What with the lady’s animated1 manner and dramatic conduct of her voice, Challoner had thrilled to every incident with genuine emotion. His fancy, which was not perhaps of a very lively character, applauded both the matter and the style; but the more judicial2 functions of his mind refused assent4. It was an excellent story; and it might be true, but he believed it was not. Miss Fonblanque was a lady, and it was doubtless possible for a lady to wander from the truth; but how was a gentleman to tell her so? His spirits for some time had been sinking, but they now fell to zero; and long after her voice had died away he still sat with a troubled and averted5 countenance6, and could find no form of words to thank her for her narrative7. His mind, indeed, was empty of everything beyond a dull longing8 for escape. From this pause, which grew the more embarrassing with every second, he was roused by the sudden laughter of the lady. His vanity was alarmed; he turned and faced her; their eyes met; and he caught from hers a spark of such frank merriment as put him instantly at ease.
‘You certainly,’ he said, ‘appear to bear your calamities9 with excellent spirit.’
‘Do I not?’ she cried, and fell once more into delicious laughter. But from this access she more speedily recovered. ‘This is all very well,’ said she, nodding at him gravely, ‘but I am still in a most distressing10 situation, from which, if you deny me your help, I shall find it difficult indeed to free myself.’
At this mention of help Challoner fell back to his original gloom.
‘My sympathies are much engaged with you,’ he said, ‘and I should be delighted, I am sure. But our position is most unusual; and circumstances over which I have, I can assure you, no control, deprive me of the power — the pleasure — Unless, indeed,’ he added, somewhat brightening at the thought, ‘I were to recommend you to the care of the police?’
She laid her hand upon his arm and looked hard into his eyes; and he saw with wonder that, for the first time since the moment of their meeting, every trace of colour had faded from her cheek.
‘Do so,’ she said, ‘and — weigh my words well — you kill me as certainly as with a knife.’
‘God bless me!’ exclaimed Challoner.
‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘I can see you disbelieve my story and make light of the perils11 that surround me; but who are you to judge? My family share my apprehensions12; they help me in secret; and you saw yourself by what an emissary, and in what a place, they have chosen to supply me with the funds for my escape. I admit that you are brave and clever and have impressed me most favourably13; but how are you to prefer your opinion before that of my uncle, an ex-minister of state, a man with the ear of the Queen, and of a long political experience? If I am mad, is he? And you must allow me, besides, a special claim upon your help. Strange as you may think my story, you know that much of it is true; and if you who heard the explosion and saw the Mormon at Victoria, refuse to credit and assist me, to whom am I to turn?’
‘He gave you money then?’ asked Challoner, who had been dwelling14 singly on that fact.
‘I begin to interest you,’ she cried. ‘But, frankly15, you are condemned16 to help me. If the service I had to ask of you were serious, were suspicious, were even unusual, I should say no more. But what is it? To take a pleasure trip (for which, if you will suffer me, I propose to pay) and to carry from one lady to another a sum of money! What can be more simple?’
‘Is the sum,’ asked Challoner, ‘considerable?’
She produced a packet from her bosom17; and observing that she had not yet found time to make the count, tore open the cover and spread upon her knees a considerable number of Bank of England notes. It took some time to make the reckoning, for the notes were of every degree of value; but at last, and counting a few loose sovereigns, she made out the sum to be a little under 710 pounds sterling18. The sight of so much money worked an immediate19 revolution in the mind of Challoner.
‘And you propose, madam,’ he cried, ‘to intrust that money to a perfect stranger?’
‘Ah!’ said she, with a charming smile, ‘but I no longer regard you as a stranger.’
‘Madam,’ said Challoner, ‘I perceive I must make you a confession20. Although of a very good family — through my mother, indeed, a lineal descendant of the patriot21 Bruce — I dare not conceal22 from you that my affairs are deeply, very deeply involved. I am in debt; my pockets are practically empty; and, in short, I am fallen to that state when a considerable sum of money would prove to many men an irresistible23 temptation.’
‘Do you not see,’ returned the young lady, ‘that by these words you have removed my last hesitation24? Take them.’ And she thrust the notes into the young man’s hand.
He sat so long, holding them, like a baby at the font, that Miss Fonblanque once more bubbled into laughter.
‘Pray,’ she said, ‘hesitate no further; put them in your pocket; and to relieve our position of any shadow of embarrassment25, tell me by what name I am to address my knight-errant, for I find myself reduced to the awkwardness of the pronoun.’
Had borrowing been in question, the wisdom of our ancestors had come lightly to the young man’s aid; but upon what pretext26 could he refuse so generous a trust? Upon none he saw, that was not unpardonably wounding; and the bright eyes and the high spirits of his companion had already made a breach27 in the rampart of Challoner’s caution. The whole thing, he reasoned, might be a mere28 mystification, which it were the height of solemn folly29 to resent. On the other hand, the explosion, the interview at the public-house, and the very money in his hands, seemed to prove beyond denial the existence of some serious danger; and if that were so, could he desert her? There was a choice of risks: the risk of behaving with extraordinary incivility and unhandsomeness to a lady, and the risk of going on a fool’s errand. The story seemed false; but then the money was undeniable. The whole circumstances were questionable30 and obscure; but the lady was charming, and had the speech and manners of society. While he still hung in the wind, a recollection returned upon his mind with some of the dignity of prophecy. Had he not promised Somerset to break with the traditions of the commonplace, and to accept the first adventure offered? Well, here was the adventure.
He thrust the money into his pocket.
‘My name is Challoner,’ said he.
‘Mr. Challoner,’ she replied, ‘you have come very generously to my aid when all was against me. Though I am myself a very humble31 person, my family commands great interest; and I do not think you will repent32 this handsome action.’
Challoner flushed with pleasure.
‘I imagine that, perhaps, a consulship33,’ she added, her eyes dwelling on him with a judicial admiration34, ‘a consulship in some great town or capital — or else — But we waste time; let us set about the work of my delivery.’
She took his arm with a frank confidence that went to his heart; and once more laying by all serious thoughts, she entertained him, as they crossed the park, with her agreeable gaiety of mind. Near the Marble Arch they found a hansom, which rapidly conveyed them to the terminus at Euston Square; and here, in the hotel, they sat down to an excellent breakfast. The young lady’s first step was to call for writing materials and write, upon one corner of the table, a hasty note; still, as she did so, glancing with smiles at her companion. ‘Here,’ said she, ‘here is the letter which will introduce you to my cousin.’ She began to fold the paper. ‘My cousin, although I have never seen her, has the character of a very charming woman and a recognised beauty; of that I know nothing, but at least she has been very kind to me; so has my lord her father; so have you — kinder than all — kinder than I can bear to think of.’ She said this with unusual emotion; and, at the same time, sealed the envelope. ‘Ah!’ she cried, ‘I have shut my letter! It is not quite courteous36; and yet, as between friends, it is perhaps better so. I introduce you, after all, into a family secret; and though you and I are already old comrades, you are still unknown to my uncle. You go then to this address, Richard Street, Glasgow; go, please, as soon as you arrive; and give this letter with your own hands into those of Miss Fonblanque, for that is the name by which she is to pass. When we next meet, you will tell me what you think of her,’ she added, with a touch of the provocative37.
‘Ah,’ said Challoner, almost tenderly, ‘she can be nothing to me.’
‘You do not know,’ replied the young lady, with a sigh. ‘By-the-bye, I had forgotten — it is very childish, and I am almost ashamed to mention it — but when you see Miss Fonblanque, you will have to make yourself a little ridiculous; and I am sure the part in no way suits you. We had agreed upon a watchword. You will have to address an earl’s daughter in these words: “NIGGER, NIGGER, NEVER DIE;” but reassure38 yourself,’ she added, laughing, ‘for the fair patrician39 will at once finish the quotation40. Come now, say your lesson.’
‘“Nigger, nigger, never die,”’ repeated Challoner, with undisguised reluctance41.
Miss Fonblanque went into fits of laughter. ‘Excellent,’ said she, ‘it will be the most humorous scene.’ And she laughed again.
‘And what will be the counterword?’ asked Challoner stiffly.
‘I will not tell you till the last moment,’ said she; ‘for I perceive you are growing too imperious.’
Breakfast over, she accompanied the young man to the platform, bought him the Graphic42, the Athenaeum, and a paper-cutter, and stood on the step conversing43 till the whistle sounded. Then she put her head into the carriage. ‘BLACK FACE AND SHINING EYE!’ she whispered, and instantly leaped down upon the platform, with a thrill of gay and musical laughter. As the train steamed out of the great arch of glass, the sound of that laughter still rang in the young man’s ears.
Challoner’s position was too unusual to be long welcome to his mind. He found himself projected the whole length of England, on a mission beset44 with obscure and ridiculous circumstances, and yet, by the trust he had accepted, irrevocably bound to persevere45. How easy it appeared, in the retrospect46, to have refused the whole proposal, returned the money, and gone forth47 again upon his own affairs, a free and happy man! And it was now impossible: the enchantress who had held him with her eye had now disappeared, taking his honour in pledge; and as she had failed to leave him an address, he was denied even the inglorious safety of retreat. To use the paper-knife, or even to read the periodicals with which she had presented him, was to renew the bitterness of his remorse48; and as he was alone in the compartment49, he passed the day staring at the landscape in impotent repentance50, and long before he was landed on the platform of St. Enoch’s, had fallen to the lowest and coldest zones of self-contempt.
As he was hungry, and elegant in his habits, he would have preferred to dine and to remove the stains of travel; but the words of the young lady, and his own impatient eagerness, would suffer no delay. In the late, luminous51, and lamp-starred dusk of the summer evening, he accordingly set forward with brisk steps.
The street to which he was directed had first seen the day in the character of a row of small suburban52 villas54 on a hillside; but the extension of the city had long since, and on every hand, surrounded it with miles of streets. From the top of the hill a range of very tall buildings, densely55 inhabited by the poorest classes of the population and variegated56 by drying-poles from every second window, overplumbed the villas and their little gardens like a sea-board cliff. But still, under the grime of years of city smoke, these antiquated57 cottages, with their venetian blinds and rural porticoes58, retained a somewhat melancholy59 savour of the past.
The street when Challoner entered it was perfectly60 deserted61. From hard by, indeed, the sound of a thousand footfalls filled the ear; but in Richard Street itself there was neither light nor sound of human habitation. The appearance of the neighbourhood weighed heavily on the mind of the young man; once more, as in the streets of London, he was impressed with the sense of city deserts; and as he approached the number indicated, and somewhat falteringly62 rang the bell, his heart sank within him.
The bell was ancient, like the house; it had a thin and garrulous63 note; and it was some time before it ceased to sound from the rear quarters of the building. Following upon this an inner door was stealthily opened, and careful and catlike steps drew near along the hall. Challoner, supposing he was to be instantly admitted, produced his letter, and, as well as he was able, prepared a smiling face. To his indescribable surprise, however, the footsteps ceased, and then, after a pause and with the like stealthiness, withdrew once more, and died away in the interior of the house. A second time the young man rang violently at the bell; a second time, to his keen hearkening, a certain bustle64 of discreet65 footing moved upon the hollow boards of the old villa53; and again the fainthearted garrison66 only drew near to retreat. The cup of the visitor’s endurance was now full to overflowing67; and, committing the whole family of Fonblanque to every mood and shade of condemnation69, he turned upon his heel and redescended the steps. Perhaps the mover in the house was watching from a window, and plucked up courage at the sight of this desistance; or perhaps, where he lurked70 trembling in the back parts of the villa, reason in its own right had conquered his alarms. Challoner, at least, had scarce set foot upon the pavement when he was arrested by the sound of the withdrawal71 of an inner bolt; one followed another, rattling72 in their sockets73; the key turned harshly in the lock; the door opened; and there appeared upon the threshold a man of a very stalwart figure in his shirt sleeves. He was a person neither of great manly74 beauty nor of a refined exterior75; he was not the man, in ordinary moods, to attract the eyes of the observer; but as he now stood in the doorway76, he was marked so legibly with the extreme passion of terror that Challoner stood wonder-struck. For a fraction of a minute they gazed upon each other in silence; and then the man of the house, with ashen77 lips and gasping78 voice, inquired the business of his visitor. Challoner replied, in tones from which he strove to banish80 his surprise, that he was the bearer of a letter to a certain Miss Fonblanque. At this name, as at a talisman81, the man fell back and impatiently invited him to enter; and no sooner had the adventurer crossed the threshold, than the door was closed behind him and his retreat cut off.
It was already long past eight at night; and though the late twilight82 of the north still lingered in the streets, in the passage it was already groping dark. The man led Challoner directly to a parlour looking on the garden to the back. Here he had apparently83 been supping; for by the light of a tallow dip the table was seen to be covered with a napkin, and set out with a quart of bottled ale and the heel of a Gouda cheese. The room, on the other hand, was furnished with faded solidity, and the walls were lined with scholarly and costly84 volumes in glazed85 cases. The house must have been taken furnished; for it had no congruity86 with this man of the shirt sleeves and the mean supper. As for the earl’s daughter, the earl and the visionary consulships in foreign cities, they had long ago begun to fade in Challoner’s imagination. Like Doctor Grierson and the Mormon angels, they were plainly woven of the stuff of dreams. Not an illusion remained to the knight-errant; not a hope was left him, but to be speedily relieved from this disreputable business.
The man had continued to regard his visitor with undisguised anxiety, and began once more to press him for his errand.
‘I am here,’ said Challoner, ‘simply to do a service between two ladies; and I must ask you, without further delay, to summon Miss Fonblanque, into whose hands alone I am authorised to deliver the letter that I bear.’
A growing wonder began to mingle87 on the man’s face with the lines of solicitude88. ‘I am Miss Fonblanque,’ he said; and then, perceiving the effect of this communication, ‘Good God!’ he cried, ‘what are you staring at? I tell you, I am Miss Fonblanque.’
Seeing the speaker wore a chin-beard of considerable length, and the remainder of his face was blue with shaving, Challoner could only suppose himself the subject of a jest. He was no longer under the spell of the young lady’s presence; and with men, and above all with his inferiors, he was capable of some display of spirit.
‘Sir,’ said he, pretty roundly, ‘I have put myself to great inconvenience for persons of whom I know too little, and I begin to be weary of the business. Either you shall immediately summon Miss Fonblanque, or I leave this house and put myself under the direction of the police.’
‘This is horrible!’ exclaimed the man. ‘I declare before Heaven I am the person meant, but how shall I convince you? It must have been Clara, I perceive, that sent you on this errand — a madwoman, who jests with the most deadly interests; and here we are incapable89, perhaps, of an agreement, and Heaven knows what may depend on our delay!’
He spoke90 with a really startling earnestness; and at the same time there flashed upon the mind of Challoner the ridiculous jingle91 which was to serve as password. ‘This may, perhaps, assist you,’ he said, and then, with some embarrassment, ‘“Nigger, nigger, never die.”’
A light of relief broke upon the troubled countenance of the man with the chin-beard. ‘“Black face and shining eye”— give me the letter,’ he panted, in one gasp79.
‘Well,’ said Challoner, though still with some reluctance, ‘I suppose I must regard you as the proper recipient92; and though I may justly complain of the spirit in which I have been treated, I am only too glad to be done with all responsibility. Here it is,’ and he produced the envelope.
The man leaped upon it like a beast, and with hands that trembled in a manner painful to behold93, tore it open and unfolded the letter. As he read, terror seemed to mount upon him to the pitch of nightmare. He struck one hand upon his brow, while with the other, as if unconsciously, he crumpled94 the paper to a ball. ‘My gracious powers!’ he cried; and then, dashing to the window, which stood open on the garden, he clapped forth his head and shoulders, and whistled long and shrill95. Challoner fell back into a corner, and resolutely96 grasping his staff, prepared for the most desperate events; but the thoughts of the man with the chin-beard were far removed from violence. Turning again into the room, and once more beholding97 his visitor, whom he appeared to have forgotten, he fairly danced with trepidation98. ‘Impossible!’ he cried. ‘Oh, quite impossible! O Lord, I have lost my head.’ And then, once more striking his hand upon his brow, ‘The money!’ he exclaimed. ‘Give me the money.’
‘My good friend,’ replied Challoner, ‘this is a very painful exhibition; and until I see you reasonably master of yourself, I decline to proceed with any business.’
‘You are quite right,’ said the man. ‘I am of a very nervous habit; a long course of the dumb ague has undermined my constitution. But I know you have money; it may be still the saving of me; and oh, dear young gentleman, in pity’s name be expeditious99!’ Challoner, sincerely uneasy as he was, could scarce refrain from laughter; but he was himself in a hurry to be gone, and without more delay produced the money. ‘You will find the sum, I trust, correct,’ he observed ‘and let me ask you to give me a receipt.’
But the man heeded100 him not. He seized the money, and disregarding the sovereigns that rolled loose upon the floor, thrust the bundle of notes into his pocket.
‘A receipt,’ repeated Challoner, with some asperity101. ‘I insist on a receipt.’
‘Receipt?’ repeated the man, a little wildly. ‘A receipt? Immediately! Await me here.’
Challoner, in reply, begged the gentleman to lose no unnecessary time, as he was himself desirous of catching102 a particular train.
‘Ah, by God, and so am I!’ exclaimed the man with the chin-beard; and with that he was gone out of the room, and had rattled103 upstairs, four at a time, to the upper story of the villa.
‘This is certainly a most amazing business,’ thought Challoner; ‘certainly a most disquieting104 affair; and I cannot conceal from myself that I have become mixed up with either lunatics or malefactors. I may truly thank my stars that I am so nearly and so creditably done with it.’ Thus thinking, and perhaps remembering the episode of the whistle, he turned to the open window. The garden was still faintly clear; he could distinguish the stairs and terraces with which the small domain105 had been adorned106 by former owners, and the blackened bushes and dead trees that had once afforded shelter to the country birds; beyond these he saw the strong retaining wall, some thirty feet in height, which enclosed the garden to the back; and again above that, the pile of dingy107 buildings rearing its frontage high into the night. A peculiar108 object lying stretched upon the lawn for some time baffled his eyesight; but at length he had made it out to be a long ladder, or series of ladders bound into one; and he was still wondering of what service so great an instrument could be in such a scant109 enclosure, when he was recalled to himself by the noise of some one running violently down the stairs. This was followed by the sudden, clamorous110 banging of the house door; and that again, by rapid and retreating footsteps in the street.
Challoner sprang into the passage. He ran from room to room, upstairs and downstairs; and in that old dingy and worm-eaten house, he found himself alone. Only in one apartment, looking to the front, were there any traces of the late inhabitant: a bed that had been recently slept in and not made, a chest of drawers disordered by a hasty search, and on the floor a roll of crumpled paper. This he picked up. The light in this upper story looking to the front was considerably111 brighter than in the parlour; and he was able to make out that the paper bore the mark of the hotel at Euston, and even, by peering closely, to decipher the following lines in a very elegant and careful female hand:
‘DEAR M’GUIRE,— It is certain your retreat is known. We have just had another failure, clockwork thirty hours too soon, with the usual humiliating result. Zero is quite disheartened. We are all scattered112, and I could find no one but the SOLEMN ASS3 who brings you this and the money. I would love to see your meeting.— Ever yours,
SHINING EYE.’
Challoner was stricken to the heart. He perceived by what facility, by what unmanly fear of ridicule113, he had been brought down to be the gull114 of this intriguer115; and his wrath116 flowed forth in almost equal measure against himself, against the woman, and against Somerset, whose idle counsels had impelled117 him to embark118 on that adventure. At the same time a great and troubled curiosity, and a certain chill of fear, possessed119 his spirit. The conduct of the man with the chin-beard, the terms of the letter, and the explosion of the early morning, fitted together like parts in some obscure and mischievous120 imbroglio121. Evil was certainly afoot; evil, secrecy122, terror, and falsehood were the conditions and the passions of the people among whom he had begun to move, like a blind puppet; and he who began as a puppet, his experience told him, was often doomed123 to perish as a victim.
From the stupor124 of deep thought into which he had glided125 with the letter in his hand, he was awakened126 by the clatter127 of the bell. He glanced from the window; and, conceive his horror and surprise when he beheld128, clustered on the steps, in the front garden and on the pavement of the street, a formidable posse of police! He started to the full possession of his powers and courage. Escape, and escape at any cost, was the one idea that possessed him. Swiftly and silently he redescended the creaking stairs; he was already in the passage when a second and more imperious summons from the door awoke the echoes of the empty house; nor had the bell ceased to jangle before he had bestridden the window-sill of the parlour and was lowering himself into the garden. His coat was hooked upon the iron flower-basket; for a moment he hung dependent heels and head below; and then, with the noise of rending129 cloth, and followed by several pots, he dropped upon the sod. Once more the bell was rung, and now with furious and repeated peals130. The desperate Challoner turned his eyes on every side. They fell upon the ladder, and he ran to it, and with strenuous131 but unavailing effort sought to raise it from the ground. Suddenly the weight, which was thus resisting his whole strength, began to lighten in his hands; the ladder, like a thing of life, reared its bulk from off the sod; and Challoner, leaping back with a cry of almost superstitious132 terror, beheld the whole structure mount, foot by foot, against the face of the retaining wall. At the same time, two heads were dimly visible above the parapet, and he was hailed by a guarded whistle. Something in its modulation133 recalled, like an echo, the whistle of the man with the chin-beard,
Had he chanced upon a means of escape prepared beforehand by those very miscreants134 whose messenger and gull he had become? Was this, indeed, a means of safety, or but the starting-point of further complication and disaster? He paused not to reflect. Scarce was the ladder reared to its full length than he had sprung already on the rounds; hand over hand, swift as an ape, he scaled the tottering135 stairway. Strong arms received, embraced, and helped him; he was lifted and set once more upon the earth; and with the spasm136 of his alarm yet unsubsided, found himself in the company of two rough-looking men, in the paved back yard of one of the tall houses that crowned the summit of the hill. Meanwhile, from below, the note of the bell had been succeeded by the sound of vigorous and redoubling blows.
‘Are you all out?’ asked one of his companions; and, as soon as he had babbled137 an answer in the affirmative, the rope was cut from the top round, and the ladder thrust roughly back into the garden, where it fell and broke with clattering138 reverberations. Its fall was hailed with many broken cries; for the whole of Richard Street was now in high emotion, the people crowding to the windows or clambering on the garden walls. The same man who had already addressed Challoner seized him by the arm; whisked him through the basement of the house and across the street upon the other side; and before the unfortunate adventurer had time to realise his situation, a door was opened, and he was thrust into a low and dark compartment.
‘Bedad,’ observed his guide, ‘there was no time to lose. Is M’Guire gone, or was it you that whistled?
‘M’Guire is gone,’ said Challoner.
The guide now struck a light. ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘this will never do. You dare not go upon the streets in such a figure. Wait quietly here and I will bring you something decent.’
With that the man was gone, and Challoner, his attention thus rudely awakened, began ruefully to consider the havoc139 that had been worked in his attire140. His hat was gone; his trousers were cruelly ripped; and the best part of one tail of his very elegant frockcoat had been left hanging from the iron crockets of the window. He had scarce had time to measure these disasters when his host re-entered the apartment and proceeded, without a word, to envelop35 the refined and urbane141 Challoner in a long ulster of the cheapest material, and of a pattern so gross and vulgar that his spirit sickened at the sight. This calumnious142 disguise was crowned and completed by a soft felt hat of the Tyrolese design, and several sizes too small. At another moment Challoner would simply have refused to issue forth upon the world thus travestied; but the desire to escape from Glasgow was now too strongly and too exclusively impressed upon his mind. With one haggard glance at the spotted143 tails of his new coat, he inquired what was to pay for this accoutrement. The man assured him that the whole expense was easily met from funds in his possession, and begged him, instead of wasting time, to make his best speed out of the neighbourhood.
The young man was not loath144 to take the hint. True to his usual courtesy, he thanked the speaker and complimented him upon his taste in greatcoats; and leaving the man somewhat abashed145 by these remarks and the manner of their delivery, he hurried forth into the lamplit city. The last train was gone ere, after many deviations146, he had reached the terminus. Attired147 as he was he dared not present himself at any reputable inn; and he felt keenly that the unassuming dignity of his demeanour would serve to attract attention, perhaps mirth and possibly suspicion, in any humbler hostelry. He was thus condemned to pass the solemn and uneventful hours of a whole night in pacing the streets of Glasgow; supperless; a figure of fun for all beholders; waiting the dawn, with hope indeed, but with unconquerable shrinkings; and above all things, filled with a profound sense of the folly and weakness of his conduct. It may be conceived with what curses he assailed148 the memory of the fair narrator of Hyde Park; her parting laughter rang in his ears all night with damning mockery and iteration; and when he could spare a thought from this chief artificer of his confusion, it was to expend149 his wrath on Somerset and the career of the amateur detective. With the coming of day, he found in a shy milk-shop the means to appease150 his hunger. There were still many hours to wait before the departure of the South express; these he passed wandering with indescribable fatigue151 in the obscurer by-streets of the city; and at length slipped quietly into the station and took his place in the darkest corner of a third-class carriage. Here, all day long, he jolted152 on the bare boards, distressed153 by heat and continually reawakened from uneasy slumbers154. By the half return ticket in his purse, he was entitled to make the journey on the easy cushions and with the ample space of the first-class; but alas155! in his absurd attire, he durst not, for decency156, commingle157 with his equals; and this small annoyance158, coming last in such a series of disasters, cut him to the heart.
That night, when, in his Putney lodging159, he reviewed the expense, anxiety, and weariness of his adventure; when he beheld the ruins of his last good trousers and his last presentable coat; and above all, when his eye by any chance alighted on the Tyrolese hat or the degrading ulster, his heart would overflow68 with bitterness, and it was only by a serious call on his philosophy that he maintained the dignity of his demeanour.
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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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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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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longing
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calamities
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| n.灾祸，灾难( calamity的名词复数 )；不幸之事 | |
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distressing
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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12
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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13
favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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14
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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15
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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16
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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17
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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18
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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19
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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20
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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21
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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22
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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23
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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24
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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25
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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26
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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27
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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28
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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29
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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30
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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31
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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32
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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33
consulship
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| 领事的职位或任期 | |
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34
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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35
envelop
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| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
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36
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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37
provocative
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| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
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38
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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39
patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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40
quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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41
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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42
graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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43
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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44
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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45
persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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46
retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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47
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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48
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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49
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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50
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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51
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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52
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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53
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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54
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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55
densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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56
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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57
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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58
porticoes
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| n.柱廊，（有圆柱的）门廊( portico的名词复数 ) | |
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59
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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60
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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61
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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62
falteringly
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| 口吃地，支吾地 | |
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63
garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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64
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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65
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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66
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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67
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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68
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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69
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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70
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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71
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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72
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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73
sockets
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|
| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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74
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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75
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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76
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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77
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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78
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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79
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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80
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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81
talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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82
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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83
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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84
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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85
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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86
congruity
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| n.全等，一致 | |
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87
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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88
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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89
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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90
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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91
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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92
recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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93
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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94
crumpled
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|
| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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95
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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96
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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97
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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98
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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99
expeditious
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| adj.迅速的，敏捷的 | |
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100
heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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102
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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103
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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104
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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105
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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106
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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107
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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108
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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109
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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110
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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111
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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112
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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113
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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114
gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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115
intriguer
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| 密谋者 | |
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116
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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117
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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119
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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120
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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121
imbroglio
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| n.纷乱，纠葛，纷扰，一团糟 | |
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122
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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123
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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124
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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125
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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126
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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127
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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128
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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129
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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130
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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131
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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132
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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133
modulation
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| n.调制 | |
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134
miscreants
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| n.恶棍，歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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135
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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136
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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137
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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138
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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139
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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140
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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141
urbane
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| adj.温文尔雅的，懂礼的 | |
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142
calumnious
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| adj.毁谤的，中伤的 | |
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143
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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144
loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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145
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146
deviations
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| 背离，偏离( deviation的名词复数 )； 离经叛道的行为 | |
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147
attired
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| 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 ) | |
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148
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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149
expend
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| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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150
appease
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| v.安抚，缓和，平息，满足 | |
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151
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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152
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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154
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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155
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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156
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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157
commingle
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| v.混合 | |
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158
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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159
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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