I was the eldest1 daughter of the Reverend Bernard Fanshawe, who held a valuable living in the diocese of Bath and Wells. Our family, a very large one, was noted2 for a sprightly3 and incisive4 wit, and came of a good old stock where beauty was an heirloom. In Christian5 grace of character we were unhappily deficient6. From my earliest years I saw and deplored7 the defects of those relatives whose age and position should have enabled them to conquer my esteem8; and while I was yet a child, my father married a second wife, in whom (strange to say) the Fanshawe failings were exaggerated to a monstrous9 and almost laughable degree. Whatever may be said against me, it cannot be denied I was a pattern daughter; but it was in vain that, with the most touching10 patience, I submitted to my stepmother’s demands; and from the hour she entered my father’s house, I may say that I met with nothing but injustice12 and ingratitude13.
I stood not alone, however, in the sweetness of my disposition14; for one other of the family besides myself was free from any violence of character. Before I had reached the age of sixteen, this cousin, John by name, had conceived for me a sincere but silent passion; and although the poor lad was too timid to hint at the nature of his feelings, I had soon divined and begun to share them. For some days I pondered on the odd situation created for me by the bashfulness of my admirer; and at length, perceiving that he began, in his distress15, rather to avoid than seek my company, I determined16 to take the matter into my own hands. Finding him alone in a retired17 part of the rectory garden, I told him that I had divined his amiable18 secret, that I knew with what disfavour our union was sure to be regarded; and that, under the circumstances, I was prepared to flee with him at once. Poor John was literally19 paralysed with joy; such was the force of his emotions, that he could find no words in which to thank me; and that I, seeing him thus helpless, was obliged to arrange, myself, the details of our flight, and of the stolen marriage which was immediately to crown it. John had been at that time projecting a visit to the metropolis21. In this I bade him persevere22, and promised on the following day to join him at the Tavistock Hotel.
True, on my side, to every detail of our arrangement, I arose, on the day in question, before the servants, packed a few necessaries in a bag, took with me the little money I possessed24, and bade farewell for ever to the rectory. I walked with good spirits to a town some thirty miles from home, and was set down the next morning in this great city of London. As I walked from the coach-office to the hotel, I could not help exulting25 in the pleasant change that had befallen me; beholding26, meanwhile, with innocent delight, the traffic of the streets, and depicting28, in all the colours of fancy, the reception that awaited me from John. But alas29! when I inquired for Mr. Fanshawe, the porter assured me there was no such gentleman among the guests. By what channel our secret had leaked out, or what pressure had been brought to bear on the too facile John, I could never fathom30. Enough that my family had triumphed; that I found myself alone in London, tender in years, smarting under the most sensible mortification31, and by every sentiment of pride and self-respect debarred for ever from my father’s house.
I rose under the blow, and found lodgings33 in the neighbourhood of Euston Road, where, for the first time in my life, I tasted the joys of independence. Three days afterwards, an advertisement in the Times directed me to the office of a solicitor35 whom I knew to be in my father’s confidence. There I was given the promise of a very moderate allowance, and a distinct intimation that I must never look to be received at home. I could not but resent so cruel a desertion, and I told the lawyer it was a meeting I desired as little as themselves. He smiled at my courageous37 spirit, paid me the first quarter of my income, and gave me the remainder of my personal effects, which had been sent to me, under his care, in a couple of rather ponderous38 boxes. With these I returned in triumph to my lodgings, more content with my position than I should have thought possible a week before, and fully39 determined to make the best of the future.
All went well for several months; and, indeed, it was my own fault alone that ended this pleasant and secluded40 episode of life. I have, I must confess, the fatal trick of spoiling my inferiors. My landlady41, to whom I had as usual been overkind, impertinently called me in fault for some particular too small to mention; and I, annoyed that I had allowed her the freedom upon which she thus presumed, ordered her to leave my presence. She stood a moment dumb, and then, recalling her self-possession, ‘Your bill,’ said she, ‘shall be ready this evening, and to-morrow, madam, you shall leave my house. See,’ she added, ‘that you are able to pay what you owe me; for if I do not receive the uttermost farthing, no box of yours shall pass my threshold.’
I was confounded at her audacity42, but as a whole quarter’s income was due to me, not otherwise affected43 by the threat. That afternoon, as I left the solicitor’s door, carrying in one hand, and done up in a paper parcel, the whole amount of my fortune, there befell me one of those decisive incidents that sometimes shape a life. The lawyer’s office was situate in a street that opened at the upper end upon the Strand44, and was closed at the lower, at the time of which I speak, by a row of iron railings looking on the Thames. Down this street, then, I beheld45 my stepmother advancing to meet me, and doubtless bound to the very house I had just left. She was attended by a maid whose face was new to me, but her own was too clearly printed on my memory; and the sight of it, even from a distance, filled me with generous indignation. Flight was impossible. There was nothing left but to retreat against the railing, and with my back turned to the street, pretend to be admiring the barges46 on the river or the chimneys of transpontine London.
I was still so standing47, and had not yet fully mastered the turbulence48 of my emotions, when a voice at my elbow addressed me with a trivial question. It was the maid whom my stepmother, with characteristic hardness, had left to await her on the street, while she transacted49 her business with the family solicitor. The girl did not know who I was; the opportunity too golden to be lost; and I was soon hearing the latest news of my father’s rectory and parish. It did not surprise me to find that she detested50 her employers; and yet the terms in which she spoke51 of them were hard to bear, hard to let pass unchallenged. I heard them, however, without dissent52, for my self-command is wonderful; and we might have parted as we met, had she not proceeded, in an evil hour, to criticise53 the rector’s missing daughter, and with the most shocking perversions54, to narrate55 the story of her flight. My nature is so essentially56 generous that I can never pause to reason. I flung up my hand sharply, by way, as well as I remember, of indignant protest; and, in the act, the packet slipped from my fingers, glanced between the railings, and fell and sunk in the river. I stood a moment petrified57, and then, struck by the drollery58 of the incident, gave way to peals59 of laughter. I was still laughing when my stepmother reappeared, and the maid, who doubtless considered me insane, ran off to join her; nor had I yet recovered my gravity when I presented myself before the lawyer to solicit34 a fresh advance. His answer made me serious enough, for it was a flat refusal; and it was not until I had besought60 him even with tears, that he consented to lend me ten pounds from his own pocket. ‘I am a poor man,’ said he, ‘and you must look for nothing farther at my hands.’
The landlady met me at the door. ‘Here, madam,’ said she, with a curtsey insolently62 low, ‘here is my bill. Would it inconvenience you to settle it at once?’
‘You shall be paid, madam,’ said I, ‘in the morning, in the proper course.’ And I took the paper with a very high air, but inwardly quaking.
I had no sooner looked at it than I perceived myself to be lost. I had been short of money and had allowed my debt to mount; and it had now reached the sum, which I shall never forget, of twelve pounds thirteen and fourpence halfpenny. All evening I sat by the fire considering my situation. I could not pay the bill; my landlady would not suffer me to remove my boxes; and without either baggage or money, how was I to find another lodging32? For three months, unless I could invent some remedy, I was condemned64 to be without a roof and without a penny. It can surprise no one that I decided65 on immediate20 flight; but even here I was confronted by a difficulty, for I had no sooner packed my boxes than I found I was not strong enough to move, far less to carry them.
In this strait I did not hesitate a moment, but throwing on a shawl and bonnet66, and covering my face with a thick veil, I betook myself to that great bazaar67 of dangerous and smiling chances, the pavement of the city. It was already late at night, and the weather being wet and windy, there were few abroad besides policemen. These, on my present mission, I had wit enough to know for enemies; and wherever I perceived their moving lanterns, I made haste to turn aside and choose another thoroughfare. A few miserable68 women still walked the pavement; here and there were young fellows returning drunk, or ruffians of the lowest class lurking69 in the mouths of alleys70; but of any one to whom I might appeal in my distress, I began almost to despair.
At last, at the corner of a street, I ran into the arms of one who was evidently a gentleman, and who, in all his appointments, from his furred great-coat to the fine cigar which he was smoking, comfortably breathed of wealth. Much as my face has changed from its original beauty, I still retain (or so I tell myself) some traces of the youthful lightness of my figure. Even veiled as I then was, I could perceive the gentleman was struck by my appearance: and this emboldened71 me for my adventure.
‘Sir,’ said I, with a quickly beating heart, ‘sir, are you one in whom a lady can confide36?’
‘Why, my dear,’ said he, removing his cigar, ‘that depends on circumstances. If you will raise your veil —’
‘Sir,’ I interrupted, ‘let there be no mistake. I ask you, as a gentleman, to serve me, but I offer no reward.’
‘That is frank,’ said he; ‘but hardly tempting72. And what, may I inquire, is the nature of the service?’
But I knew well enough it was not my interest to tell him on so short an interview. ‘If you will accompany me,’ said I, ‘to a house not far from here, you can see for yourself.’
He looked at me awhile with hesitating eyes; and then, tossing away his cigar, which was not yet a quarter smoked, ‘Here goes!’ said he, and with perfect politeness offered me his arm. I was wise enough to take it; to prolong our walk as far as possible, by more than one excursion from the shortest line; and to beguile73 the way with that sort of conversation which should prove to him indubitably from what station in society I sprang. By the time we reached the door of my lodging, I felt sure I had confirmed his interest, and might venture, before I turned the pass-key, to beseech74 him to moderate his voice and to tread softly. He promised to obey me: and I admitted him into the passage and thence into my sitting-room75, which was fortunately next the door.
‘And now,’ said he, when with trembling fingers I had lighted a candle, ‘what is the meaning of all this?’
‘I wish you,’ said I, speaking with great difficulty, ‘to help me out with these boxes — and I wish nobody to know.’
He took up the candle. ‘And I wish to see your face,’ said he.
I turned back my veil without a word, and looked at him with every appearance of resolve that I could summon up. For some time he gazed into my face, still holding up the candle. ‘Well,’ said he at last, ‘and where do you wish them taken?’
I knew that I had gained my point; and it was with a tremor76 in my voice that I replied. ‘I had thought we might carry them between us to the corner of Euston Road,’ said I, ‘where, even at this late hour, we may still find a cab.’
‘Very good,’ was his reply; and he immediately hoisted78 the heavier of my trunks upon his shoulder, and taking one handle of the second, signed to me to help him at the other end. In this order we made good our retreat from the house, and without the least adventure, drew pretty near to the corner of Euston Road. Before a house, where there was a light still burning, my companion paused. ‘Let us here,’ said he, ‘set down our boxes, while we go forward to the end of the street in quest of a cab. By doing so, we can still keep an eye upon their safety, and we avoid the very extraordinary figure we should otherwise present — a young man, a young lady, and a mass of baggage, standing castaway at midnight on the streets of London.’ So it was done, and the event proved him to be wise; for long before there was any word of a cab, a policeman appeared upon the scene, turned upon us the full glare of his lantern, and hung suspiciously behind us in a doorway79.
‘There seem to be no cabs about, policeman,’ said my champion, with affected cheerfulness. But the constable’s answer was ungracious; and as for the offer of a cigar, with which this rebuff was most unwisely followed up, he refused it point-blank, and without the least civility. The young gentleman looked at me with a warning grimace80, and there we continued to stand, on the edge of the pavement, in the beating rain, and with the policeman still silently watching our movements from the doorway.
At last, and after a delay that seemed interminable, a four-wheeler appeared lumbering81 along in the mud, and was instantly hailed by my companion. ‘Just pull up here, will you?’ he cried. ‘We have some baggage up the street.’
And now came the hitch82 of our adventure; for when the policeman, still closely following us, beheld my two boxes lying in the rain, he arose from mere83 suspicion to a kind of certitude of something evil. The light in the house had been extinguished; the whole frontage of the street was dark; there was nothing to explain the presence of these unguarded trunks; and no two innocent people were ever, I believe, detected in such questionable84 circumstances.
‘Where have these things come from?’ asked the policeman, flashing his light full into my champion’s face.
‘Why, from that house, of course,’ replied the young gentleman, hastily shouldering a trunk.
The policeman whistled and turned to look at the dark windows; he then took a step towards the door, as though to knock, a course which had infallibly proved our ruin; but seeing us already hurrying down the street under our double burthen, thought better or worse of it, and followed in our wake.
‘For God’s sake,’ whispered my companion, ‘tell me where to drive to.’
‘Anywhere,’ I replied with anguish85. ‘I have no idea. Anywhere you like.’
Thus it befell that, when the boxes had been stowed, and I had already entered the cab, my deliverer called out in clear tones the address of the house in which we are now seated. The policeman, I could see, was staggered. This neighbourhood, so retired, so aristocratic, was far from what he had expected. For all that, he took the number of the cab, and spoke for a few seconds and with a decided manner in the cabman’s ear.
‘What can he have said?’ I gasped86, as soon as the cab had rolled away.
‘I can very well imagine,’ replied my champion; ‘and I can assure you that you are now condemned to go where I have said; for, should we attempt to change our destination by the way, the jarvey will drive us straight to a police-office. Let me compliment you on your nerves,’ he added. ‘I have had, I believe, the most horrible fright of my existence.’
But my nerves, which he so much misjudged, were in so strange a disarray87 that speech was now become impossible; and we made the drive thenceforward in unbroken silence. When we arrived before the door of our destination, the young gentleman alighted, opened it with a pass-key like one who was at home, bade the driver carry the trunks into the hall, and dismissed him with a handsome fee. He then led me into this dining-room, looking nearly as you behold27 it, but with certain marks of bachelor occupancy, and hastened to pour out a glass of wine, which he insisted on my drinking. As soon as I could find my voice, ‘In God’s name,’ I cried, ‘where am I?’
He told me I was in his house, where I was very welcome, and had no more urgent business than to rest myself and recover my spirits. As he spoke he offered me another glass of wine, of which, indeed, I stood in great want, for I was faint, and inclined to be hysterical88. Then he sat down beside the fire, lit another cigar, and for some time observed me curiously89 in silence.
‘And now,’ said he, ‘that you have somewhat restored yourself, will you be kind enough to tell me in what sort of crime I have become a partner? Are you murderer, smuggler90, thief, or only the harmless and domestic moonlight flitter?’
I had been already shocked by his lighting91 a cigar without permission, for I had not forgotten the one he threw away on our first meeting; and now, at these explicit92 insults, I resolved at once to reconquer his esteem. The judgment93 of the world I have consistently despised, but I had already begun to set a certain value on the good opinion of my entertainer. Beginning with a note of pathos94, but soon brightening into my habitual95 vivacity96 and humour, I rapidly narrated97 the circumstances of my birth, my flight, and subsequent misfortunes. He heard me to an end in silence, gravely smoking. ‘Miss Fanshawe,’ said he, when I had done, ‘you are a very comical and most enchanting98 creature; and I can see nothing for it but that I should return to-morrow morning and satisfy your landlady’s demands.’
‘You strangely misinterpret my confidence,’ was my reply; ‘and if you had at all appreciated my character, you would understand that I can take no money at your hands.’
‘Your landlady will doubtless not be so particular,’ he returned; ‘nor do I at all despair of persuading even your unconquerable self. I desire you to examine me with critical indulgence. My name is Henry Luxmore, Lord Southwark’s second son. I possess nine thousand a year, the house in which we are now sitting, and seven others in the best neighbourhoods in town. I do not believe I am repulsive99 to the eye, and as for my character, you have seen me under trial. I think you simply the most original of created beings; I need not tell you what you know very well, that you are ravishingly pretty; and I have nothing more to add, except that, foolish as it may appear, I am already head over heels in love with you.’
‘Sir,’ said I, ‘I am prepared to be misjudged; but while I continue to accept your hospitality that fact alone should be enough to protect me from insult.’
‘Pardon me,’ said he: ‘I offer you marriage.’ And leaning back in his chair he replaced his cigar between his lips.
I own I was confounded by an offer, not only so unprepared, but couched in terms so singular. But he knew very well how to obtain his purposes, for he was not only handsome in person, but his very coolness had a charm; and to make a long story short, a fortnight later I became the wife of the Honourable100 Henry Luxmore.
For nearly twenty years I now led a life of almost perfect quiet. My Henry had his weaknesses; I was twice driven to flee from his roof, but not for long; for though he was easily over-excited, his nature was placable below the surface, and with all his faults, I loved him tenderly. At last he was taken from me; and such is the power of self-deception, and so strange are the whims102 of the dying, he actually assured me, with his latest breath, that he forgave the violence of my temper!
There was but one pledge of the marriage, my daughter Clara. She had, indeed, inherited a shadow of her father’s failing; but in all things else, unless my partial eyes deceived me, she derived103 her qualities from me, and might be called my moral image. On my side, whatever else I may have done amiss, as a mother I was above reproach. Here, then, was surely every promise for the future; here, at last, was a relation in which I might hope to taste repose104. But it was not to be. You will hardly credit me when I inform you that she ran away from home; yet such was the case. Some whim101 about oppressed nationalities — Ireland, Poland, and the like — has turned her brain; and if you should anywhere encounter a young lady (I must say, of remarkable105 attractions) answering to the name of Luxmore, Lake, or Fonblanque (for I am told she uses these indifferently, as well as many others), tell her, from me, that I forgive her cruelty, and though I will never more behold her face, I am at any time prepared to make her a liberal allowance.
On the death of Mr. Luxmore, I sought oblivion in the details of business. I believe I have mentioned that seven mansions107, besides this, formed part of Mr. Luxmore’s property: I have found them seven white elephants. The greed of tenants109, the dishonesty of solicitors110, and the incapacity that sits upon the bench, have combined together to make these houses the burthen of my life. I had no sooner, indeed, begun to look into these matters for myself, than I discovered so many injustices111 and met with so much studied incivility, that I was plunged112 into a long series of lawsuits114, some of which are pending115 to this day. You must have heard my name already; I am the Mrs. Luxmore of the Law Reports: a strange destiny, indeed, for one born with an almost cowardly desire for peace! But I am of the stamp of those who, when they have once begun a task, will rather die than leave their duty unfulfilled. I have met with every obstacle: insolence116 and ingratitude from my own lawyers; in my adversaries117, that fault of obstinacy118 which is to me perhaps the most distasteful in the calendar; from the bench, civility indeed — always, I must allow, civility — but never a spark of independence, never that knowledge of the law and love of justice which we have a right to look for in a judge, the most august of human officers. And still, against all these odds119, I have undissuadably persevered120.
It was after the loss of one of my innumerable cases (a subject on which I will not dwell) that it occurred to me to make a melancholy121 pilgrimage to my various houses. Four were at that time tenantless122 and closed, like pillars of salt, commemorating123 the corruption124 of the age and the decline of private virtue125. Three were occupied by persons who had wearied me by every conceivable unjust demand and legal subterfuge126 — persons whom, at that very hour, I was moving heaven and earth to turn into the street. This was perhaps the sadder spectacle of the two; and my heart grew hot within me to behold them occupying, in my very teeth, and with an insolent61 ostentation127, these handsome structures which were as much mine as the flesh upon my body.
One more house remained for me to visit, that in which we now are. I had let it (for at that period I lodged128 in a hotel, the life that I have always preferred) to a Colonel Geraldine, a gentleman attached to Prince Florizel of Bohemia, whom you must certainly have heard of; and I had supposed, from the character and position of my tenant108, that here, at least, I was safe against annoyance129. What was my surprise to find this house also shuttered and apparently130 deserted131! I will not deny that I was offended; I conceived that a house, like a yacht, was better to be kept in commission; and I promised myself to bring the matter before my solicitor the following morning. Meanwhile the sight recalled my fancy naturally to the past; and yielding to the tender influence of sentiment, I sat down opposite the door upon the garden parapet. It was August, and a sultry afternoon, but that spot is sheltered, as you may observe by daylight, under the branches of a spreading chestnut132; the square, too, was deserted; there was a sound of distant music in the air; and all combined to plunge113 me into that most agreeable of states, which is neither happiness nor sorrow, but shares the poignancy133 of both.
From this I was recalled by the arrival of a large van, very handsomely appointed, drawn134 by valuable horses, mounted by several men of an appearance more than decent, and bearing on its panels, instead of a trader’s name, a coat-of-arms too modest to be deciphered from where I sat. It drew up before my house, the door of which was immediately opened by one of the men. His companions — I counted seven of them in all — proceeded, with disciplined activity, to take from the van and carry into the house a variety of hampers135, bottle-baskets, and boxes, such as are designed for plate and napery. The windows of the dining-room were thrown widely open, as though to air it; and I saw some of those within laying the table for a meal. Plainly, I concluded, my tenant was about to return; and while still determined to submit to no aggression136 on my rights, I was gratified by the number and discipline of his attendants, and the quiet profusion137 that appeared to reign138 in his establishment. I was still so thinking when, to my extreme surprise, the windows and shutters139 of the dining-room were once more closed; the men began to reappear from the interior and resume their stations on the van; the last closed the door behind his exit; the van drove away; and the house was once more left to itself, looking blindly on the square with shuttered windows, as though the whole affair had been a vision.
It was no vision, however; for, as I rose to my feet, and thus brought my eyes a little nearer to the level of the fanlight over the door, I saw that, though the day had still some hours to run, the hall lamps had been lighted and left burning. Plainly, then, guests were expected, and were not expected before night. For whom, I asked myself with indignation, were such secret preparations likely to be made? Although no prude, I am a woman of decided views upon morality; if my house, to which my husband had brought me, was to serve in the character of a petite maison, I saw myself forced, however unwillingly140, into a new course of litigation; and, determined to return and know the worst, I hastened to my hotel for dinner.
I was at my post by ten. The night was clear and quiet; the moon rode very high and put the lamps to shame; and the shadow below the chestnut was black as ink. Here, then, I ensconced myself on the low parapet, with my back against the railings, face to face with the moonlit front of my old home, and ruminating142 gently on the past. Time fled; eleven struck on all the city clocks; and presently after I was aware of the approach of a gentleman of stately and agreeable demeanour. He was smoking as he walked; his light paletot, which was open, did not conceal143 his evening clothes; and he bore himself with a serious grace that immediately awakened144 my attention. Before the door of this house he took a pass-key from his pocket, quietly admitted himself, and disappeared into the lamplit hall.
He was scarcely gone when I observed another and a much younger man approaching hastily from the opposite side of the square. Considering the season of the year and the genial145 mildness of the night, he was somewhat closely muffled146 up; and as he came, for all his hurry, he kept looking nervously147 behind him. Arrived before my door, he halted and set one foot upon the step, as though about to enter; then, with a sudden change, he turned and began to hurry away; halted a second time, as if in painful indecision; and lastly, with a violent gesture, wheeled about, returned straight to the door, and rapped upon the knocker. He was almost immediately admitted by the first arrival.
My curiosity was now broad awake. I made myself as small as I could in the very densest148 of the shadow, and waited for the sequel. Nor had I long to wait. From the same side of the square a second young man made his appearance, walking slowly and softly, and like the first, muffled to the nose. Before the house he paused, looked all about him with a swift and comprehensive glance; and seeing the square lie empty in the moon and lamplight, leaned far across the area railings and appeared to listen to what was passing in the house. From the dining-room there came the report of a champagne149 cork150, and following upon that, the sound of rich and manly151 laughter. The listener took heart of grace, produced a key, unlocked the area gate, shut it noiselessly behind him, and descended152 the stair. Just when his head had reached the level of the pavement, he turned half round and once more raked the square with a suspicious eyeshot. The mufflings had fallen lower round his neck; the moon shone full upon him; and I was startled to observe the pallor and passionate153 agitation154 of his face.
I could remain no longer passive. Persuaded that something deadly was afoot, I crossed the roadway and drew near the area railings. There was no one below; the man must therefore have entered the house, with what purpose I dreaded155 to imagine. I have at no part of my career lacked courage; and now, finding the area gate was merely laid to, I pushed it gently open and descended the stairs. The kitchen door of the house, like the area gate, was closed but not fastened. It flashed upon me that the criminal was thus preparing his escape; and the thought, as it confirmed the worst of my suspicions, lent me new resolve. I entered the house; and being now quite reckless of my life, I shut and locked the door.
From the dining-room above I could hear the pleasant tones of a voice in easy conversation. On the ground floor all was not only profoundly silent, but the darkness seemed to weigh upon my eyes. Here, then, I stood for some time, having thrust myself uncalled into the utmost peril156, and being destitute157 of any power to help or interfere158. Nor will I deny that fear had begun already to assail159 me, when I became aware, all at once and as though by some immediate but silent incandescence160, of a certain glimmering161 of light upon the passage floor. Towards this I groped my way with infinite precaution; and having come at length as far as the angle of the corridor, beheld the door of the butler’s pantry standing just ajar and a narrow thread of brightness falling from the chink. Creeping still closer, I put my eye to the aperture162. The man sat within upon a chair, listening, I could see, with the most rapt attention. On a table before him he had laid a watch, a pair of steel revolvers, and a bull’s-eye lantern. For one second many contradictory163 theories and projects whirled together in my head; the next, I had slammed the door and turned the key upon the malefactor164. Surprised at my own decision, I stood and panted, leaning on the wall. From within the pantry not a sound was to be heard; the man, whatever he was, had accepted his fate without a struggle, and now, as I hugged myself to fancy, sat frozen with terror and looking for the worst to follow. I promised myself that he should not be disappointed; and the better to complete my task, I turned to ascend165 the stairs.
The situation, as I groped my way to the first floor, appealed to me suddenly by my strong sense of humour. Here was I, the owner of the house, burglariously present in its walls; and there, in the dining-room, were two gentlemen, unknown to me, seated complacently166 at supper, and only saved by my promptitude from some surprising or deadly interruption. It were strange if I could not manage to extract the matter of amusement from so unusual a situation.
Behind this dining-room, there is a small apartment intended for a library. It was to this that I cautiously groped my way; and you will see how fortune had exactly served me. The weather, I have said, was sultry; in order to ventilate the dining-room and yet preserve the uninhabited appearance of the mansion106 to the front, the window of the library had been widely opened, and the door of communication between the two apartments left ajar. To this interval167 I now applied168 my eye.
Wax tapers169, set in silver candlesticks, shed their chastened brightness on the damask of the tablecloth170 and the remains171 of a cold collation172 of the rarest delicacy173. The two gentlemen had finished supper, and were now trifling174 with cigars and maraschino; while in a silver spirit lamp, coffee of the most captivating fragrance175 was preparing in the fashion of the East. The elder of the two, he who had first arrived, was placed directly facing me; the other was set on his left hand. Both, like the man in the butler’s pantry, seemed to be intently listening; and on the face of the second I thought I could perceive the marks of fear. Oddly enough, however, when they came to speak, the parts were found to be reversed.
‘I assure you,’ said the elder gentleman, ‘I not only heard the slamming of a door, but the sound of very guarded footsteps.’
‘Your highness was certainly deceived,’ replied the other. ‘I am endowed with the acutest hearing, and I can swear that not a mouse has rustled176.’ Yet the pallor and contraction177 of his features were in total discord178 with the tenor179 of his words.
His highness (whom, of course, I readily divined to be Prince Florizel) looked at his companion for the least fraction of a second; and though nothing shook the easy quiet of his attitude, I could see that he was far from being duped. ‘It is well,’ said he; ‘let us dismiss the topic. And now, sir, that I have very freely explained the sentiments by which I am directed, let me ask you, according to your promise, to imitate my frankness.’
‘I have heard you,’ replied the other, ‘with great interest.’
‘With singular patience,’ said the prince politely.
‘Ay, your highness, and with unlooked-for sympathy,’ returned the young man. ‘I know not how to tell the change that has befallen me. You have, I must suppose, a charm, to which even your enemies are subject.’ He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and visibly blanched180. ‘So late!’ he cried. ‘Your highness — God knows I am now speaking from the heart — before it be too late, leave this house!’
The prince glanced once more at his companion, and then very deliberately181 shook the ash from his cigar. ‘That is a strange remark,’ said he; ‘and a propos de bottes, I never continue a cigar when once the ash is fallen; the spell breaks, the soul of the flavour flies away, and there remains but the dead body of tobacco; and I make it a rule to throw away that husk and choose another.’ He suited the action to the words.
‘Do not trifle with my appeal,’ resumed the young man, in tones that trembled with emotion. ‘It is made at the price of my honour and to the peril of my life. Go — go now! lose not a moment; and if you have any kindness for a young man, miserably182 deceived indeed, but not devoid183 of better sentiments, look not behind you as you leave.’
‘Sir,’ said the prince, ‘I am here upon your honour; assure you upon mine that I shall continue to rely upon that safeguard. The coffee is ready; I must again trouble you, I fear.’ And with a courteous184 movement of the hand, he seemed to invite his companion to pour out the coffee.
The unhappy young man rose from his seat. ‘I appeal to you,’ he cried, ‘by every holy sentiment, in mercy to me, if not in pity to yourself, begone before it is too late.’
‘Sir,’ replied the prince, ‘I am not readily accessible to fear; and if there is one defect to which I must plead guilty, it is that of a curious disposition. You go the wrong way about to make me leave this house, in which I play the part of your entertainer; and, suffer me to add, young man, if any peril threaten us, it was of your contriving185, not of mine.’
‘Alas, you do not know to what you condemn63 me,’ cried the other. ‘But I at least will have no hand in it.’ With these words he carried his hand to his pocket, hastily swallowed the contents of a phial, and, with the very act, reeled back and fell across his chair upon the floor. The prince left his place and came and stood above him, where he lay convulsed upon the carpet. ‘Poor moth11!’ I heard his highness murmur186. ‘Alas, poor moth! must we again inquire which is the more fatal — weakness or wickedness? And can a sympathy with ideas, surely not ignoble187 in themselves, conduct a man to this dishonourable death?’
By this time I had pushed the door open and walked into the room. ‘Your highness,’ said I, ‘this is no time for moralising; with a little promptness we may save this creature’s life; and as for the other, he need cause you no concern, for I have him safely under lock and key.’
The prince had turned about upon my entrance, and regarded me certainly with no alarm, but with a profundity188 of wonder which almost robbed me of my self-possession. ‘My dear madam,’ he cried at last, ‘and who the devil are you?’
I was already on the floor beside the dying man. I had, of course, no idea with what drug he had attempted his life, and I was forced to try him with a variety of antidotes189. Here were both oil and vinegar, for the prince had done the young man the honour of compounding for him one of his celebrated190 salads; and of each of these I administered from a quarter to half a pint191, with no apparent efficacy. I next plied77 him with the hot coffee, of which there may have been near upon a quart.
‘Have you no milk?’ I inquired.
‘I fear, madam, that milk has been omitted,’ returned the prince.
‘Salt, then,’ said I; ‘salt is a revulsive. Pass the salt.’
‘And possibly the mustard?’ asked his highness, as he offered me the contents of the various salt-cellars poured together on a plate.
‘Ah,’ cried I, ‘the thought is excellent! Mix me about half a pint of mustard, drinkably dilute192.’
Whether it was the salt or the mustard, or the mere combination of so many subversive193 agents, as soon as the last had been poured over his throat, the young sufferer obtained relief.
‘There!’ I exclaimed, with natural triumph, ‘I have saved a life!’
‘And yet, madam,’ returned the prince, ‘your mercy may be cruelty disguised. Where the honour is lost, it is, at least, superfluous194 to prolong the life.’
‘If you had led a life as changeable as mine, your highness,’ I replied, ‘you would hold a very different opinion. For my part, and after whatever extremity195 of misfortune or disgrace, I should still count to-morrow worth a trial.’
‘You speak as a lady, madam,’ said the prince; ‘and for such you speak the truth. But to men there is permitted such a field of license196, and the good behaviour asked of them is at once so easy and so little, that to fail in that is to fall beyond the reach of pardon. But will you suffer me to repeat a question, put to you at first, I am afraid, with some defect of courtesy; and to ask you once more, who you are and how I have the honour of your company?’
‘I am the proprietor197 of the house in which we stand,’ said I.
‘And still I am at fault,’ returned the prince.
But at that moment the timepiece on the mantel-shelf began to strike the hour of twelve; and the young man, raising himself upon one elbow, with an expression of despair and horror that I have never seen excelled, cried lamentably198, ‘Midnight! oh, just God!’ We stood frozen to our places, while the tingling199 hammer of the timepiece measured the remaining strokes; nor had we yet stirred, so tragic200 had been the tones of the young man, when the various bells of London began in turn to declare the hour. The timepiece was inaudible beyond the walls of the chamber201 where we stood; but the second pulsation202 of Big Ben had scarcely throbbed203 into the night, before a sharp detonation204 rang about the house. The prince sprang for the door by which I had entered; but quick as he was, I yet contrived205 to intercept206 him.
‘Are you armed?’ I cried.
‘No, madam,’ replied he. ‘You remind me appositely; I will take the poker207.’
‘The man below,’ said I, ‘has two revolvers. Would you confront him at such odds?’
He paused, as though staggered in his purpose.
‘And yet, madam,’ said he, ‘we cannot continue to remain in ignorance of what has passed.’
‘No!’ cried I. ‘And who proposes it? I am as curious as yourself, but let us rather send for the police; or, if your highness dreads208 a scandal, for some of your own servants.’
‘Nay, madam,’ he replied, smiling, ‘for so brave a lady, you surprise me. Would you have me, then, send others where I fear to go myself?’
‘You are perfectly209 right,’ said I, ‘and I was entirely210 wrong. Go, in God’s name, and I will hold the candle!’
Together, therefore, we descended to the lower story, he carrying the poker, I the light; and together we approached and opened the door of the butler’s pantry. In some sort, I believe, I was prepared for the spectacle that met our eyes; I was prepared, that is, to find the villain211 dead, but the rude details of such a violent suicide I was unable to endure. The prince, unshaken by horror as he had remained unshaken by alarm, assisted me with the most respectful gallantry to regain212 the dining-room.
There we found our patient, still, indeed, deadly pale, but vastly recovered and already seated on a chair. He held out both his hands with a most pitiful gesture of interrogation.
‘He is dead,’ said the prince.
‘Alas!’ cried the young man, ‘and it should be I! What do I do, thus lingering on the stage I have disgraced, while he, my sure comrade, blameworthy indeed for much, but yet the soul of fidelity213, has judged and slain214 himself for an involuntary fault? Ah, sir,’ said he, ‘and you too, madam, without whose cruel help I should be now beyond the reach of my accusing conscience, you behold in me the victim equally of my own faults and virtues215. I was born a hater of injustice; from my most tender years my blood boiled against heaven when I beheld the sick, and against men when I witnessed the sorrows of the poor; the pauper’s crust stuck in my throat when I sat down to eat my dainties, and the cripple child has set me weeping. What was there in that but what was noble? and yet observe to what a fall these thoughts have led me! Year after year this passion for the lost besieged216 me closer. What hope was there in kings? what hope in these well-feathered classes that now roll in money? I had observed the course of history; I knew the burgess, our ruler of to-day, to be base, cowardly, and dull; I saw him, in every age, combine to pull down that which was immediately above and to prey217 upon those that were below; his dulness, I knew, would ultimately bring about his ruin; I knew his days were numbered, and yet how was I to wait? how was I to let the poor child shiver in the rain? The better days, indeed, were coming, but the child would die before that. Alas, your highness, in surely no ungenerous impatience218 I enrolled219 myself among the enemies of this unjust and doomed220 society; in surely no unnatural221 desire to keep the fires of my philanthropy alight, I bound myself by an irrevocable oath.
‘That oath is all my history. To give freedom to posterity222 I had forsworn my own. I must attend upon every signal; and soon my father complained of my irregular hours and turned me from his house. I was engaged in betrothal223 to an honest girl; from her also I had to part, for she was too shrewd to credit my inventions and too innocent to be entrusted224 with the truth. Behold me, then, alone with conspirators225! Alas! as the years went on, my illusions left me. Surrounded as I was by the fervent226 disciples227 and apologists of revolution, I beheld them daily advance in confidence and desperation; I beheld myself, upon the other hand, and with an almost equal regularity228, decline in faith. I had sacrificed all to further that cause in which I still believed; and daily I began to grow in doubts if we were advancing it indeed. Horrible was the society with which we warred, but our own means were not less horrible.
‘I will not dwell upon my sufferings; I will not pause to tell you how, when I beheld young men still free and happy, married, fathers of children, cheerfully toiling229 at their work, my heart reproached me with the greatness and vanity of my unhappy sacrifice. I will not describe to you how, worn by poverty, poor lodging, scanty230 food, and an unquiet conscience, my health began to fail, and in the long nights, as I wandered bedless in the rainy streets, the most cruel sufferings of the body were added to the tortures of my mind. These things are not personal to me; they are common to all unfortunates in my position. An oath, so light a thing to swear, so grave a thing to break: an oath, taken in the heat of youth, repented231 with what sobbings of the heart, but yet in vain repented, as the years go on: an oath, that was once the very utterance232 of the truth of God, but that falls to be the symbol of a meaningless and empty slavery; such is the yoke233 that many young men joyfully234 assume, and under whose dead weight they live to suffer worse than death.
‘It is not that I was patient. I have begged to be released; but I knew too much, and I was still refused. I have fled; ay, and for the time successfully. I reached Paris. I found a lodging in the Rue23 St. Jacques, almost opposite the Val de Grace. My room was mean and bare, but the sun looked into it towards evening; it commanded a peep of a green garden; a bird hung by a neighbour’s window and made the morning beautiful; and I, who was sick, might lie in bed and rest myself: I, who was in full revolt against the principles that I had served, was now no longer at the beck of the council, and was no longer charged with shameful235 and revolting tasks. Oh! what an interval of peace was that! I still dream, at times, that I can hear the note of my neighbour’s bird.
‘My money was running out, and it became necessary that I should find employment. Scarcely had I been three days upon the search, ere I thought that I was being followed. I made certain of the features of the man, which were quite strange to me, and turned into a small cafe, where I whiled away an hour, pretending to read the papers, but inwardly convulsed with terror. When I came forth236 again into the street, it was quite empty, and I breathed again; but alas, I had not turned three corners, when I once more observed the human hound pursuing me. Not an hour was to be lost; timely submission237 might yet preserve a life which otherwise was forfeit238 and dishonoured239; and I fled, with what speed you may conceive, to the Paris agency of the society I served.
‘My submission was accepted. I took up once more the hated burthen of that life; once more I was at the call of men whom I despised and hated, while yet I envied and admired them. They at least were wholehearted in the things they purposed; but I, who had once been such as they, had fallen from the brightness of my faith, and now laboured, like a hireling, for the wages of a loathed240 existence. Ay, sir, to that I was condemned; I obeyed to continue to live, and lived but to obey.
‘The last charge that was laid upon me was the one which has to-night so tragically241 ended. Boldly telling who I was, I was to request from your highness, on behalf of my society, a private audience, where it was designed to murder you. If one thing remained to me of my old convictions, it was the hate of kings; and when this task was offered me, I took it gladly. Alas, sir, you triumphed. As we supped, you gained upon my heart. Your character, your talents, your designs for our unhappy country, all had been misrepresented. I began to forget you were a prince; I began, all too feelingly, to remember that you were a man. As I saw the hour approach, I suffered agonies untold242; and when, at last, we heard the slamming of the door which announced in my unwilling141 ears the arrival of the partner of my crime, you will bear me out with what instancy I besought you to depart. You would not, alas! and what could I? Kill you, I could not; my heart revolted, my hand turned back from such a deed. Yet it was impossible that I should suffer you to stay; for when the hour struck and my companion came, true to his appointment, and he, at least, true to our design, I could neither suffer you to be killed nor yet him to be arrested. From such a tragic passage, death, and death alone, could save me; and it is no fault of mine if I continue to exist.
‘But you, madam,’ continued the young man, addressing himself more directly to myself, ‘were doubtless born to save the prince and to confound our purposes. My life you have prolonged; and by turning the key on my companion, you have made me the author of his death. He heard the hour strike; he was impotent to help; and thinking himself forfeit to honour, thinking that I should fall alone upon his highness and perish for lack of his support, he has turned his pistol on himself.’
‘You are right,’ said Prince Florizel: ‘it was in no ungenerous spirit that you brought these burthens on yourself; and when I see you so nobly to blame, so tragically punished, I stand like one reproved. For is it not strange, madam, that you and I, by practising accepted and inconsiderable virtues, and commonplace but still unpardonable faults, should stand here, in the sight of God, with what we call clean hands and quiet consciences; while this poor youth, for an error that I could almost envy him, should be sunk beyond the reach of hope?
‘Sir,’ resumed the prince, turning to the young man, ‘I cannot help you; my help would but unchain the thunderbolt that overhangs you; and I can but leave you free.’
‘And, sir,’ said I, ‘as this house belongs to me, I will ask you to have the kindness to remove the body. You and your conspirators, it appears to me, can hardly in civility do less.’
‘It shall be done,’ said the young man, with a dismal243 accent.
‘And you, dear madam,’ said the prince, ‘you, to whom I owe my life, how can I serve you?’
‘Your highness,’ I said, ‘to be very plain, this is my favourite house, being not only a valuable property, but endeared to me by various associations. I have endless troubles with tenants of the ordinary class: and at first applauded my good fortune when I found one of the station of your Master of the Horse. I now begin to think otherwise: dangers set a siege about great personages; and I do not wish my tenement244 to share these risks. Procure245 me the resiliation of the lease, and I shall feel myself your debtor246.’
‘I must tell you, madam,’ replied his highness, ‘that Colonel Geraldine is but a cloak for myself; and I should be sorry indeed to think myself so unacceptable a tenant.’
‘Your highness,’ said I, ‘I have conceived a sincere admiration247 for your character; but on the subject of house property, I cannot allow the interference of my feelings. I will, however, to prove to you that there is nothing personal in my request, here solemnly engage my word that I will never put another tenant in this house.’
‘Madam,’ said Florizel, ‘you plead your cause too charmingly to be refused.’
Thereupon we all three withdrew. The young man, still reeling in his walk, departed by himself to seek the assistance of his fellow-conspirators; and the prince, with the most attentive248 gallantry, lent me his escort to the door of my hotel. The next day, the lease was cancelled; nor from that hour to this, though sometimes regretting my engagement, have I suffered a tenant in this house.
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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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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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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depicting
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| 描绘，描画( depict的现在分词 )； 描述 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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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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barges
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| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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turbulence
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| n.喧嚣，狂暴，骚乱，湍流 | |
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transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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perversions
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| n.歪曲( perversion的名词复数 )；变坏；变态心理 | |
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narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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drollery
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| n.开玩笑，说笑话；滑稽可笑的图画（或故事、小戏等） | |
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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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60
besought
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| 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) | |
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61
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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62
insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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63
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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64
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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65
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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66
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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67
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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68
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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69
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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70
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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71
emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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73
beguile
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| vt.欺骗，消遣 | |
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74
beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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75
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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76
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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77
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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78
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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80
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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81
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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82
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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83
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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84
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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85
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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86
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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87
disarray
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| n.混乱，紊乱，凌乱 | |
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88
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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89
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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90
smuggler
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| n.走私者 | |
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91
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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92
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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93
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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94
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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95
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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96
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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97
narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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99
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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100
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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101
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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102
WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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103
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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104
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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105
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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106
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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107
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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108
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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109
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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110
solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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111
injustices
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|
| 不公平( injustice的名词复数 )； 非正义； 待…不公正； 冤枉 | |
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112
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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113
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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114
lawsuits
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| n.诉讼( lawsuit的名词复数 ) | |
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115
pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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116
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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117
adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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118
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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119
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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120
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
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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122
tenantless
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| adj.无人租赁的，无人居住的 | |
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123
commemorating
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| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的现在分词 ) | |
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124
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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125
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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126
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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127
ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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128
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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129
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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130
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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131
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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132
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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133
poignancy
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| n.辛酸事，尖锐 | |
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134
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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135
hampers
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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136
aggression
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| n.进攻，侵略，侵犯，侵害 | |
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137
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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138
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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139
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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140
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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141
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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142
ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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143
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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144
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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145
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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146
muffled
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|
| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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147
nervously
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|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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148
densest
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| 密集的( dense的最高级 )； 密度大的； 愚笨的； （信息量大得）难理解的 | |
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149
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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150
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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151
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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152
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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153
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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154
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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155
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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156
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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157
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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158
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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159
assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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160
incandescence
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| n.白热，炽热；白炽 | |
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161
glimmering
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|
| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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162
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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163
contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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164
malefactor
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| n.罪犯 | |
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165
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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166
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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167
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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168
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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169
tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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170
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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171
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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172
collation
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| n.便餐；整理 | |
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173
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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174
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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175
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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176
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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177
contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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178
discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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179
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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180
blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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181
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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182
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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183
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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184
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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185
contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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186
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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187
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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188
profundity
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| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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189
antidotes
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| 解药( antidote的名词复数 )； 解毒剂； 对抗手段； 除害物 | |
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190
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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191
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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192
dilute
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| vt.稀释，冲淡；adj.稀释的，冲淡的 | |
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subversive
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| adj.颠覆性的，破坏性的；n.破坏份子，危险份子 | |
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194
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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195
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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196
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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197
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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198
lamentably
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| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
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199
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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200
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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201
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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202
pulsation
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| n.脉搏，悸动，脉动；搏动性 | |
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203
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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204
detonation
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| n.爆炸；巨响 | |
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205
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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206
intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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207
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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208
dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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209
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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210
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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211
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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212
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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213
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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214
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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215
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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216
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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217
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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218
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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219
enrolled
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| adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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220
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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221
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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222
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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223
betrothal
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| n. 婚约, 订婚 | |
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224
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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225
conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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226
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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227
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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228
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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229
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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230
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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231
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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232
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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233
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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234
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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235
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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236
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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237
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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238
forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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239
dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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240
loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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241
tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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242
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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243
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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244
tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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245
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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246
debtor
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| n.借方，债务人 | |
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247
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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248
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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