁闭，监禁( immure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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123
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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125
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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126
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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128
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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129
procured
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| 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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130
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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131
consecration
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| n.供献，奉献，献祭仪式 | |
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132
enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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133
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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134
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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135
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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136
eluding
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的现在分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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137
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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138
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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139
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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140
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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141
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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142
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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143
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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144
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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145
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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146
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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147
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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148
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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149
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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150
scruples
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| 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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151
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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152
incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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153
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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154
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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155
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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156
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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157
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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158
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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159
renovation
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| n.革新，整修 | |
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160
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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161
exhortation
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| n.劝告，规劝 | |
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162
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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163
benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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