The party was not to be a large one. There was Miss Todd, the compounder of it, a maiden3 lady, fat, fair, and perhaps almost forty; a jolly jovial4 lady, intent on seeing the world, and indifferent to many of its prejudices and formal restraints. "If she threw herself in Sir Lionel's way, people would of course say that she wanted to marry him; but she did not care a straw what people said; if she found Sir Lionel agreeable, she would throw herself in his way." So she told Miss Baker—with perhaps more courage than the occasion required.
Then there was Mrs. and Miss Jones. Miss Jones was the young lady who lost her parasol on the Mount of Offence, and so recklessly charged the Arab children of Siloam with the theft. Mr. Jones was also in Jerusalem, but could not be persuaded to attend at Miss Todd's behest. He was steadily5 engaged in antiquarian researches, being minded to bring out to the world some startling new theory as to certain points in Bible chronology and topography. He always went about the city with a trowel and a big set of tablets; and certain among the more enthusiastic of the visitors to Jerusalem had put him down as an infidel.
There were also Mr. and Mrs. Hunter—a bridegroom and bride, now on their wedding trip; a somewhat fashionable couple, who were both got up with considerable attention as to oriental costume. Mrs. Hunter seemed to think a good deal about her trousers, and Mr. Hunter's mind was equally taken up with the fact that he had ceased to wear any. They had a knowing way of putting on their turbans, and carried their sashes gracefully6; those, however, who had seen Mr. Hunter roll himself into his sash, were of opinion that sooner or later he would suffer from vertigo8 in his head. Miss Baker and her niece had fallen in with these people, and were considered to be of the same party.
There was a clergyman to be there, one Mr. Cruse, the gentleman who had been so keenly annoyed at the absence of potatoes from the dinner board. He was travelling in charge of a young gentleman of fortune, a Mr. Pott, by whose fond parents the joint10 expense of the excursion was defrayed. Mr. Cruse was a University man, of course; had been educated at Trinity College Cambridge, and piqued11 himself much on being far removed from the dangers of Puseyism. He was a man not of a happy frame of mind, and seemed to find that from Dan to Beersheba everything in truth was barren. He was good-looking, unmarried, not without some talent, and seemed to receive from the ladies there assembled more attention than his merits altogether deserved.
Mr. M'Gabbery had talked of not going, but had been over-persuaded by the good-natured Miss Todd. He had become almost overwhelmed by the intensity12 of his feelings in regard to the sacred associations of the place, since George Bertram had contrived13 to seat himself between Miss Baker and Miss Waddington. Up to that moment, no one had been merrier than he. He had, so he had flattered himself, altogether cut out Mr. Cruse in that special quarter, the good graces namely of those two ladies, and had been prepared to take on his own shoulders all the hard work of the picnic. But now things were altered with him; he had some doubts whether the sacredness of the valley would not be desecrated14 by such a proceeding15, and consulted Mr. Cruse on the matter. Hitherto these gentlemen had not been close friends; but now they allied16 themselves as against a common enemy. Mr. Cruse did not care much for associations, seemed indeed to think that any special attention to sacred places savoured of idolatry, and professed17 himself willing to eat his dinner on any of the hills or in any of the valleys round Jerusalem. Fortified18 with so good an opinion, and relying on the excellence19 of his purpose, Mr. M'Gabbery gave way, and renewed his offers of assistance to Miss Todd.
There was also Mr. Pott, Mr. Cruse's young charge, the son of a man largely engaged in the linen20 trade; a youth against whom very little can be alleged21. His time at present was chiefly given up to waiting on Miss Jones; and, luckier in this respect than his tutor, Mr. Cruse, he had no rival to interfere22 with his bliss23.
Miss Baker and Miss Waddington made up the party. Of the former, little more need be said, and that little should be all in her praise. She was a lady-like, soft-mannered, easy-tempered woman, devoted24 to her niece, but not strongly addicted25 to personal exertions26 on her own part. The fact that she was now at Jerusalem, so far away from her own comfortable drawing-room, sufficiently27 proved that she was devoted to her niece.
And now for Caroline Waddington, our donna primissima. Her qualities, attributes, and virtues28 must be given more in detail than those of her companions at the picnic, seeing that she is destined29 to fill a prominent place upon our canvas.
At the time of which we are speaking, she might perhaps be twenty years of age; but her general appearance, her figure, and especially the strong character marked in her face, would have led one to suspect that she was older. She was certainly at that time a beautiful girl—very beautiful, handsome in the outline of her face, graceful7 and dignified30 in her mien31, nay32, sometimes almost majestic—a Juno rather than a Venus. But any Paris who might reject her, awed33 by the rigour of her dignity, would know at the time that he was wrong in his judgment34. She was tall, but not so tall as to be unfeminine in her height. Her head stood nobly on her shoulders, giving to her bust35 that ease and grace of which sculptors36 are so fond, and of which tight-laced stays are so utterly37 subversive38. Her hair was very dark—not black, but the darkest shade of brown, and was worn in simple rolls on the side of her face. It was very long and very glossy39, soft as the richest silk, and gifted apparently40 with a delightful41 aptitude42 to keep itself in order. No stray jagged ends would show themselves if by chance she removed her bonnet43, nor did it even look as though it had been prematurely44 crushed and required to be afresh puffed45 out by some head-dresser's mechanism46. She had the forehead of a Juno; white, broad, and straight; not shining as are some foreheads, which seem as though an insufficient47 allowance of skin had been vouchsafed48 for their covering. It was a forehead on which an angel might long to press his lips—if angels have lips, and if, as we have been told, they do occasionally descend49 from their starry50 heights to love the daughters of men.
Nor would an angel with a shade of human passion in his temperament51 have been contented52 with her forehead. Her mouth had all the richness of youth, and the full enticing53 curves and ruby54 colour of Anglo-Saxon beauty. Caroline Waddington was no pale, passionless goddess; her graces and perfections were human, and in being so were the more dangerous to humanity. Her forehead we have said, or should have said, was perfect; we dare not affirm quite so much in praise of her mouth: there was sometimes a hardness there, not in the lines of the feature itself, but in the expression which it conveyed, a want of tenderness, perhaps of trust, and too much self-confidence, it may be, for a woman's character. The teeth within it, however, were never excelled by any that ever graced the face of a woman.
Her nose was not quite Grecian; had it been so, her face might have been fairer, but it would certainly have been less expressive56. Nor could it be called retroussé, but it had the slightest possible tendency in that direction; and the nostrils57 were more open, more ready to breathe forth58 flashes of indignation than is ever the case with a truly Grecian nose.
The contour of her face was admirable: nothing could exceed in beauty the lines of her cheeks or the shape and softness of her chin. Those who were fastidious in their requirements might object to them that they bore no dimple; but after all, it is only prettiness that requires a dimple: full-blown beauty wants no such adventitious59 aid.
But her eyes! Miss Waddington's eyes! The eyes are the poet's strongest fortress60; it is for their description that he most gathers up his forces and puts forth all his strength. What of her eyes? Well, her eyes were bright enough, large enough, well set in her head. They were clever eyes too—nay, honest eyes also, which is better. But they were not softly feminine eyes. They never hid themselves beneath their soft fringes when too curiously61 looked into, as a young girl at her window half hides herself behind her curtain. They were bold eyes, I was going to say, but the word would signify too much in their dispraise; daring eyes, I would rather say, courageous62, expressive, never shrinking, sometimes also suspicious. They were fit rather for a man than for so beautiful a girl as our Caroline Waddington.
But perhaps the most wonderful grace about her was her walk. "Vera incessu patuit Dea." Alas63! how few women can walk! how many are wilfully64 averse65 to attempting any such motion! They scuffle, they trip, they trot66, they amble67, they waddle68, they crawl, they drag themselves on painfully, as though the flounces and furbelows around them were a burden too heavy for easy, graceful motion; but, except in Spain, they rarely walk. In this respect our heroine was equal to an Andalusian.
Such and so great were Miss Waddington's outward graces. Some attempt must also be made to tell of those inner stores with which this gallant69 vessel70 was freighted; for, after all, the outward bravery is not everything with a woman. It may be that a man in selecting his wife rarely looks for much else;—for that in addition, of course, to money; but though he has looked for little else, some other things do frequently force themselves on his attention soon after the knot is tied; and as Caroline Waddington will appear in these pages as wife as well as maid, as a man's companion as well as his plaything, it may be well to say now something as to her fitness for such occupation.
We will say, then, that she was perhaps even more remarkable71 for her strength of mind than for her beauty of person. At present, she was a girl of twenty, and hardly knew her own power; but the time was to come when she should know it and should use it. She was possessed72 of a stubborn, enduring, manly73 will; capable of conquering much, and not to be conquered easily. She had a mind which, if rightly directed, might achieve great and good things, but of which it might be predicted that it would certainly achieve something, and that if not directed for good, it might not improbably direct itself for evil. It was impossible that she should ever grow into a piece of domestic furniture, contented to adapt itself to such uses as a marital74 tyrant75 might think fit to require of it. If destined to fall into good hands, she might become a happy, loving wife; but it was quite as possible that she should be neither happy nor loving.
Like most other girls, she no doubt thought much of what might be her lot in love—thought much of loving, though she had never yet loved. It has been said that her turn of mind was manly; but it must not on that account be imagined that her wishes and aspirations76 were at present other than feminine. Her heart and feeling's were those of a girl, at any rate as yet; but her will and disposition77 were masculine in their firmness.
For one so young, she had great and dangerous faults of character—great, as being injurious to her happiness; and dangerous, as being likely to grow with her years. Her faults were not young faults. Though true herself, she was suspicious of others; though trustworthy, she was not trustful: and what person who is not trustful ever remains78 trustworthy? Who can be fit for confidence who cannot himself confide55? She was imperious, too, when occasion offered itself to her proud spirit. With her aunt, whom she loved, she was not so. Her she was content to persuade, using a soft voice and a soft eye; but with those whom she could not persuade and wished to rule, her voice was sometimes stern enough, and her eye far from soft.
She was a clever girl, capable of talking well, and possessed of more information than most young ladies of the same age. She had been at an excellent school, if any schools are really excellent for young ladies; but there was, nevertheless, something in her style of thought hardly suitable to the softness of girlhood. She could speak of sacred things with a mocking spirit, the mockery of philosophy rather than of youth; she had little or no enthusiasm, though there was passion enough deep seated in her bosom79; she suffered from no transcendentalism; she saw nothing through a halo of poetic80 inspiration: among the various tints81 of her atmosphere there was no rose colour; she preferred wit to poetry; and her smile was cynical83 rather than joyous84.
Now I have described my donna primissima, with hardly sufficient detail for my own satisfaction, doubtless with far too much for yours, oh, my reader! It must be added, however, that she was an orphan85; that she lived entirely86 with her aunt, Miss Baker; that her father had been in early life a sort of partner with Mr. George Bertram; that Mr. George Bertram was her guardian87, though he had hitherto taken but little trouble in looking after her, whatever trouble he may have taken in looking after her money; and that she was possessed of a moderate fortune, say about four thousand pounds.
A picnic undertaken from Jerusalem must in some respects be unlike any picnic elsewhere. Ladies cannot be carried to it in carriages, because at Jerusalem there are no carriages; nor can the provisions be conveyed even in carts, for at Jerusalem there are no carts. The stock of comestibles was therefore packed in hampers88 on a camel's back, and sent off to the valley by one route, whereas Miss Todd and her friends went on horseback and on donkey-back by another and a longer road.
It may as well be mentioned that Miss Todd was a little ashamed of the magnitude to which her undertaking89 had attained90. Her original plan had merely been this:—that she and a few others should ride through the valleys round the city, and send a basket of sandwiches to meet them at some hungry point on the road. Now there was a cortège of eleven persons, exclusive of the groom-boys, a boiled ham, sundry91 chickens, hard-boiled eggs, and champagne92. Miss Todd was somewhat ashamed of this. Here, in England, one would hardly inaugurate a picnic to Kensal Green, or the Highgate Cemetery93, nor select the tombs of our departed great ones as a shelter under which to draw one's corks94. But Miss Todd boasted of high spirits: when this little difficulty had been first suggested to her by Mr. M'Gabbery, she had scoffed95 at it, and had enlarged her circle in a spirit of mild bravado96. Then chance had done more for her; and now she was doomed97 to preside over a large party of revellers immediately over the ashes of James the Just.
None but Englishmen or Englishwomen do such things as this. To other people is wanting sufficient pluck for such enterprises; is wanting also a certain mixture of fun, honest independence, and bad taste. Let us go into some church on the Continent—in Italy, we will say—where the walls of the churches still boast of the great works of the great masters.—Look at that man standing98 on the very altar-step while the priest is saying his mass; look at his gray shooting-coat, his thick shoes, his wide-awake hat stuck under one arm, and his stick under the other, while he holds his opera-glass to his eyes. How he shuffles99 about to get the best point of sight, quite indifferent as to clergy9 or laity100! All that bell-ringing, incense-flinging, and breast-striking is nothing to him: he has paid dearly to be brought thither101; he has paid the guide who is kneeling a little behind him; he is going to pay the sacristan who attends him; he is quite ready to pay the priest himself, if the priest would only signify his wish that way; but he has come there to see that fresco102, and see it he will: respecting that he will soon know more than either the priest or his worshippers. Perhaps some servant of the church, coming to him with submissive, almost suppliant103 gesture, begs him to step back just for one moment. The lover of art glares at him with insulted look, and hardly deigns104 to notice him further: he merely turns his eye to his Murray, puts his hat down on the altar-step, and goes on studying his subject. All the world—German, Frenchman, Italian, Spaniard—all men of all nations know that that ugly gray shooting-coat must contain an Englishman. He cares for no one. If any one upsets him, he can do much towards righting himself; and if more be wanted, has he not Lord Malmesbury or Lord Clarendon at his back? But what would this Englishman say if his place of worship were disturbed by some wandering Italian?
It was somewhat in this way with Miss Todd. She knew that what she was about to do was rather absurd, but she had the blood of the Todds warm at her heart. The Todds were a people not easily frightened, and Miss Todd was not going to disgrace her lineage. True, she had not intended to feed twelve people over a Jewish sepulchre, but as the twelve people had assembled, looking to her for food, she was not the woman to send them away fasting: so she gallantly105 led the way through the gate of Jaffa, Sir Lionel attending her on a donkey.
When once out of the town, they turned sharp to the left. Their path lay through the valley of Gihon, through the valley of Hinnom, down among those strange, open sepulchres, deeply excavated106 in caves on the mountain-sides—sepulchres quite unlike those below in the valley of Jehoshaphat. There they are all covered, each stone marking a grave; but here they lie in open catacombs—in caves, at least, of which the entrance is open. The hardy107 stranger crawling in may lay his hand within the cell—nay, may crawl up into it if he will—in which have mouldered108 the bones of some former visitor to Jerusalem. For this, so saith tradition, is the field purchased with the reward of iniquity109. It was the burying-place for strangers, Aceldama, the field of blood.
But where be these bones now? for the catacombs are mostly empty. Mr. Pott, descending110 as far as he could into the deepest of them, did at last bring forth a skull111 and two parts of a back-bone; did present the former with much grace to Miss Jones, who, on beholding112 it, very nearly fell from off her donkey.
"For shame, Pott," said Mr. Cruse. "How could you handle anything so disgusting? You are desecrating114 the grave of some unfortunate Mussulman who has probably died within the last fifty years." Mr. Cruse was always intent on showing that he believed none of the traditions of the country.
"It was quite dreadful of you, Mr. Pott," said Miss Jones; "quite dreadful! Indeed, I don't know what you would not do. But I am quite sure he was never a Mahomedan."
"He looked like a Jew, didn't he?" said Pott.
"Oh! I did not see the face; but he was certainly either a Jew or a Christian115. Only think. Perhaps those remains have been there for nearly eighteen hundred years. Is it not wonderful? Mamma, it was just here that I lost my parasol."
Sir Lionel had headed the cavalcade116 with Miss Todd, but George Bertram was true to his new friends, Miss Baker and Miss Waddington. So also, for a time, were Mr. M'Gabbery and Mr. Cruse. As the aunt and niece rode beside each other, a great part of this gallant attention fell upon the former. Indeed, the easiest way of addressing the beauty was often found to be through the beauty's aunt; and it may be doubted whether Mr. M'Gabbery would not have retreated long since in despair, but for the scintillations of civility which fell to him from Miss Baker's good-humour. He had had the good fortune of some previous days' journeying with them on horseback through the desert, and had found that privilege gave him an inestimable advantage over Mr. Cruse. Why should it not also suffice as regarded this new comer? He had held much commune with himself on the subject that morning; had called himself to task for his own pusillanimity117, and had then fortified his courage with the old reflection about fair ladies and faint hearts—and also with a glass of brandy. He was therefore disposed to make himself very unpleasant to poor George if occasion should require.
"How delighted you must have been to see your father!" said Miss Baker, who, though her temper would not permit her to be uncivil to Mr. M'Gabbery, would readily have dispensed118 with that gentleman's attendance.
"Indeed, I was. I never saw him before, you know."
"Never saw him, your father, before, Mr. Bertram?" said Caroline. "Why, aunt Mary says that I have seen him."
"I never saw him to remember him. One doesn't count one's acquaintance before seven or eight years of age."
"Your memory must be very bad, then," said Mr. M'Gabbery, "or your childhood's love for your father very slight. I perfectly119 remember the sweetness of my mother's caresses120 when I was but three years old. There is nothing, Miss Waddington, to equal the sweetness of a mother's kisses."
"I never knew them," said she. "But I have found an aunt's do nearly as well."
"A grandmother's are not bad," said Bertram, looking very grave.
"I can never think of my mother without emotion," continued Mr. M'Gabbery. "I remember, as though it were yesterday, when I first stood at her knee, with a picture-book on her lap before me. It is the furthest point to which memory carries me—and the sweetest."
"I can remember back much before that," said George; "a great deal before that. Listen to this, Miss Baker. My earliest impression was a hatred121 of dishonesty."
"I hope your views have not altered since," said Caroline.
"Very materially, I fear. But I must tell you about my memory. I was lying once in my cradle—"
"You don't mean to tell me you remember that?" said M'Gabbery.
"Perfectly, as you do the picture-book. Well, there I was lying, Miss Baker, with my little eyes wide open. It is astonishing how much babies see, though people never calculate on their having eyes at all. I was lying on my back, staring at the mantelpiece, on which my mother had left her key-basket."
"You remember, of course, that it was her key-basket?" said Miss Waddington, with a smile that made M'Gabbery clench122 his walking-stick in his hand.
"Perfectly; because she always kept her halfpence there also. Well, there was a nursery-girl who used to be about me in those days. I distinctly saw her go to that basket, Miss Baker, and take out a penny; and I then made up my mind that the first use I would make of my coming speech should be to tell my mother. That, I think, is the furthest point to which my memory carries me."
The ladies laughed heartily123, but Mr. M'Gabbery frowned bitterly. "You must have dreamt it," said he.
"It is just possible," said George; "but I don't think it. Come, Miss Waddington, let us have your earliest recollections."
"Ah! mine will not be interesting. They do not go back at all so far. I think they have reference to bread and butter."
"I remember being very angry," said Miss Baker, "because papa prophesied124 that I should be an old maid. It was very hard on me, for his prophecy no doubt brought about the fact."
"But the fact is no fact as yet," said Mr. M'Gabbery, with a smirking125 gallantry for which he ought to have been kicked.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. M'Gabbery," said Miss Waddington. "It is quite an established fact. My aunt will never have my consent to marry; and I am sure she will never dream of such a thing without it."
"And so Mr. M'Gabbery's hopes in that direction are all at an end," said George, who was now able to speak to Caroline without being heard by the others.
"I declare I think he has entertained some such idea, for he never leaves my aunt alone for a minute. He has been very civil, very; but, Mr. Bertram, perhaps you know that a very civil man may be a bore."
"He always is, I think. No man is really liked who is ever ready to run on messages and tie up parcels. It is generally considered that a man knows his own value, and that, if he be willing to do such work, such work is fit for him."
"You never do anything to oblige, then?"
"Very rarely; at least, not in the little domestic line. If one could have an opportunity of picking a lady out of a fire, or saving her from the clutches of an Italian bravo, or getting her a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, one would be inclined to do it. In such cases, there would be no contempt mixed up with the lady's gratitude126. But ladies are never really grateful to a man for turning himself into a flunky."
"Ah! I like to be attended to all the same."
"Then there is Mr. M'Gabbery. Half a smile will keep him at your feet the whole day."
Mr. M'Gabbery and poor Miss Baker were now walking behind them, side by side. But his felicity in this respect was not at all sufficient for that gentleman. In their long journey from Egypt, he and Miss Waddington had always been within speaking distance; and who was the stranger of to-day that was thus to come and separate them?
"Miss Waddington," he cried, "do you remember when your horse stumbled in the sand at El Arish? Ah! what a pleasant day that was!"
"But you have not recalled it by a very pleasant incident. I was very nearly being thrown out of my saddle."
"And how we had to wait for our dinner at Gaza till the camels came up?" And Mr. M'Gabbery, urging on his horse, brought him up once more abreast127 with that of Miss Waddington.
"I shall soon have as great a horror of Gaza as Samson had," said she, sotto voce. "I almost feel myself already in bonds under Philistian yoke128 whenever it is mentioned."
"Talking of recollections, that journey will certainly be among the sunniest of my life's memories," said Mr. M'Gabbery.
"It was sunny, certainly," said Miss Waddington; for the heat of the desert had been oppressive.
"Ah! and so sweet! That encamping in your own tent; preparing your own meals; having everything, as it were, within yourself. Civilized129 life has nothing to offer equal to that. A person who has only gone from city to city, or from steamboat to steamboat, knows nothing of oriental life. Does he, Miss Waddington?" This was intended as a blow at Bertram, who had got to Jerusalem without sleeping under canvas.
"What ignorant wretches130 the natives must be!" said George; "for they apparently sleep as regularly in their own beds as any stupid Christian in England."
"I am not sure that even Mr. M'Gabbery would admire the tents so much if he had not some Christian comforts along with him."
"His brandy-flask and dressing-case, for instance," said George.
"Yes; and his mattress131 and blankets," said Caroline.
"His potted meat and preserved soup."
"And especially his pot to boil his potatoes in."
"That was Mr. Cruse," said Mr. M'Gabbery, quite angrily. "For myself, I do not care a bit about potatoes."
"So it was, Mr. M'Gabbery; and I beg your pardon. It is Mr. Cruse whose soul is among the potatoes. But, if I remember right, it was you who were so angry when the milk ran out." Then Mr. M'Gabbery again receded132, and talked to Mrs. Jones about his associations.
"How thoroughly133 the Turks and Arabs beat us in point of costume," said Mrs. Hunter to Mr. Cruse.
"It will be very hard, at any rate, for any of them to beat you," said the tutor. "Since I have been out here, I have seen no one adopt their ways with half as much grace as you do."
Mrs. Hunter looked down well pleased to her ancles, which were covered, and needed to be covered, by no riding-habit. "I was not thinking so much of myself as of Mr. Hunter. Women, you know, Mr. Cruse, are nothing in this land."
"Except when imported from Christendom, Mrs. Hunter."
"But I was speaking of gentlemen's toilets. Don't you think the Turkish dress very becoming? I declare, I shall never bear to see Charles again in a coat and waistcoat and trousers."
"Nor he you in an ordinary silk gown, puffed out with crinoline."
"Well, I suppose we must live in the East altogether then. I am sure I should not object. I know one thing—I shall never endure to put a bonnet on my head again. By-the-by, Mr. Cruse, who is this Sir Lionel Bertram that has just come? Is he a baronet?"
"Oh dear, no; nothing of that sort, I imagine. I don't quite know who he is; but that young man is his son."
"They say he's very clever, don't they?"
"He has that sort of boy's cleverness, I dare say, which goes towards taking a good degree." Mr. Cruse himself had not shone very brightly at the University.
"Miss Waddington seems very much smitten134 with him; don't you think so?"
"Miss Waddington is a beautiful girl; and variable—as beautiful girls sometimes are."
"Mr. Cruse, don't be satirical."
"'Praise undeserved is satire135 in disguise,'" said Mr. Cruse, not quite understanding, himself, why he made the quotation136. But it did exceedingly well. Mrs. Hunter smiled sweetly on him, said that he was a dangerous man, and that no one would take him to be a clergyman; upon which Mr. Cruse begged that she would spare his character.
And now they had come to the fountain of Enrogel, and having dismounted from their steeds, stood clustering about the low wall which surrounds the little pool of water.
"This, Sir Lionel," said Miss Todd, acting137 cicerone, "is the fountain of Enrogel, which you know so well by name."
"Ah!" said Sir Lionel. "It seems rather dirty at present; doesn't it?"
"That is because the water is so low. When there has been much rain, there is quite a flood here. Those little gardens and fields there are the most fertile spot round Jerusalem, because there is so much irrigation here."
"That's where the Jerusalem artichokes are grown, I suppose."
"It is a singular fact, that though there are plenty of artichokes, that special plant is unknown," said Mr. M'Gabbery. "Do you remember, Miss Waddington—"
But Miss Waddington had craftily138 slipped round the corner of the wall, and was now admiring Mrs. Hunter's costume, on the other side of the fountain.
"And that is the village of Siloam," continued Miss Todd, pointing to a range of cabins, some of which seemed to be cut out of the rock on the hill-side, on her right hand as she looked up towards the valley of Jehoshaphat. "And that is the pool of Siloam, Sir Lionel; we shall go up there."
"Ah!" said Sir Lionel again.
"Is it not interesting?" said Miss Todd; and a smiling gleam of satisfaction spread itself across her jovial ruddy face.
"Very," said Sir Lionel. "But don't you find it rather hot?"
"Yes, it is warm. But one gets accustomed to that. I do so like to find myself among these names which used to torment139 me so when I was a child. I had all manner of mysterious ideas about the pool of Bethesda and the beautiful gate, about the hill of Sion, and Gehenna, and the brook140 Cedron. I had a sort of belief that these places were scattered141 wide over the unknown deserts of Asia; and now, Sir Lionel, I am going to show them all to you in one day."
"Would they were scattered wider, that the pleasure might last the longer," said Sir Lionel, taking off his hat as he bowed to Miss Todd, but putting it on again very quickly, as he felt the heat.
"Yes; but the mystery, the beautiful mystery, is all gone," said Miss Jones. "I shall never feel again about these places as I used to do."
"Nor I either, I hope," said Mr. Pott. "I always used to catch it for scripture142 geography."
"Yes, the mystery of your childhood will be gone, Miss Jones," said Mr. M'Gabbery, who, in his present state of hopelessness as regarded Miss Waddington, was ill-naturedly interfering143 with young Pott. "The mystery of your childhood will be gone; but another mystery, a more matured mystery, will be created in your imagination. Your associations will henceforth bear a richer tint82."
"I don't know that," said Miss Jones, who did not approve of being interfered144 with a bit better than did Mr. Pott.
And then they remounted, and the cavalcade moved on. They turned up the rising ground towards the city wall, and leaving on the left the gardens in which Jerusalem artichokes did not grow, they came to the pool of Siloam. Here most of them again descended145, and climbed down to the water, which bursts out from its underground channel into a cool, but damp and somewhat dirty ravine.
"You are my guide, Miss Todd, in everything," said Sir Lionel. "Is it necessary that I should study scripture geography down in that hole? If you bid me, I'll do it."
"Well, Sir Lionel, I'll let you off; the more especially as I have been down there myself already, and got dreadfully draggled in doing so. Oh! I declare, there is Miss Waddington in the water."
Miss Waddington was in the water. Not in such a manner, gentlest of readers, as to occasion the slightest shock to your susceptible146 nerves; but in such a degree as to be very disagreeable to her boots, and the cause of infinite damage to her stockings. George Bertram had handed her down, and when in the act of turning round to give similar assistance to some other adventurous147 lady, had left her alone on the slippery stones. Of course any young lady would take advantage of such an unguarded moment to get into some catastrophe148.
Alas! and again alas! Unfortunately, Mr. M'Gabbery had been the first to descend to the pool. He had calculated, cunningly enough, that in being there, seeing that the space was not very large, the duty must fall to his lot of receiving into his arms any such ladies as chose to come down—Miss Waddington, who was known to be very adventurous, among the number. He was no sooner there, however, than George Bertram jumped in almost upon him, and hitherto he had not had an opportunity of touching149 Miss Waddington's glove. But now it seemed that fortune was to reward him.
"Good heavens!" cried Mr. M'Gabbery, as he dashed boldly into the flood, thereby150 splashing the water well up into Caroline's face. There was not much occasion for this display, for the gentleman could have assisted the lady quite as effectually without even wetting his toes; but common misfortunes do create common sympathies—or at least they should do. Would it not be natural that Miss Waddington and Mr. M'Gabbery, when both wet through up to their knees, should hang together in their sufferings, make common cause of it, talk each of what the other felt and understood so well? Nay, might it not be probable that, in obedience151 to the behests of some wise senior, they might be sent back to the city together;—understand, O reader, that the wall of Jerusalem had never yet been distant from them half a mile—back, we say, together to get dry stockings? To achieve such an object, Mr. M'Gabbery would have plunged152 bodily beneath the wave—had the wave been deep enough to receive his body. As it was, it only just came over the tops of his boots, filling them comfortably with water.
"Oh, Mr. M'Gabbery!" exclaimed the ungrateful lady. "Now you have drowned me altogether."
"I never saw anything so awkward in my life," said M'Gabbery, looking up at Bertram with a glance that should have frozen his blood.
"Nor I, either," said Caroline.
"What had you better do? Pray give me your hand, Miss Waddington. To leave you in such a manner as that! We managed better in the desert, did we not, Miss Waddington? You really must go back to Jerusalem for dry shoes and stockings; you really must. Where is Miss Baker? Give me your hand, Miss Waddington; both hands, you had better."
So much said Mr. M'Gabbery while struggling in the pool of Siloam. But in the meantime, Miss Waddington, turning quickly round, had put out her hand to Bertram, who was standing—and I regret to say all but laughing—on the rock above her; and before Mr. M'Gabbery's eloquence153 was over, she was safely landed among her friends.
"Oh, Mr. Bertram," said she; "you are a horrid154 man. I'll never forgive you. Had I trusted myself to poor Mr. M'Gabbery, I should have been dry-footed at this moment." And she shook the water from off her dress, making a damp circle around herself as a Newfoundland dog sometimes does. "If I served you right, I should make you go to the hotel for a pair of shoes."
"Do, Miss Waddington; make him go," said Sir Lionel. "If he doesn't, I'll go myself."
"I shall be delighted," said Mr. Cruse; "my donkey is very quick;" and the clergyman mounted ready to start. "Only I shouldn't know where to find the things."
"No, Mr. Cruse; and I couldn't tell you. Besides, there is nothing I like so much as wet feet,—except wet strings155 to my hat, for which latter I have to thank Mr. M'Gabbery."
"I will go, of course," said M'Gabbery, emerging slowly from the pool. "Of course it is for me to go; I shall be glad of an opportunity of getting dry boots myself."
"I am so sorry you have got wet," said the beauty.
"Oh! it's nothing; I like it. I was not going to see you in the water without coming to you. Pray tell me what I shall fetch. I know all your boxes so well, you know, so I can have no difficulty. Will they be in the one with C. W. on it in brass156 nails? That was the one which fell off the camel near the Temple of Dagon." Poor Mr. M'Gabbery! that ride through the desert was an oasis157 in his otherwise somewhat barren life, never to be forgotten.
"I am the sinner, Miss Waddington," said George, at last, "and on me let the punishment fall. I will go back to Jerusalem; and in order that you may suffer no inconvenience, I will bring hither all your boxes and all your trunks on the backs of a score of Arab porters."
"You know you intend to do no such thing," said she. "You have already told me your ideas as to waiting upon young ladies."
There was, however, at last some whispering between Miss Baker and her niece, in which Mr. M'Gabbery vainly attempted to join, and the matter ended in one of the grooms158 being sent into the town, laden159 with a bunch of keys and a written message for Miss Baker's servant. Before dinner-time, Miss Waddington had comfortably changed her stockings in the upper story of the tomb of St. James, and Mr. M'Gabbery—but Mr. M'Gabbery's wet feet did not receive the attention which they deserved.
Passing on from the pool of Siloam, they came to a water-course at which there was being conducted a considerable washing of clothes. The washerwomen—the term is used as being generic160 to the trade and not to the sex, for some of the performers were men—were divided into two classes, who worked separately; not so separately but what they talked together, and were on friendly terms; but still there was a division. The upper washerwomen, among whom the men were at work, were Mahomedans; the lower set were Jewesses. As to the men, but little observation was made, except that they seemed expert enough, dabbing161 their clothes, rubbing in the soap, and then rinsing162, very much in the manner of Christians163. But it was impossible not to look at the women. The female followers164 of the Prophet had, as they always have, some pretence165 of a veil for their face. In the present instance, they held in their teeth a dirty blue calico rag, which passed over their heads, acting also as a shawl. By this contrivance, intended only to last while the Christians were there, they concealed166 one side of the face and the chin. No one could behold113 them without wishing that the eclipse had been total. No epithet167 commonly applied168 to women in this country could adequately describe their want of comeliness169. They kept their faces to their work, and except that they held their rags between their teeth, they gave no sign of knowing that strangers were standing by them.
It was different with the Jewesses. When they were stared at, they stood up boldly and stared again;—and well worth looking at they were. There were three or four of them, young women all, though already mothers, for their children were playing on the grass behind them. Each bore on her head that moon-shaped head-dress which is there the symbol of a Jewess; and no more graceful tiara can a woman wear. It was wonderful that the same land should produce women so different as were these close neighbours. The Mahomedans were ape-like; but the Jewesses were glorious specimens170 of feminine creation. They were somewhat too bold, perhaps; there was too much daring in their eyes, as, with their naked shoulders and bosoms171 nearly bare, they met the eyes of the men that were looking at them. But there was nothing immodest in their audacity172; it was defiant173 rather, and scornful.
There was one among them, a girl, perhaps of eighteen, who might have been a sculptor's model, not only for form and figure, but for the expression of her countenance174 and the beautiful turn of her head and shoulders. She was very unlike the Jewess that is ordinarily pictured to us. She had no beaky nose, no thin face, no sharp, small, black, bright eyes; she was fair, as Esther was fair; her forehead and face were broad, her eyes large and open; yet she was a Jewess, plainly a Jewess; such a Jewess as are many still to be seen—in Palestine, at least, if not elsewhere.
When they came upon her, she was pressing the dripping water from some large piece of linen, a sheet probably. In doing this she had cunningly placed one end firmly under her foot upon a stone, and then, with her hands raised high above her head, she twisted and retwisted it till the water oozing175 out fell in heavy drops round her feet. Her arms and neck were bare, as were also her feet; and it was clear that she put forth to her work as much strength as usually falls to the lot of a woman in any country.
She was very fair to look at, but there was about her no feminine softness. Do not laugh, reader, unless you have already stopped to think, and, thinking, have decided176 that a girl of eighteen, being a washerwoman, must therefore be without feminine softness. I would not myself say that it is so. But here at least there was no feminine softness, no tenderness in the eye, no young shame at being gazed at. She paused for a moment in her work, and gave back to them all the look they gave her; and then, as though they were beneath her notice, she strained once more at her task, and so dropped the linen to the ground.
"If I knew how to set about the bargain, I would take that woman home with me, and mould her to be my wife." Such was George Bertram's outspoken177 enthusiasm.
"Moulded wives never answer well," said Sir Lionel.
"I think he would prefer one that had been dipped," whispered Miss Todd to the colonel; but her allusion179 to Miss Waddington's little accident on the water, and to the chandler's wares180, was not thoroughly appreciated.
It has been said that the hampers were to be sent to the tomb of Zachariah; but they agreed to dine immediately opposite to that of St. James the Less. This is situated181 in the middle of the valley of Jehoshaphat, in the centre of myriads182 of Jewish tombs, directly opposite to the wall built with those huge temple stones, not many feet over the then dry water-course of the brook Cedron. Such was the spot chosen by Miss Todd for her cold chickens and champagne.
Of course they wandered about a little in pairs and trios while these dainties were being prepared for them. This St. James's tomb is a little temple built on the side of the rock, singularly graceful. The front towards the city is adorned183 with two or three Roman pillars, bearing, if I remember rightly, plain capitals. There is, I think, no pediment above them, or any other adjunct of architectural pretension184; but the pillars themselves, so unlike anything else there, so unlike any other sepulchral185 monument that I, at least, have seen, make the tomb very remarkable. That it was built for a tomb is, I suppose, not to be doubted; though for whose ashes it was in fact erected186 may perhaps be questioned. I am not aware that any claimant has been named as a rival to St. James.
The most conspicuous187 of these monuments is that which tradition allots188 to Absalom, close to this other which we have just described. It consists of a solid square erection, bearing what, for want of a better name, I must call a spire189, with curved sides, the sides curving inwards as they fall from the apex190 to the base. This spiral roof, too low and dumpy to be properly called a spire, is very strong, built with stones laid in circles flat on each other, the circles becoming smaller as they rise towards the top. Why Absalom should have had such a tomb, who can say? That his bones were buried there, the Jews at least believe; for Jewish fathers, as they walk by with their children, bid their boys each cast a stone there to mark their displeasure at the child who rebelled against his parent. It is now nearly full of such stones.
While Miss Waddington was arranging her toilet within the tomb of St. James, her admirers below were not making themselves agreeable to each other. "It was the awkwardest thing I ever saw," said Mr. Cruse to Mr. M'Gabbery, in a low tone, but not so low but what Bertram was intended to hear it.
"Very," said Mr. M'Gabbery. "Some men are awkward by nature;—seem, indeed, as though they were never intended for ladies' society."
"And then to do nothing but laugh at the mischief191 he had caused. That may be the way at Oxford192; but we used to flatter ourselves at Cambridge that we had more politeness."
"Cambridge!" said Bertram, turning round and speaking with the most courteous193 tone he could command. "Were you at Cambridge? I thought I had understood that you were educated at St. Bees." Mr. Cruse had been at St. Bees, but had afterwards gone to the University.
"I was a scholar at St. John's, sir," replied Mr. Cruse, with much dignity. "M'Gabbery, shall we take a stroll across the valley till the ladies are ready?" And so, having sufficiently shown their contempt for the awkward Oxonian, they moved away.
"Two very nice fellows, are they not?" said Bertram to Mr. Hunter. "It's a stroke of good fortune to fall in with such men as that at such a place as this."
"They're very well in their own way," said Mr. Hunter, who was lying on the grass, and flattering himself that he looked more Turkish than any Turk he had yet seen. "But they don't seem to me to be quite at home here in the East. Few Englishman in fact are. Cruse is always wanting boiled vegetables, and M'Gabbery can't eat without a regular knife and fork. Give me a pilau and a bit of bread, and I can make a capital dinner without anything to help me but my own fingers."
"Cruse isn't a bad kind of coach," said young Pott. "He never interferes194 with a fellow. His only fault is that he's so spoony about women."
"They're gentlemanlike men," said Sir Lionel; "very. One can't expect, you know, that every one should set the Thames on fire."
"Cruse won't do that, at any rate," put in Mr. Pott.
"But Mr. M'Gabbery perhaps may," suggested George. "At any rate, he made a little blaze just now at the brook above." And then the ladies came down, and the business of the day commenced; seeing which, the two injured ones returned to their posts.
"I am very fond of a picnic," said Sir Lionel, as, seated on a corner of a tombstone, he stretched out his glass towards Miss Todd, who had insisted on being his cupbearer for the occasion; "excessively fond. I mean the eating and drinking part, of course. There is only one thing I like better; and that is having my dinner under a roof, upon a table, and with a chair to sit on."
"Oh, you ungrateful man; after all that I am doing for you!"
"I spoke178 of picnics generally, Miss Todd. Could I always have my nectar filled to me by a goddess, I would be content with no room, but expect to recline on a cloud, and have thunderbolts ready at my right hand."
"What a beautiful Jupiter your father would make, Mr. Bertram!"
"Yes; and what a happy king of gods with such a Juno as you, Miss Todd!"
"Ha! ha! ha! oh dear, no. I pretend to no r?le higher than that of Hebe. Mr. M'Gabbery, may I thank you for a slice of ham? I declare, these tombs are very nice tables, are they not? Only, I suppose it's very improper195. Mr. Cruse, I'm so sorry that we have no potatoes; but there is salad, I know."
"Talking of chairs," said Mr. Hunter, "after all there has been no seat yet invented by man equal to a divan196, either for ease, dignity, or grace." Mr. Hunter had long been practising to sit cross-legged, and was now attempting it on on the grass for the first time in public. It had at any rate this inconvenient197 effect, that he was perfectly useless; for, when once seated, he could neither help himself nor any one else.
"The cigar divan is a very nice lounge when one has nothing better to do," suggested Mr. Pott. "They have capital coffee there."
"A divan and a sofa are much the same, I suppose," said George.
But to this Mr. Hunter demurred198, and explained at some length what were the true essential qualities of a real Turkish divan: long before he had finished, however, George had got up to get a clean plate for Miss Waddington, and in sitting down had turned his back upon the Turk. The unfortunate Turk could not revenge himself, as in his present position any motion was very difficult to him.
Picnic dinners are much the same in all parts of the world, and chickens and salad are devoured199 at Jerusalem very much in the same way as they are at other places—except, indeed, by a few such proficients200 in Turkish manners as Mr. Hunter. The little Arab children stood around them, expectant of scraps201, as I have seen children do also in England; and the conversation, which was dull enough at the commencement of the feast, became more animated202 when a few corks had flown. As the afternoon wore on, Mr. M'Gabbery became almost bellicose203 under the continual indifference204 of his lady-love; and had it not been for the better sense of our hero—such better sense may be expected from gentlemen who are successful—something very like a quarrel would have taken place absolutely in the presence of Miss Todd.
Perhaps Miss Waddington was not free from all blame in the matter. It would be unjust to accuse her of flirting206—of flirting, at least, in the objectionable sense of the word. It was not in her nature to flirt205. But it was in her nature to please herself without thinking much of the manner in which she did it, and it was in her nature also to be indifferent as to what others thought of her. Though she had never before known George Bertram, there was between them that sort of family knowledge of each other which justified207 a greater intimacy208 than between actual strangers. Then, too, he pleased her, while Mr. M'Gabbery only bored. She had not yet thought enough about the world's inhabitants to have recognized and adjudicated on the difference between those who talk pleasantly and those who do not; but she felt that she was amused by this young double-first Oxonian, and she had no idea of giving up amusement when it came in her way. Of such amusement, she had hitherto known but little. Miss Baker herself was, perhaps, rather dull. Miss Baker's friends at Littlebath were not very bright; but Caroline had never in her heart accused them of being other than amusing. It is only by knowing his contrast that we recognize a bore when we meet him. It was in this manner that she now began to ascertain209 that Mr. M'Gabbery certainly had bored her. Ascertaining210 it, she threw him off at once—perhaps without sufficient compunction.
"I'll cut that cock's comb before I have done with him," said M'Gabbery to his friend Mr. Cruse, as they rode up towards St. Stephen's gate together, the rest of the cavalcade following them. Sir Lionel had suggested to Miss Todd that they might as well return, somewhat early though it was, seeing that there was cause why that feast of reason and that flow of soul should no longer be continued by them round the yet only half-emptied hampers. So the ladies had climbed up into the tomb and there adjusted their hats, and the gentlemen had seen to the steeds; and the forks had been packed up; and when Mr. M'Gabbery made the state of his mind known to Mr. Cruse, they were on their way back to Jerusalem, close to the garden of Gethsemane.
"I'll cut that young cock's comb yet before I have done with him," repeated Mr. M'Gabbery.
Now Mr. Cruse, as being a clergyman, was of course not a fighting man. "I shouldn't take any notice of him," said he; "nor, indeed, of her either; I do not think she is worth it."
"Oh, it isn't about that," said M'Gabbery. "They were two women together, and I therefore was inclined to show them some attention. You know how those things go on. From one thing to another it has come to this, that they have depended on me for everything for the last three or four weeks."
"You haven't paid any money for them, have you?"
"Well, no; I can't exactly say that I have paid money for them. That is to say, they have paid their own bills, and I have not lent them anything. But I dare say you know that a man never travels with ladies in that free and easy way without feeling it in his pocket. One is apt to do twenty things for them which one wouldn't do for oneself; nor they for themselves if they had to pay the piper."
Now here a very useful moral may be deduced. Ladies, take care how you permit yourselves to fall into intimacies211 with unknown gentlemen on your travels. It is not pleasant to be spoken of as this man was speaking of Miss Baker and her niece. The truth was, that a more punctilious212 person in her money dealings than Miss Baker never carried a purse. She had not allowed Mr. M'Gabbery so much as to lay out on her behalf a single piastre for oranges on the road. Nor had he been their sole companion on their journey through the desert. They had come to Jerusalem with a gentleman and his wife: Mr. M'Gabbery had been kindly213 allowed to join them.
"Well, if I were you, I should show them a cold shoulder," said Mr. Cruse; "and as to that intolerable puppy, I should take no further notice of him, except by cutting him dead."
Mr. M'Gabbery at last promised to follow his friend's advice, and so Miss Todd's picnic came to an end without bloodshed.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
baker
|
|
| n.面包师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
jovial
|
|
| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
gracefully
|
|
| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
vertigo
|
|
| n.眩晕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
clergy
|
|
| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
joint
|
|
| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
piqued
|
|
| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
intensity
|
|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
desecrated
|
|
| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
proceeding
|
|
| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
allied
|
|
| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
professed
|
|
| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
fortified
|
|
| adj. 加强的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
excellence
|
|
| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
linen
|
|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
alleged
|
|
| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
bliss
|
|
| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
addicted
|
|
| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
exertions
|
|
| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
destined
|
|
| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
mien
|
|
| n.风采；态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
awed
|
|
| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
bust
|
|
| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
sculptors
|
|
| 雕刻家，雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 )； [天]玉夫座 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
subversive
|
|
| adj.颠覆性的，破坏性的；n.破坏份子，危险份子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
glossy
|
|
| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
aptitude
|
|
| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
bonnet
|
|
| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
prematurely
|
|
| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
puffed
|
|
| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
mechanism
|
|
| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
insufficient
|
|
| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
vouchsafed
|
|
| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
descend
|
|
| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
starry
|
|
| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
enticing
|
|
| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
ruby
|
|
| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
confide
|
|
| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
nostrils
|
|
| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
adventitious
|
|
| adj.偶然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
fortress
|
|
| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
courageous
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
wilfully
|
|
| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
averse
|
|
| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
trot
|
|
| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
amble
|
|
| vi.缓行，漫步 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
waddle
|
|
| vi.摇摆地走；n.摇摆的走路(样子) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
vessel
|
|
| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
marital
|
|
| adj.婚姻的，夫妻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
tyrant
|
|
| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
poetic
|
|
| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
tints
|
|
| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
tint
|
|
| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
cynical
|
|
| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
orphan
|
|
| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
guardian
|
|
| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
hampers
|
|
| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
undertaking
|
|
| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
attained
|
|
| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
sundry
|
|
| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
champagne
|
|
| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
cemetery
|
|
| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
corks
|
|
| n.脐梅衣；软木( cork的名词复数 )；软木塞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
scoffed
|
|
| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
bravado
|
|
| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
doomed
|
|
| 命定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
shuffles
|
|
| n.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的名词复数 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的第三人称单数 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
laity
|
|
| n.俗人；门外汉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
fresco
|
|
| n.壁画；vt.作壁画于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
suppliant
|
|
| adj.哀恳的；n.恳求者，哀求者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
deigns
|
|
| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
gallantly
|
|
| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
excavated
|
|
| v.挖掘( excavate的过去式和过去分词 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
hardy
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
mouldered
|
|
| v.腐朽( moulder的过去式和过去分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
iniquity
|
|
| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
descending
|
|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
skull
|
|
| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
beholding
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
behold
|
|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
desecrating
|
|
| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
cavalcade
|
|
| n.车队等的行列 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
pusillanimity
|
|
| n.无气力，胆怯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
118
dispensed
|
|
| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
caresses
|
|
| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
clench
|
|
| vt.捏紧（拳头等），咬紧（牙齿等），紧紧握住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
prophesied
|
|
| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
smirking
|
|
| v.傻笑( smirk的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
abreast
|
|
| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
yoke
|
|
| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
civilized
|
|
| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
wretches
|
|
| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
mattress
|
|
| n.床垫，床褥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
receded
|
|
| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
smitten
|
|
| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
satire
|
|
| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
quotation
|
|
| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
craftily
|
|
| 狡猾地，狡诈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
torment
|
|
| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
brook
|
|
| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
scripture
|
|
| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
interfering
|
|
| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
interfered
|
|
| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
susceptible
|
|
| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
adventurous
|
|
| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
catastrophe
|
|
| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
thereby
|
|
| adv.因此，从而 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
obedience
|
|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
eloquence
|
|
| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
horrid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
brass
|
|
| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
oasis
|
|
| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
grooms
|
|
| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
laden
|
|
| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
generic
|
|
| adj.一般的，普通的，共有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
dabbing
|
|
| 石面凿毛，灰泥抛毛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
rinsing
|
|
| n.清水，残渣v.漂洗( rinse的现在分词 )；冲洗；用清水漂洗掉（肥皂泡等）；（用清水）冲掉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
Christians
|
|
| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
followers
|
|
| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
pretence
|
|
| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
epithet
|
|
| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
comeliness
|
|
| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
specimens
|
|
| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
bosoms
|
|
| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
audacity
|
|
| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
defiant
|
|
| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
oozing
|
|
| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
outspoken
|
|
| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
allusion
|
|
| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
wares
|
|
| n. 货物, 商品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
situated
|
|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
myriads
|
|
| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
adorned
|
|
| [计]被修饰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
pretension
|
|
| n.要求；自命，自称；自负 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
sepulchral
|
|
| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
ERECTED
|
|
| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
conspicuous
|
|
| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
allots
|
|
| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
spire
|
|
| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
apex
|
|
| n.顶点，最高点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
interferes
|
|
| vi. 妨碍，冲突，干涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
improper
|
|
| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
divan
|
|
| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
inconvenient
|
|
| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
demurred
|
|
| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
devoured
|
|
| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
proficients
|
|
| 精通的，熟练的( proficient的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
201
scraps
|
|
| 油渣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
202
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
203
bellicose
|
|
| adj.好战的；好争吵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
204
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
205
flirt
|
|
| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
206
flirting
|
|
| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
207
justified
|
|
| a.正当的，有理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
208
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
209
ascertain
|
|
| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
210
ascertaining
|
|
| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
211
intimacies
|
|
| 亲密( intimacy的名词复数 )； 密切； 亲昵的言行； 性行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
212
punctilious
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，谨小慎微的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
213
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |