One morning the attention of those who went about the streets was caught by certain written papers which had been fixed4 during the night on the entrance of public buildings and at other such conspicuous5 points; they bore a proclamation of the King of the Goths. Reminding the Roman people that nearly the whole of Italy was now his, and urging them to avoid the useless sufferings of a siege, Totila made promise that, were the city surrendered to him, neither hurt nor loss should befall one of the inhabitants; and that under his rule Rome should have the same liberty, the same honour, as in the time of the glorious Theodoric. Before these papers had been torn down, their purport6 became universally known; everywhere men whispered together; but those who would have welcomed the coming of Totila could not act upon their wish, and the Greeks were confident of relief long ere the city could be taken by storm or brought to extremities7. Bessas well knew the numbers of Totila’s army; he himself commanded a garrison8 of three thousand men, and not much larger than this was the force with which, after leaving soldiers to maintain his conquest throughout the land, the king now drew towards Rome. At the proclamation Bessas laughed, for he saw in it a device dictated9 by weakness.
And now, in these days of late autumn, the Gothic army lay all but in sight. Watchers from the walls pointed10 eastward11, to where on its height, encircled by the foaming12 Anio, stood the little town of Tibur; this, a stronghold overlooking the Ager Romanus, Totila had turned aside to besiege13. The place must soon yield to him. How long before his horsemen came riding along the Tiburtine Way?
Close by Tibur, on a gently rising slope, sheltered by mountains alike from northern winds and from the unwholesome breathing of the south, stood the vast pleasure-house built by the Emperor Hadrian, with its presentment in little of the scenes and architecture which had most impressed him in his travels throughout the Roman world. The lapse14 of four hundred years had restored to nature his artificial landscape: the Vale of Tempe had forgotten its name; Peneus and Alpheus flowed unnoticed through tracts15 of wood or wilderness16; but upon the multitude of edifices17, the dwellings19, theatres, hippodromes, galleries, lecture halls, no destroyer’s hand had yet fallen. They abounded20 in things beautiful, in carving21 and mosaic22, in wall-painting and tapestries23, in statues which had been the glory of Greece, and in marble portraiture24 which was the boast of Rome. Here, amid the decay of ancient splendour and the luxuriance of the triumphing earth, King Totila made his momentary25 abode26; with him, in Hadrian’s palace, housed the Gothic warrior27-nobles, and a number of ladies, their wives and relatives, who made, as it were, a wandering court. Honour, pride, and cheerful courage were the notable characteristics of these Gothic women. What graces they had they owed to nature, not to any cultivation28 of the mind. Their health Buffered29 in a nomadic30 life from the ills of the country, the dangers of the climate, and the children by whom a few were accompanied, showed a degeneracy of blood which threatened the race with extinction31.
Foremost in rank among them was Athalfrida, sister to the king, and wife of a brawny32 lord named Osuin. Though not yet five and twenty years old, Athalfrida had borne seven children, of whom five died in babyhood. A creature of magnificent form, and in earlier life of superb vigour33, her paling cheek told of decline that had begun; nevertheless her spirits were undaunted; and her voice, in gay talk, in song or in laughter, sounded constantly about the halls and wild gardens. Merry by choice, she had in her a vein34 of tenderness which now and then (possibly due to failing health) became excessive, causing her to shed abundant tears with little or no cause, and to be over lavish35 of endearments36 with those she loved or merely liked. Athalfrida worshipped her husband; in her brother saw the ideal hero. She was ardent37 in racial feeling, thought nothing good but what was Gothic, and hated the Italians for their lack of gratitude38 to the people of Theodoric.
To her the king had intrusted Veranilda. Knowing her origin and history, Athalfrida, in the beginning, could not but look coldly upon her charge. The daughter of a Gothic renegade, the betrothed39 of a Roman noble, and finally an apostate40 from the creed41 of her race-how could such an one expect more than the barest civility from Totila’s sister? Yet in a little time it had come to pass that Athalfrida felt her heart soften42 to the sad and beautiful maiden43, who never spoke44 but gently, who had compassion45 for all suffering, and willing aid for any one she could serve, whom little children loved as soon as they looked into her eyes, and heard her voice. Though a daughter of the abhorred46 Ebrimut, Veranilda was of Amal blood, and, despite what seemed her weakness and her errors, it soon appeared that she cherished fervidly47 the glory of the Gothic name. This contradiction puzzled the wife of Osuin, whose thoughts could follow only the plainest track. She suspected that her charge must be the victim of some enchantment48, of some evil spell; and in their talk she questioned her with infinite curiosity concerning her acquaintance with Basil, her life in the convent at Praeneste, her release and the journey with Marcian. Veranilda spoke as one who has nothing to conceal49; only, when pressed for the story of that last day at the island villa50, she turned away her face, and entreated51 the questioner’s forbearance. All else she told with a sad simplicity53. Her religious conversion54 was the result of teaching she had received from the abbess, a Roman lady of great learning, who spoke of things till then unknown to her, and made so manifest the truth of the Catholic creed that her reason was constrained55 to accept it. Obeying the king’s command, Athalfrida refrained from argument and condemnation56, and, as Veranilda herself, when once she had told her story, never again returned to it, the subject was almost forgotten. They lived together on terms as friendly as might be between persons so different. The other ladies, their curiosity once satisfied, scarce paid any heed57 to her at all; and Veranilda was never more content than when left quite alone, to ply58 her needle and commune with her thoughts.
Against all expectation, the gates of Tibur remained obstinately59 closed; three weeks went by, and those who came on to the walls to parley60 had only words of scorn for the Gothic king, whom they bade beware of the Greek force which would shortly march to their succour. Only a small guard of Isaurians held the town, but it was abundantly provisioned, and strong enough to defy attack for an indefinite time. The Goths had no skill in taking fortresses61 by assault; when walls held firm against them, they seldom overcame except by blockade; and this it was which, despite his conquest of the greater part of Italy, made Totila thus slow and cautious in his approach to Rome. He remembered that Vitiges, who laid siege to the city with a hundred thousand men, had retreated at last with his troops diminished by more than half, so worn and dispirited that they scarce struck another blow against Belisarius. The Greek commander, Totila well knew, would not sally forth62 and risk an engagement: to storm the battlements would be an idle, if not a fatal, attempt; and how, with so small an army, could he encompass63 so vast a wall? To guard the entrance to the river with his ships, and to isolate64 Rome from every inland district of Italy, seemed to the Gothic king the only sure way of preparing his final triumph. But time pressed; however beset65 with difficulties, Belisarius would not linger for ever beyond Hadria. The resistance of Tibur excited Totila’s impatience66, and at length stirred his wrath67. Osuin heard a terrible threat fall from his lips, and the same evening whispered it to Athalfrida.
‘He will do well,’ answered his wife, with brows knit.
On the morrow, Athalfrida and Veranilda sat together in the gardens, or what once had been the gardens, of Hadrian’s palace, and looked forth over the vast brown landscape, with that gleam upon its limit, that something pale between earth and air, which was the Tyrrhene Sea. Over the sky hung thin grey clouds, broken with strips of hazy68 blue, and softly suffused69 with warmth from the invisible sun.
‘O that this weary war would end!’ exclaimed the elder lady in the language of the Goths. ‘I am sick of wandering, sick of this south, where winter is the same as summer, sick of the name of Rome. I would I were back in Mediolanum. There, when you look from the walls, you see the great white mountains, and a wind blows from them, cold, keen; a wind that sets you running and leaping, and makes you hungry. Here I have no gust70 for food, and indeed there is none worth eating.’
As she spoke, she raised her hand to the branch of an arbutus just above her head, plucked one of the strawberry-like fruits, bit into it with her white teeth, and threw the half away contemptuously.
‘You!’ She turned to her companion abruptly71. ‘Where would you like to live when the war is over?’
Veranilda’s eyes rested upon something in the far distance, but less far than the shining horizon.
‘Surely not there!’ pursued the other, watching her. ‘I was but once in Rome, and I had not been there a week when I fell sick of fever. King Theodoric knew better than to make his dwelling18 at Rome, and Totila will never live there. The houses are so big and so close together they scarce leave air to breathe; so old, too, they look as if they would tumble upon your head. I have small liking72 for Ravenna, where there is hardly dry land to walk upon, and you can’t sleep for the frogs. Verona is better. But, best of all, Mediolanum. There, if he will listen to me, my brother shall have his palace and his court—as they say some of the emperors did, I know not how long ago.’
Still gazing at the far distance, Veranilda murmured:
‘I never saw the city nearer than this.’
‘I would no one might ever look upon it again!’ cried Athalfrida, her blue eyes dark with anger and her cheeks hot. ‘I would that the pestilence73, which haunts its streets, might make it desolate74, and that the muddy river, which ever and again turns it into a swamp, would hide its highest palace under an eternal flood.’
Veranilda averted75 her face and kept silence. Thereupon the other seemed to repent76 of having spoken so vehemently77.
‘Well, that’s how I feel sometimes,’ she said, in a voice suddenly gentle. ‘But I forgot—or I wouldn’t have said it.’
‘I well understand, dear lady,’ replied her companion. ‘Rome has never been loyal to the Goths. And yet some Romans have.’
‘How many? To be sure, you know one, and in your thought he stands for a multitude. Come, you must not be angry with me, child. Nay78, vexed79, then. Nay then, hurt and sad. I am not myself today. I dreamt last night of the snowy mountains, and this warmth oppresses me. In truth, I often fear I shall fall sick. Feel my hand, how hot it is. Where are the children? Let us walk.’
Not far away she discovered three little boys, two of them her own, who were playing at battles and sieges upon stairs which descended80 from this terrace to the hippodrome below. After watching them awhile, with laughter and applause, she threw an arm round Veranilda’s waist, and drew her on to a curved portico81 where, in a niche82, stood a statue of Antinous.
‘Is that one of their gods, or an emperor?’ asked Athalfrida. ‘I have seen his face again and again since we came here.’
‘Indeed, I know not,’ answered her companion. ‘But surely he is too beautiful for a man.’
‘Beautiful? Never say that, child; for if it be as you think, it is the beauty of a devil, and has led who knows how many into the eternal fire. Had I a hammer here, I would splinter the evil face. I would not have my boys look at it and think it beautiful.’
A heavy footstep sounded on the terrace. Turning, they saw Osuin, an armed giant, with flowing locks, and thick, tawny83 beard.
‘Wife, a word with you,’ he shouted, beckoning84 from some twenty paces away.
They talked together; then the lady returned, a troubled smile on her face, and said softly to Veranilda:
‘Some one wishes to speak with you—some one who comes with the king’s good-will.’
Veranilda looked towards Osuin.
‘You cannot mean—?’ she faltered85.
‘No other,’ replied Athalfrida, nodding gaily87. ‘Are you at leisure? Some other day, perhaps? I will say you would be private—that you cannot now give audience.’
This pleasantry brought only the faintest smile to the listener’s face.
‘Is it hither that he would come?’ she asked, again looking anxiously towards the ruddy giant, who stamped with a beginning of impatience.
‘If so it please you, little one,’ answered Athalfrida, changing all at once to her softest mood. ‘The king leaves all to my discretion89, and I ask nothing better than to do you kindness. Shall it be here, or within?’
Veranilda whispered ‘Here’; whereupon Osuin received a sign, and stalked off. A few minutes passed, and Athalfrida, who, after caresses90 and tender words, had drawn91 apart, as if to watch her children playing, beheld92 the expected visitor. Her curiosity was not indiscreet; she would have glimpsed the graceful93 figure, the comely94 visage, and then have turned away; but at this moment the new comer paused, looked about him in hesitation95, and at length advanced towards her. She had every excuse for looking him straight in the face, and it needed not the pleasant note of his speech to dispose her kindly96 towards him.
‘Gracious lady, I seek the lady Veranilda, and was bidden come hither along the terrace.’
Totila’s sister had but little of the Latin tongue; now, for perhaps the first time in her life, she regretted this deficiency. Smiling, she pointed to a group of cypresses97 which hid part of the portico, and her questioner, with a courtly bow, went on. He wore the ordinary dress of a Roman noble, and had not even a dagger98 at his waist. As soon as he had passed the cypresses, he saw, within the shadow of the portico, the figure his eyes had sought; then he stood still, and spoke with manly99 submissiveness.
‘It is much that you suffer me to come into your presence, for of all men, O Veranilda, I am least worthy100 to do so.’
‘How shall I answer you?’ she replied, with a sad, simple dignity. ‘I know not of what unworthiness you accuse yourself. That you are most unhappy, I know too well.’
She dared not raise her eyes to him; but in the moment of his appearance before her, it had gladdened her to see him attired101 as when she first knew him. Had he worn the soldierly garb102 in which he presented himself at Marcian’s villa, the revival103 of a dread104 memory would have pierced her heart. Even as in outward man he was the Basil she had loved, so did his voice recall that brighter day.
‘Unhappy most of all,’ he continued, ‘in what I least dare speak of. I have no ground to plead for pardon. What I did, and still more what I uttered, judge it at the worst. I should but add to my baseness if I urged excuses.’
‘Let us not remember that, I entreat52 you,’ said Veranilda. ‘But tell me, if you will, what has befallen you since?’
‘You know nothing of me since then?’
‘Nothing.’
‘And I nothing of you, save that you were with the Gothic army, and honourably105 entertained. The king himself spoke to me of you, when, after long sickness, I came to his camp. He asked if it was my wish to see you; but I could not yet dare to stand before your face, and so I answered him. “It is well,” said Totila. “Prove yourself in some service to the Goths and to your country, then I will speak with you again.” And straightway he charged me with a duty which I the more gladly undertook because it had some taste of danger. He bade me enter Rome, and spread through the city a proclamation to the Roman people—’
‘It was you who did that?’ interrupted the listener. ‘We heard of its being done, but not by what hand.’
‘With a servant whom I can trust, disguised, he and I, as peasants bringing food to market, I entered Rome, and remained for two days within the gates; then returned to Totila. He next sent me to learn the strength of the Greek garrisons106 in Spoletium and Assisium, and how those cities were provisioned; this task also, by good hap88, I discharged so as to win some praise. Then the king again spoke to me of you. And as, before, I had not dared to approach you, so now I did not dare to wait longer before making known to you my shame and my repentance107.’
‘Of what sickness did you speak just now?’ asked Veranilda, after a silence.
He narrated108 to her his sojourn109 at the monastery110, told of the penance111 he had done, of the absolution granted him by Benedict; whereupon a light came into Veranilda’s eyes.
‘There lives,’ she exclaimed, ‘no holier man!’
‘None holier lived,’ was Basil’s grave answer. ‘Returning from Assisium, I met a wandering anchorite, who told me of Benedict’s death.’
‘Alas112!’
‘But is he reverenced113 by those of your creed?’ asked Basil in surprise.
‘Of my creed? My faith is that of the Catholic Church.’
For the first time their eyes met. Basil drew a step nearer; his face shone with joy, which for a moment held him mute.
‘It was in the convent,’ added Veranilda, ‘that I learnt the truth. They whom I called my enemies wrought114 this good to me.’
Basil besought115 her to tell him how she had been carried away from Surrentum, and all that had befallen her whilst she was a prisoner; he declared his ignorance of everything between their last meeting in the Anician villa and the dreadful day which next brought them face to face. As he said this, it seemed to him that Veranilda’s countenance116 betrayed surprise.
‘I forget,’ he added, his head again falling, ‘that your mind has been filled with doubt of me. How can I convince you that I speak truly? O Veranilda!’ he exclaimed passionately117, ‘can you look at me, can you hear me speak, and still believe that I was ever capable of betraying you?’
‘That I never believed,’ she answered in a subdued118 voice.
‘Yet I saw in your eyes some doubt, some hesitation.’
‘Then it was despite myself. The thought that you planned evil against me I have ever cast out and abhorred. Why it was said of you, alas, I know not.’
‘What proof was given?’ asked Basil, gazing fixedly119 at her.
‘None.’
Her accent did not satisfy him; it seemed to falter86.
‘Was nothing said,’ he urged, ‘to make credible120 so black an untruth?’
Veranilda stood motionless and silent.
‘Speak, I beseech121 you!’ cried Basil, his hands clasped upon his breast. ‘Something there is which shadows your faith in my sincerity122. God knows, I have no right to question you thus—I, who let my heart be poisoned against you by a breath, a nothing. Rebuke123 me as you will; call me by the name I merit; utter all the disdain124 you must needs feel for a man so weak and false—’
His speech was checked upon that word. Veranilda had arrested him with a sudden look, a look of pain, of fear.
‘False?’ fell from her lips.
‘Can you forget it, O Veranilda? Would that I could!’
‘In your anger,’ she said, ‘as when perchance you were already distraught with fever, you spoke I know not what. Therein you were not false to me.’
‘False to myself; I should have said. To you, never, never! False to my faith in you, false to my own heart which knew you faithful; but false as men are called who—’
Again his voice sank. A memory flashed across him, troubling his brow.
‘What else were you told?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Can it be a woman’s name was spoken? You are silent. Will you not say that this thought, also, you abhorred and rejected?’
The simple honesty of Veranilda’s nature would not allow her to disguise what she thought. Urging question after question, with ardour irresistible125, Basil learnt all she had been told by Marcian concerning Heliodora, and, having learnt it, confessed the whole truth in utter frankness, in the plain, blunt words dictated by his loathing126 of the Greek woman with whom he had once played at love. And, as she listened, Veranilda’s heart grew light; for the time before her meeting with Basil seemed very far away, and the tremulous passion in his voice assured her of all she cared to know, that his troth pledged to her had never suffered wrong. Basil spoke on and on, told of his misery127 in Rome whilst vainly seeking her; how he was baffled and misled; how at length, in despair, he left the city and went to his estate by Asculum. Then of the message received from Marcian, and how eagerly he set forth to cross the Apennines, resolved that, if he could not find Veranilda, at least he would join himself with her people and fight for their king; of his encounter with the marauding troop, his arrival, worn and fevered, at Aesernia, his meeting with Sagaris, their interview, and what followed upon it.
‘To this hour I know not whether the man told me what he believed, or coldly lied to me. He has the face of a villain128 and may well have behaved as one—who knows with what end in view? Could I but lay hands upon him, I would have the truth out of his tongue by torture. He is in Rome. I saw him come forth from Marcian’s house, when I was there on the king’s service; but, of course, I could not speak with him.’
Veranilda had seated herself within the portico. Basil stood before her, ever and again meeting her eyes as she looked up.
‘Just as little,’ he resumed after a pause of troubled thought, ‘can I know whether Marcian believed me a traitor129, or himself had a traitorous130 mind. The more I think, the less do I understand him. I hope, I hope with all my heart, that he was innocent, and daily I pray for his eternal welfare.’
‘That is well done, O Basil,’ said the listener, for the first time uttering his name. ‘My prayers, too, he shall have. That he was so willing to credit ill of you, I marvel131; and therein he proved himself no staunch friend. But of all else, he was guiltless.’
‘So shall he ever live in my memory,’ said Basil. ‘Of him I always found it easier to believe good than evil, for many were the proofs he had given me of his affection. Had it been otherwise, I should long before have doubted him; for, when I was seeking you in Rome, more than once did a finger point to Marcian, as to one who knew more than he would say. I heard the accusation132 with scorn, knowing well that they who breathed it desired to confound me.’
This turned his thoughts again to the beginning of their sorrows; and again he gently asked of Veranilda that she would relate that part of her story which remained unknown to him. She, no longer saddened by the past, looked frankly133 up into his face, and smiled as she began. Now first did Basil hear of the anchoret Sisinnius, and how Aurelia was beguiled134 into the wood, where capture awaited her. Of the embarkment at Surrentum, Veranilda had only a confused recollection: fear and distress135 reawoke in her as she tried to describe the setting forth to sea, and the voyage that followed. Sisinnius and his monkish136 follower137 were in the ship, but held no speech with their captives. After a day or two of sailing, they landed at nightfall, but in what place she had never learnt. Still conducted by the anchorets, they were taken to pass the night in a large house, where they had good entertainment, but saw only the female slaves who waited upon them. The next day began a journey by road; and thus, after more than one weary day, they arrived at the house of religious women which was to be Veranilda’s home for nearly a twelvemonth.
‘I knew not where I was, and no one would answer me that question, though otherwise I had gentle and kindly usage. Aurelia I saw no more; we had not even taken leave of each other, for we did not dream on entering the house that we were to be parted. Whether she remained under that roof I never learnt. During our journey, she suffered much, often weeping bitterly, often all but distraught with anger and despair. Before leaving the ship we were told that, if either of us tried to escape, we should be fettered138, and only the fear of that indignity139 kept Aurelia still. Her face, as I remember its last look, was dreadful, so white and anguished140. I have often feared that, if she were long kept prisoner, she would lose her senses.’
Basil having heard the story to an end without speaking, made known the thoughts it stirred in him. They talked of Petronilla and of the deacon Leander, and sought explanations of Veranilda’s release. And, as thus they conversed141, they forgot all that had come between them; their constraint142 insensibly passed away; till at length Basil was sitting by Veranilda’s side, and holding her hand, and their eyes met in a long gaze of love and trust and hope.
‘Can you forgive?’ murmured Basil, upon whom, in the fulness of his joy, came the memory of what he deemed his least pardonable sin.
‘How can I talk of forgiveness,’ she returned, ‘when not yours was the blame, but mine? For I believed—or all but believed—that you had forgotten me.’
‘Beloved, I was guilty of worse than faithlessness. I dread to think, and still more to speak, of it; yet if I am silent, I spare myself; and seem, perhaps, to make light of baseness for which there are no words of fitting scorn. That too, be assured, O Veranilda, I confessed to the holy Benedict.’
Her bowed head and flushing cheek told him that she understood.
‘Basil,’ she whispered, ‘it was not you, not you.’
‘Gladly would I give myself that comfort. When I think, indeed, that this hand was raised to take my friend’s life, I shake with horror and say, “Not I did that!” Even so would I refuse to charge my very self with those words that my lips uttered. But to you they were spoken; you heard them; you fled before them—’
‘Basil! Basil!’
She had hidden her face with her hands. Basil threw himself upon his knees beside her.
‘Though I spoke in madness, can you ever forget? God Himself, I know, will sooner blot143 out my sin of murder than this wound I inflicted144 upon your pure and gentle heart!’
Veranilda caught his hand and pressed her lips upon it, whilst her tears fell softly.
‘Listen, dearest Basil,’ she said. ‘To think that I guard this in my memory against you would be to do me wrong. Remember how first I spoke to you about it, when we first knew that we loved each other. Did I not tell you that this was a thing which could never be quite forgotten? Did I not know that, if ever I sinned, or seemed to sin, this would be the first rebuke upon the lips of those I angered? Believing me faithless—nay, not you, beloved, but your fevered brain—how could you but think that thought? And, even had you not spoken it, must I not have read it in your face? Never ask me to forgive what you could not help. Rather, O Basil, will I entreat you, even as I did before, to bear with the shame inseparable from my being. If it lessen145 not your love, have I not cause enough for thankfulness?’
Hearing such words as these, in the sweetest, tenderest voice that ever caressed146 a lover’s senses, Basil knew not how to word all that was in his heart. Passion spoke for him, and not in vain; for in a few moments Veranilda’s tears were dry, or lingered only to glisten147 amid the happy light which beamed from her eyes. Side by side, forgetful of all but their recovered peace, they talked sweet nothings, until there sounded from far a woman’s voice, calling the name of Veranilda.
‘That is Athalfrida,’ she said, starting up. ‘I must not delay.’
One whisper, one kiss, and she was gone. When Basil, after brief despondency came forth on to the open terrace, he saw her at a distance, standing148 with Athalfrida and Osuin. Their looks invited him to approach, and, when he was near, Veranilda stepped towards him.
‘It will not be long,’ she said calmly, ‘before we again meet. The lord Osuin promises, and he speaks for the king.’
Basil bowed in silence. The great-limbed warrior and his fair wife had their eyes upon him, and were smiling good-naturedly. Then Osuin spoke in thick-throated Latin.
‘Shall we be gone, lord Basil?’
From the end of the terrace, Basil looked back. Athalfrida stood with her arm about the maiden’s waist; both gazed towards him, and Veranilda waved her hand.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
dearth
|
|
| n.缺乏，粮食不足，饥谨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
vessels
|
|
| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
conqueror
|
|
| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
conspicuous
|
|
| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
purport
|
|
| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
extremities
|
|
| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
garrison
|
|
| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
dictated
|
|
| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
eastward
|
|
| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
foaming
|
|
| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
besiege
|
|
| vt.包围，围攻，拥在...周围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
lapse
|
|
| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
tracts
|
|
| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
edifices
|
|
| n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
dwellings
|
|
| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
abounded
|
|
| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
carving
|
|
| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
mosaic
|
|
| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
tapestries
|
|
| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
portraiture
|
|
| n.肖像画法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
abode
|
|
| n.住处，住所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
warrior
|
|
| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
cultivation
|
|
| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
buffered
|
|
| [医]缓冲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
nomadic
|
|
| adj.流浪的；游牧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
extinction
|
|
| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
brawny
|
|
| adj.强壮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
vigour
|
|
| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
vein
|
|
| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
lavish
|
|
| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
endearments
|
|
| n.表示爱慕的话语，亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
apostate
|
|
| n.背叛者，变节者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
soften
|
|
| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
abhorred
|
|
| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
fervidly
|
|
| adv.热情地，激情地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
enchantment
|
|
| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
entreated
|
|
| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
entreat
|
|
| v.恳求，恳请 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
conversion
|
|
| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
constrained
|
|
| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
condemnation
|
|
| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
heed
|
|
| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
ply
|
|
| v.(搬运工等)等候顾客，弯曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
obstinately
|
|
| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
parley
|
|
| n.谈判 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
fortresses
|
|
| 堡垒，要塞( fortress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
encompass
|
|
| vt.围绕，包围；包含，包括；完成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
isolate
|
|
| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
beset
|
|
| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
hazy
|
|
| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
suffused
|
|
| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
gust
|
|
| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
pestilence
|
|
| n.瘟疫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
repent
|
|
| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
vehemently
|
|
| adv. 热烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
portico
|
|
| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
niche
|
|
| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
tawny
|
|
| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
beckoning
|
|
| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
faltered
|
|
| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
falter
|
|
| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
hap
|
|
| n.运气；v.偶然发生 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
discretion
|
|
| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
caresses
|
|
| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
comely
|
|
| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
cypresses
|
|
| n.柏属植物，柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
dagger
|
|
| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
attired
|
|
| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
garb
|
|
| n.服装，装束 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
revival
|
|
| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
honourably
|
|
| adv.可尊敬地，光荣地，体面地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
garrisons
|
|
| 守备部队，卫戍部队( garrison的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
repentance
|
|
| n.懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
narrated
|
|
| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
sojourn
|
|
| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
monastery
|
|
| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
penance
|
|
| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
reverenced
|
|
| v.尊敬，崇敬( reverence的过去式和过去分词 )；敬礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
besought
|
|
| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
passionately
|
|
| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
fixedly
|
|
| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
credible
|
|
| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
beseech
|
|
| v.祈求，恳求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
sincerity
|
|
| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
rebuke
|
|
| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
disdain
|
|
| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
irresistible
|
|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
loathing
|
|
| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
villain
|
|
| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
traitor
|
|
| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
traitorous
|
|
| adj. 叛国的, 不忠的, 背信弃义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
marvel
|
|
| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
accusation
|
|
| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
beguiled
|
|
| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
monkish
|
|
| adj.僧侣的，修道士的，禁欲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
follower
|
|
| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
fettered
|
|
| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
indignity
|
|
| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
anguished
|
|
| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
conversed
|
|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
constraint
|
|
| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
blot
|
|
| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
inflicted
|
|
| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
lessen
|
|
| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
caressed
|
|
| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
glisten
|
|
| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |