On the evening of May 3, 1827, the garden of a large red-brick bow-windowed mansion1 called North End House, which, enclosed in spacious2 grounds, stands on the eastern height of Hampstead Heath, between Finchley Road and the Chestnut3 Avenue, was the scene of a domestic tragedy.
Three persons were the actors in it. One was an old man, whose white hair and wrinkled face gave token that he was at least sixty years of age. He stood erect4 with his back to the wall, which separates the garden from the Heath, in the attitude of one surprised into sudden passion, and held uplifted the heavy ebon cane5 upon which he was ordinarily accustomed to lean. He was confronted by a man of two-and-twenty, unusually tall and athletic6 of figure, dresses in rough seafaring clothes, and who held in his arms, protecting her, a lady of middle age. The face of the young man wore an expression of horror-stricken astonishment7, and the slight frame of the grey-haired woman was convulsed with sobs8.
These three people were Sir Richard Devine, his wife, and his only son Richard, who had returned from abroad that morning.
“So, madam,” said Sir Richard, in the high-strung accents which in crises of great mental agony are common to the most self-restrained of us, “you have been for twenty years a living lie! For twenty years you have cheated and mocked me. For twenty years — in company with a scoundrel whose name is a byword for all that is profligate9 and base — you have laughed at me for a credulous10 and hood11-winked fool; and now, because I dared to raise my hand to that reckless boy, you confess your shame, and glory in the confession12!”
“Mother, dear mother!” cried the young man, in a paroxysm of grief, “say that you did not mean those words; you said them but in anger! See, I am calm now, and he may strike me if he will.”
Lady Devine shuddered13, creeping close, as though to hide herself in the broad bosom14 of her son.
The old man continued: “I married you, Ellinor Wade15, for your beauty; you married me for my fortune. I was a plebeian16, a ship’s carpenter; you were well born, your father was a man of fashion, a gambler, the friend of rakes and prodigals18. I was rich. I had been knighted. I was in favour at Court. He wanted money, and he sold you. I paid the price he asked, but there was nothing of your cousin, my Lord Bellasis and Wotton, in the bond.”
“Spare me, sir, spare me!” said Lady Ellinor faintly.
“Spare you! Ay, you have spared me, have you not? Look ye,” he cried, in sudden fury, “I am not to be fooled so easily. Your family are proud. Colonel Wade has other daughters. Your lover, my Lord Bellasis, even now, thinks to retrieve20 his broken fortunes by marriage. You have confessed your shame. To-morrow your father, your sisters, all the world, shall know the story you have told me!”
“By Heaven, sir, you will not do this!” burst out the young man.
“Silence, bastard21!” cried Sir Richard. “Ay, bite your lips; the word is of your precious mother’s making!”
Lady Devine slipped through her son’s arms and fell on her knees at her husband’s feet.
“Do not do this, Richard. I have been faithful to you for two-and-twenty years. I have borne all the slights and insults you have heaped upon me. The shameful22 secret of my early love broke from me when in your rage, you threatened him. Let me go away; kill me; but do not shame me.”
Sir Richard, who had turned to walk away, stopped suddenly, and his great white eyebrows23 came together in his red face with a savage24 scowl25. He laughed, and in that laugh his fury seemed to congeal26 into a cold and cruel hate.
“You would preserve your good name then. You would conceal27 this disgrace from the world. You shall have your wish — upon one condition.”
“What is it, sir?” she asked, rising, but trembling with terror, as she stood with drooping28 arms and widely opened eyes.
The old man looked at her for an instant, and then said slowly, “That this impostor, who so long has falsely borne my name, has wrongfully squandered29 my money, and unlawfully eaten my bread, shall pack! That he abandon for ever the name he has usurped30, keep himself from my sight, and never set foot again in house of mine.”
“You would not part me from my only son!” cried the wretched woman.
“Take him with you to his father then.”
Richard Devine gently loosed the arms that again clung around his neck, kissed the pale face, and turned his own — scarcely less pale — towards the old man.
“I owe you no duty,” he said. “You have always hated and reviled31 me. When by your violence you drove me from your house, you set spies to watch me in the life I had chosen. I have nothing in common with you. I have long felt it. Now when I learn for the first time whose son I really am, I rejoice to think that I have less to thank you for than I once believed. I accept the terms you offer. I will go. Nay32, mother, think of your good name.”
Sir Richard Devine laughed again. “I am glad to see you are so well disposed. Listen now. To-night I send for Quaid to alter my will. My sister’s son, Maurice Frere, shall be my heir in your stead. I give you nothing. You leave this house in an hour. You change your name; you never by word or deed make claim on me or mine. No matter what strait or poverty you plead — if even your life should hang upon the issue — the instant I hear that there exists on earth one who calls himself Richard Devine, that instant shall your mother’s shame become a public scandal. You know me. I keep my word. I return in an hour, madam; let me find him gone.”
He passed them, upright, as if upborne by passion, strode down the garden with the vigour33 that anger lends, and took the road to London.
“Richard!” cried the poor mother. “Forgive me, my son! I have ruined you.”
Richard Devine tossed his black hair from his brow in sudden passion of love and grief.
“Mother, dear mother, do not weep,” he said. “I am not worthy34 of your tears. Forgive! It is I— impetuous and ungrateful during all your years of sorrow — who most need forgiveness. Let me share your burden that I may lighten it. He is just. It is fitting that I go. I can earn a name — a name that I need not blush to bear nor you to hear. I am strong. I can work. The world is wide. Farewell! my own mother!”
“Not yet, not yet! Ah! see he has taken the Belsize Road. Oh, Richard, pray Heaven they may not meet.”
“Tush! They will not meet! You are pale, you faint!”
“A terror of I know not what coming evil overpowers me. I tremble for the future. Oh, Richard, Richard! Forgive me! Pray for me.”
“Hush, dearest! Come, let me lead you in. I will write. I will send you news of me once at least, ere I depart. So — you are calmer, mother!”
* * * * * *
Sir Richard Devine, knight19, shipbuilder, naval35 contractor36, and millionaire, was the son of a Harwich boat carpenter. Early left an orphan37 with a sister to support, he soon reduced his sole aim in life to the accumulation of money. In the Harwich boat-shed, nearly fifty years before, he had contracted — in defiance38 of prophesied39 failure — to build the Hastings sloop40 of war for His Majesty41 King George the Third’s Lords of the Admiralty. This contract was the thin end of that wedge which eventually split the mighty42 oak block of Government patronage43 into three-deckers and ships of the line; which did good service under Pellew, Parker, Nelson, Hood; which exfoliated and ramified into huge dockyards at Plymouth, Portsmouth, and Sheerness, and bore, as its buds and flowers, countless44 barrels of measly pork and maggoty biscuit. The sole aim of the coarse, pushing and hard-headed son of Dick Devine was to make money. He had cringed and crawled and fluttered and blustered45, had licked the dust off great men’s shoes, and danced attendance in great men’s antechambers. Nothing was too low, nothing too high for him. A shrewd man of business, a thorough master of his trade, troubled with no scruples47 of honour or of delicacy48, he made money rapidly, and saved it when made. The first hint that the public received of his wealth was in 1796, when Mr. Devine, one of the shipwrights49 to the Government, and a comparatively young man of forty-four or thereabouts, subscribed50 five thousand pounds to the Loyalty51 Loan raised to prosecute52 the French war. In 1805, after doing good, and it was hinted not unprofitable, service in the trial of Lord Melville, the Treasurer53 of the Navy, he married his sister to a wealthy Bristol merchant, one Anthony Frere, and married himself to Ellinor Wade, the eldest54 daughter of Colonel Wotton Wade, a boon55 companion of the Regent, and uncle by marriage of a remarkable56 scamp and dandy, Lord Bellasis. At that time, what with lucky speculations57 in the Funds — assisted, it was whispered, by secret intelligence from France during the stormy years of '13, '14, and ’15 — and the legitimate58 profit on his Government contracts, he had accumulated a princely fortune, and could afford to live in princely magnificence. But the old-man-of-the-sea burden of parsimony59 and avarice60 which he had voluntarily taken upon him was not to be shaken off, and the only show he made of his wealth was by purchasing, on his knighthood, the rambling61 but comfortable house at Hampstead, and ostensibly retiring from active business.
His retirement62 was not a happy one. He was a stern father and a severe master. His servants hated, and his wife feared him. His only son Richard appeared to inherit his father’s strong will and imperious manner. Under careful supervision63 and a just rule he might have been guided to good; but left to his own devices outside, and galled64 by the iron yoke65 of parental66 discipline at home, he became reckless and prodigal17. The mother — poor, timid Ellinor, who had been rudely torn from the love of her youth, her cousin, Lord Bellasis — tried to restrain him, but the headstrong boy, though owning for his mother that strong love which is often a part of such violent natures, proved intractable, and after three years of parental feud67, he went off to the Continent, to pursue there the same reckless life which in London had offended Sir Richard. Sir Richard, upon this, sent for Maurice Frere, his sister’s son — the abolition68 of the slave trade had ruined the Bristol House of Frere — and bought for him a commission in a marching regiment69, hinting darkly of special favours to come. His open preference for his nephew had galled to the quick his sensitive wife, who contrasted with some heart-pangs the gallant70 prodigality71 of her father with the niggardly72 economy of her husband. Between the houses of parvenu73 Devine and long-descended Wotton Wade there had long been little love. Sir Richard felt that the colonel despised him for a city knight, and had heard that over claret and cards Lord Bellasis and his friends had often lamented74 the hard fortune which gave the beauty, Ellinor, to so sordid75 a bridegroom. Armigell Esme Wade, Viscount Bellasis and Wotton, was a product of his time. Of good family (his ancestor, Armigell, was reputed to have landed in America before Gilbert or Raleigh), he had inherited his manor76 of Bellasis, or Belsize, from one Sir Esme Wade, ambassador from Queen Elizabeth to the King of Spain in the delicate matter of Mendoza, and afterwards counsellor to James I, and Lieutenant77 of the Tower. This Esme was a man of dark devices. It was he who negotiated with Mary Stuart for Elizabeth; it was he who wormed out of Cobham the evidence against the great Raleigh. He became rich, and his sister (the widow of Henry de Kirkhaven, Lord of Hemfleet) marrying into the family of the Wottons, the wealth of the house was further increased by the union of her daughter Sybil with Marmaduke Wade. Marmaduke Wade was a Lord of the Admiralty, and a patron of Pepys, who in his diary [July 17,1668] speaks of visiting him at Belsize. He was raised to the peerage in 1667 by the title of Baron78 Bellasis and Wotton, and married for his second wife Anne, daughter of Philip Stanhope, second Earl of Chesterfield. Allied79 to this powerful house, the family tree of Wotton Wade grew and flourished.
In 1784, Philip, third Baron, married the celebrated80 beauty, Miss Povey, and had issue Armigell Esme, in whose person the family prudence81 seemed to have run itself out.
The fourth Lord Bellasis combined the daring of Armigell, the adventurer, with the evil disposition82 of Esme, the Lieutenant of the Tower. No sooner had he become master of his fortune than he took to dice83, drink, and debauchery with all the extravagance of the last century. He was foremost in every riot, most notorious of all the notorious “bloods” of the day.
Horace Walpole, in one of his letters to Selwyn in 1785, mentions a fact which may stand for a page of narrative84. “Young Wade,” he says, “is reported to have lost one thousand guineas last night to that vulgarest of all the Bourbons, the Duc de Chartres, and they say the fool is not yet nineteen.” From a pigeon Armigell Wade became a hawk85, and at thirty years of age, having lost together with his estates all chance of winning the one woman who might have saved him — his cousin Ellinor — he became that most unhappy of all beings, a well-born blackleg. When he was told by thin-lipped, cool Colonel Wade that the rich shipbuilder, Sir Richard Devine, had proposed an alliance with fair-haired gentle Ellinor, he swore, with fierce knitting of his black brows, that no law of man nor Heaven should further restrain him in his selfish prodigality. “You have sold your daughter and ruined me,” he said; “look to the consequences.” Colonel Wade sneered86 at his fiery87 kinsman88: “You will find Sir Richard’s house a pleasant one to visit, Armigell; and he should be worth an income to so experienced a gambler as yourself.” Lord Bellasis did visit at Sir Richard’s house during the first year of his cousin’s marriage; but upon the birth of the son who is the hero of this history, he affected89 a quarrel with the city knight, and cursing him to the Prince and Poins for a miserly curmudgeon90, who neither diced91 nor drank like a gentleman, departed, more desperately92 at war with fortune than ever, for his old haunts. The year 1827 found him a hardened, hopeless old man of sixty, battered93 in health and ruined in pocket; but who, by dint94 of stays, hair-dye, and courage, yet faced the world with undaunted front, and dined as gaily95 in bailiff-haunted Belsize as he had dined at Carlton House. Of the possessions of the House of Wotton Wade, this old manor, timberless and bare, was all that remained, and its master rarely visited it.
On the evening of May 3, 1827, Lord Bellasis had been attending a pigeon match at Hornsey Wood, and having resisted the importunities of his companion, Mr. Lionel Crofton (a young gentleman-rake, whose position in the sporting world was not the most secure), who wanted him to go on into town, he had avowed96 his intention of striking across Hampstead to Belsize. “I have an appointment at the fir trees on the Heath,” he said.
“With a woman?” asked Mr. Crofton.
“Not at all; with a parson.”
“A parson!”
“You stare! Well, he is only just ordained97. I met him last year at Bath on his vacation from Cambridge, and he was good enough to lose some money to me.”
“And now waits to pay it out of his first curacy. I wish your lordship joy with all my soul. Then, we must push on, for it grows late.”
“Thanks, my dear sir, for the ‘we,’ but I must go alone,” said Lord Bellasis dryly. “To-morrow you can settle with me for the sitting of last week. Hark! the clock is striking nine. Good night.”
* * * * * *
At half-past nine Richard Devine quitted his mother’s house to begin the new life he had chosen, and so, drawn98 together by that strange fate of circumstances which creates events, the father and son approached each other.
* * * * * *
As the young man gained the middle of the path which led to the Heath, he met Sir Richard returning from the village. It was no part of his plan to seek an interview with the man whom his mother had so deeply wronged, and he would have slunk past in the gloom; but seeing him thus alone returning to a desolated99 home, the prodigal was tempted100 to utter some words of farewell and of regret. To his astonishment, however, Sir Richard passed swiftly on, with body bent101 forward as one in the act of falling, and with eyes unconscious of surroundings, staring straight into the distance. Half-terrified at this strange appearance, Richard hurried onward102, and at a turn of the path stumbled upon something which horribly accounted for the curious action of the old man. A dead body lay upon its face in the heather; beside it was a heavy riding whip stained at the handle with blood, and an open pocket-book. Richard took up the book, and read, in gold letters on the cover, “Lord Bellasis.”
The unhappy young man knelt down beside the body and raised it. The skull103 had been fractured by a blow, but it seemed that life yet lingered. Overcome with horror — for he could not doubt but that his mother’s worst fears had been realized — Richard knelt there holding his murdered father in his arms, waiting until the murderer, whose name he bore, should have placed himself beyond pursuit. It seemed an hour to his excited fancy before he saw a light pass along the front of the house he had quitted, and knew that Sir Richard had safely reached his chamber46. With some bewildered intention of summoning aid, he left the body and made towards the town. As he stepped out on the path he heard voices, and presently some dozen men, one of whom held a horse, burst out upon him, and, with sudden fury, seized and flung him to the ground.
At first the young man, so rudely assailed104, did not comprehend his own danger. His mind, bent upon one hideous105 explanation of the crime, did not see another obvious one which had already occurred to the mind of the landlord of the Three Spaniards.
“God defend me!” cried Mr. Mogford, scanning by the pale light of the rising moon the features of the murdered man, “but it is Lord Bellasis!— oh, you bloody106 villain107! Jem, bring him along here, p’r’aps his lordship can recognize him!”
“It was not I!” cried Richard Devine. “For God’s sake, my lord say —” then he stopped abruptly108, and being forced on his knees by his captors, remained staring at the dying man, in sudden and ghastly fear.
Those men in whom emotion has the effect of quickening circulation of the blood reason rapidly in moments of danger, and in the terrible instant when his eyes met those of Lord Bellasis, Richard Devine had summed up the chances of his future fortune, and realized to the full his personal peril109. The runaway110 horse had given the alarm. The drinkers at the Spaniards’ Inn had started to search the Heath, and had discovered a fellow in rough costume, whose person was unknown to them, hastily quitting a spot where, beside a rifled pocket-book and a blood-stained whip, lay a dying man.
The web of circumstantial evidence had enmeshed him. An hour ago escape would have been easy. He would have had but to cry, “I am the son of Sir Richard Devine. Come with me to yonder house, and I will prove to you that I have but just quitted it,"— to place his innocence111 beyond immediate112 question. That course of action was impossible now. Knowing Sir Richard as he did, and believing, moreover, that in his raging passion the old man had himself met and murdered the destroyer of his honour, the son of Lord Bellasis and Lady Devine saw himself in a position which would compel him either to sacrifice himself, or to purchase a chance of safety at the price of his mother’s dishonour113 and the death of the man whom his mother had deceived. If the outcast son were brought a prisoner to North End House, Sir Richard — now doubly oppressed of fate — would be certain to deny him; and he would be compelled, in self-defence, to reveal a story which would at once bring his mother to open infamy114, and send to the gallows115 the man who had been for twenty years deceived — the man to whose kindness he owed education and former fortune. He knelt, stupefied, unable to speak or move.
“Come,” cried Mogford again; “say, my lord, is this the villain?”
Lord Bellasis rallied his failing senses, his glazing116 eyes stared into his son’s face with horrible eagerness; he shook his head, raised a feeble arm as though to point elsewhere, and fell back dead.
“If you didn’t murder him, you robbed him,” growled117 Mogford, “and you shall sleep at Bow Street to-night. Tom, run on to meet the patrol, and leave word at the Gate-house that I’ve a passenger for the coach!— Bring him on, Jack118!— What’s your name, eh?”
He repeated the rough question twice before his prisoner answered, but at length Richard Devine raised a pale face which stern resolution had already hardened into defiant119 manhood, and said “Dawes — Rufus Dawes.”
* * * * * *
His new life had begun already: for that night one, Rufus Dawes, charged with murder and robbery, lay awake in prison, waiting for the fortune of the morrow.
Two other men waited as eagerly. One, Mr. Lionel Crofton; the other, the horseman who had appointment with the murdered Lord Bellasis under the shadow of the fir trees on Hampstead Heath. As for Sir Richard Devine, he waited for no one, for upon reaching his room he had fallen senseless in a fit of apoplexy.
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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astonishment
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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profligate
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credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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confession
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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bosom
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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prodigals
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| n.浪费的( prodigal的名词复数 )；铺张的；挥霍的；慷慨的 | |
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knight
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retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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savage
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scowl
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congeal
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conceal
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drooping
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squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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usurped
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reviled
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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vigour
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worthy
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naval
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contractor
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orphan
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defiance
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prophesied
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sloop
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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mighty
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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blustered
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| v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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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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47
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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48
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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49
shipwrights
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| n.造船者，修船者( shipwright的名词复数 ) | |
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50
subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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51
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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52
prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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53
treasurer
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| n.司库，财务主管 | |
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54
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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55
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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56
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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57
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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58
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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59
parsimony
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| n.过度节俭，吝啬 | |
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60
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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61
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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62
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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63
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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64
galled
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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65
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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66
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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67
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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69
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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71
prodigality
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| n.浪费，挥霍 | |
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72
niggardly
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| adj.吝啬的，很少的 | |
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73
parvenu
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| n.暴发户，新贵 | |
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lamented
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| 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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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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76
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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77
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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81
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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82
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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83
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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84
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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85
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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86
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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88
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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89
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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90
curmudgeon
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| n. 脾气暴躁之人，守财奴，吝啬鬼 | |
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diced
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| v.将…切成小方块，切成丁( dice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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93
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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94
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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95
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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96
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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98
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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99
desolated
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| adj.荒凉的，荒废的 | |
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100
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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101
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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102
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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103
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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104
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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105
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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106
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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107
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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108
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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109
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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110
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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111
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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112
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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113
dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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114
infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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115
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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116
glazing
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| n.玻璃装配业；玻璃窗；上釉；上光v.装玻璃( glaze的现在分词 )；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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117
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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118
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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119
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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