A circumstance occurred one afternoon, which led him to imagine that this prospect was nearer realisation than he could have believed it to be. A stranger, of a spare form and extremely atrabilious complexion12, was seen to ride into the town at a gentle pace, and to go directly up to the principal house of entertainment for travellers, as if the way to it had been familiar to him. He had not been long housed there, when a waiter came across the street to Mr. Ross, with compliments “from the gentleman at the inn,” who requested a few minutes’ conversation with him. The eager shopkeeper, anticipating some important sale of his goods, waited not to doff14 his apron15 and sleeves, but hurried over the way directly, and, what was his astonishment16 [258]and delight, when, after a few words of inquiry17 and explanation had passed between them, he found himself weeping tears of joy in the arms of an affectionate elder brother.
This man had left his father’s house when very young, with little else but hope for his portion, and after being so lost sight of by his relations, that they had long believed him to be dead, he now most unexpectedly returned to them from India with an ample fortune. Wonderful were the visions of wealth which now arose in the mind of the poor shopkeeper, and, on his warm invitation, his brother, and his brother’s saddle-bags, were quickly transferred from the inn to his small and inconvenient19 house, and the Indian was speedily subjected to the danger of being smothered20 in the embraces of his sister-in-law and her numerous progeny21.
Narrow as was his apartment, and small as was his bed, the nabob felt himself in elysium in his brother’s house. He had never before experienced the genial22 effects of the warmth of kindred blood. He was idolised by every one of the family, and imminent24 was the risk he ran of being killed with kindness. Nor was he the great object of attention to his immediate25 relations alone. He soon became the oracle26 of a large circle of kind friends and neighbours, who were seen crowding Mr. Ross’s small back parlour, which many of them had never before condescended27 to enter. And not only was the Indian feasted by small and great, but his humble29 brother and his sister-in-law were also invited to parties by people who had hardly before been aware of the fact that such an individual as Mr. Ross, the grocer and hardwareman, existed in the place. But now Mr. Ross was not only discovered, as it were, but he was discovered to be a very sensible man, having much of his brother, the nabob’s sound intellect, though wanting the advantages of cultivation30. As to the nabob, he was a rara avis in terris,—an absolute ph?nix, a creature a specimen31 of which is not to be met with in every age of the world. What the nabob uttered was considered as law; and even when he was absent, “the nabob said this,” and “the nabob said that,” and “that’s the way the nabob likes it,” were expressions continually employed by the good people of the town and neighbourhood to put an end to a debate; and they never [259]failed to be quite conclusive32 upon every question. All this had a certain charm for the old Indian. It was extremely pleasant thus despotically to rule over men’s opinions, aye, and over women’s too, even in such a place as Tain. But the copper33 of the gilded34 crown and sceptre of his dominion35 soon began to appear through its thin coating. His own origin had indeed been humble, but as his wealth had grown by degrees, so had he been gradually elevated above his original sphere, till he had at last risen into familiar intercourse36 with people of rank and consequence, from whose society his address, and still more, his ideas had received a certain degree of polish. This did not prevent him from greatly enjoying the plain, honest, warm, but very vulgar manners of his brother and his townsmen, whilst they were as yet new to him. They pleased him at first, precisely38 on the same principle of novelty, combined with old association, which made him relish39 for a certain time sheep’s-head broth18 and haggis. But having unfortunately expressed himself rather strongly in his admiration40 of these dishes, the good folks thought themselves bound to give them to him upon all occasions, so that they soon began to lose their charm; and just so it was that the uninterrupted converse41 with the good, yet homely42 people around him, to which he was daily subjected, very soon became dull, tiresome43, ennuyant, and, finally, disgusting, until it eventually grew to be so very intolerable that he altogether abandoned the thought he had entertained of purchasing an estate in that neighbourhood which was then for sale, and he quickly came to the determination of bringing this visit to his native town to a speedy conclusion, and of returning to London to take up his abode44 there among people who like himself had known what it was to live on curries45 and mulligatawny, and who could talk with him of tiffins and tiger hunting.
How shall I describe that wet blanket of disappointment that fell upon the shoulders of Mr. Ross, the grocer and hardwareman, and his family, when the nabob communicated to them this change in his plans. All the poor shopkeeper’s splendid visions departed from him with the same suddenness with which the figures from a magic lantern disappear from a wall the moment its light is extinguished. He had already set it down in his own mind as a thing absolutely certain, that his beloved brother would [260]live and die in his house; and he and his wife had been calculating, that as every child they had would be as a child to its bachelor uncle, every child of them would be better provided for than another. Ten thousand cobwebby castles had been erected47 in the air by this worthy48 couple, who had already made lairds of all the boys, and lairds’ ladies at least of all the girls. “Out of sight out of mind” was a proverb that came with chilling truth to their hearts; and although the nabob had already shown much affection to them, and had behaved generously enough in giving liberal aid towards the improvement of his brother’s condition and that of his family, yet they could not help considering his threatened separation from them as the removal of the sunshine of fortune from the hemisphere of their fate. Never was the anticipated departure of any one more deeply or sincerely deplored49. The nabob himself had no such feelings. He looked forward to his escape from his relatives and friends as to a period of happy relief. Yet to this there was one exception.
Chirsty Ross, as his niece Christina was provincially50 called, was then a very beautiful and extremely engaging little girl of some five or six years of age. From the first day that the old Indian took up his residence in her father’s house, she had innocently and unconsciously commenced her approaches against the citadel52 of his heart. Each succeeding hour saw her gain outpost after outpost, and defence after defence, until she fairly entwined herself so firmly around his affections, that he could not contemplate53 the approaching loss of her smiles, of her kisses, and of her prattle54, with anything like philosophy. He had been naturally enough led to shower a double portion of his favours upon her. She was already in the habit of calling him “her own uncle,” as if he had belonged exclusively and entirely55 to herself, and to this she had been a good deal encouraged by the nabob. It is not wonderful, therefore, that when his departure was communicated to her, she was thrown into an inconsolable paroxysm of grief, and clung to his knees, giving loud vent37 to her plaints, and sobbing56 as if her little heart would have burst.
“Take me with you! take me with you, my own dear uncle! oh, take your own Chirsty with you!” cried she.
“I shall take you with me, my little dear!” exclaimed the nabob, snatching her up, and kissing her. “I shall [261]take you with me, provided your father and mother will but part with you.”
A negotiation57 was speedily entered into. The parents were too sensible of the great advantages which such a proposal opened for their child to think for one moment of throwing any obstacle in the way of its fulfilment. They, moreover, hoped that this arrangement might have the desirable effect of keeping up a connecting tie between them and their rich relative. However much they might have been disappointed in this last respect, they certainly never had any reason to accuse the nabob of any forgetfulness of those promises which he made to them at parting.
He was no sooner established in his house in town than he set about providing proper instructors58 for Chirsty, and a very few weeks proved to him that his care was by no means thrown away. The child’s perception was quick, and her desire to learn was strong, so that things which were difficult to others were, comparatively speaking, easy to her. So rapid was her progress, that her uncle became every day more and more interested in it; and as she advanced, he was from time to time led to engage firstrate masters, in order to perfect her in all manner of solid acquirements and elegant accomplishments59. With all this her person became every day more graceful60 as she grew in stature61; and everything she said and did was seasoned with so much sweetness of manner, that she gained the hearts of all who had the good fortune to meet with her.
Not a little proud of what he had so good a right to call his own work, the nabob, on her fifteenth birthday, put the master-keys of his house with great but affectionate ceremonial into her hands, and with them he gave her the entire control and management of his household affairs. But she did not long continue to enjoy the distinguished62 situation in which he had thus placed her. Too close an application to the numerous branches of education she occupied herself with soon brought upon her that delicacy63 of health which is too often the produce of the similar over-confinement64 of young growing girls in our own days. A very alarming cough came on, her strength visibly declined daily, and her spirits began to sink. She was compelled to give up all her favourite pursuits. Books and music lost their charms for her, and her hours were spent in list-less idleness, not unfrequently broken in upon by nervous [262]fits of crying, which she could by no means account for. Then it was that in her moody65 dreamings her mind would revert66 to the innocent pleasures of her childhood, to the simple, the rustic67, yet highly relished68 happiness she had enjoyed whilst surrounded by her brothers and sisters, when they wandered about the furzy hillocks in a joyous69 knot, inhaling70 the perfume of the rich yellow blossoms,—when they dug little caves in the sandy banks, or built their mimic71 houses, or planted their perishable72 gardens, with careless hearts, noisy tongues, and laughing eyes. The thought that she might never again behold73 them or her dear parents renewed her tears, and she pined more and more.
Her affectionate uncle became alarmed at this rapid and melancholy74 change. So far as gold could purchase the aid of the best medical skill he commanded its attendance. But even the most learned of the London physicians could discover no medicine to remove her malady75. In their own minds they despaired of her, but as usually happens in such cases, to cover the deficiency of their art, they recommended her native air as the dernier ressort. Chirsty eagerly caught at this last remaining hope, so congenial to the current of her feelings at the time, and her uncle was thus obliged to yield to necessity; and as certain matters in which he had engaged rendered it quite impossible for him to take charge of her himself, he was obliged to resign her to the care of her maid.
The doctors were right for once. Every breeze that blew on her from her native land as she proceeded on her journey seemed to be fraught76 with health; her spirits rose, and long before she reached the place of her birth, she was so far recovered as to remove all fears of any serious termination of her complaint. How did her mind go on as she travelled, sketching77 to itself ideal pictures of the charms of home! But alas78! how changed did every person and everything seem to her when she at last reached it. How pitiful did the provincial51 town appear to her London eyes! The streets seemed to have shrunk in, and the very houses and gardens to have dwindled79; and when she reached her paternal80 mansion81, she blushed to think how very grievously the fondness of her ancient recollections had deceived her.
The full tide of unrestrained affection which burst forth82 [263]the moment she was within its walls was so gratifying to her heart, that for some time every other feeling or thought was absorbed by it; but many weeks did not pass over her head until the conversation and manners of her parents and family, which had startled her even at the first interview, began to obtrude83 themselves on her notice in spite of all she could do to shut her eyes against them, until they finally became intolerably disagreeable to her. She soon discovered,—and a certain degree of sorrow and self-reproach accompanied the discovery,—that the refined education which she had received had rendered it quite impossible that she could long endure the mortifications to which she was daily and hourly exposed by her vulgar though affectionate and well-meaning relatives. Painful as the thought was for many reasons, she became convinced of the necessity of an early separation; and, accordingly, she made her uncle’s wish for her speedy return to him an apology for fixing an early day for her departure. Yet do not suppose from this that the ties of affection were not strong within her. The parting scene was not gone through without many tears and lingering embraces, that sufficiently85 proved the triumph of nature in her mind over the arbitrary dictates87 of fashion. And after she was gone, the large richly bound folio bible, out of which her father ever afterwards read on Sundays,—the gold-mounted spectacles which enabled him so well to decipher its characters, and of which he was at all times so justly vain,—the cashmere shawl that kept her good mother so warm, and the caps, the bonnets89, the gowns, the globes, and the books of prints, with which her grown-up sisters and brothers were so much delighted, and the dolls and humming-tops of which the junior members of the family, down to the very youngest, were so proud as having been the gifts of “the grand leddy from Lunnon,” for sister they dared hardly to call her, were not the only marks of her affection that she left behind her. Besides these keepsakes there were other presents of a more solid nature bestowed in secret, which, whilst they contributed to enable her father to hold his head higher as he walked up the causeway of the main street of Tain, compelled Chirsty herself to exercise a very strict economy in providing for those wants which her own style of life rendered essential to her, large as was the sum which she had received from the bounty90 of her uncle. [264]
Passing through Edinburgh on her way to London, she was visited and kindly91 invited by a lady of fashion who had known her in the metropolis92, and she soon found herself deeply engaged in gaiety. Perhaps she did not enter into it the less readily that she had so recently returned from what might have been well enough called her life of mortification84 at Tain. Having once got into the vortex, she found it difficult to extricate93 herself from it, and this difficulty was not lessened94 by the admiration which her beauty and accomplishments so universally excited both in public and in private. She became the chief object of interest, and she was so caressed95 and courted by every one, that it was not very surprising if the adoration96 that was paid to her did in some degree affect so young a head. However this might be, three things were very certain,—in the first place, that she had been extremely regular in writing to her uncle during her stay at Tain; secondly97, that before leaving that place she had heard from her uncle, who had warmly expressed his anxiety for her return to him; and thirdly, that whereas she had intended to stay in Edinburgh for two or three days only, she was led on from day to day by this ball and the other party to remain, till nearly a whole winter had melted away like its own snows, during all which time she had likewise procrastinated98, and, consequently, had entirely omitted the duty of writing to her uncle.
The day of thought and of self-disapproval came at length, and bitter were her reflections. She resolved at least to do all in her power to repair her fault. She sat down immediately and wrote a long letter to her uncle, in which she scrupled99 not to blame herself to the fullest extent for her want of thought and apparent negligence100 towards so kind a friend and benefactor101, and she declared her repentance102 and her intention of returning to him immediately.
Having accordingly reached London very soon after her letter, she was driven to her uncle’s well-known door. Her impatience103 to behold him was such, that she could hardly rest in the chaise till the postilion dismounted to knock for her admittance. How intense were her emotions during that brief space! How eagerly did her eyes run over every window in the ample front of the house! How rapidly did the images of her uncle, and of Alexander Tod, [265]his old and faithful servant, dance through her imagination whilst she gazed intently on the yet unopened door, prepared to catch the first smile of surprise and of welcome which she knew would illuminate104 the honest countenance105 of that tried domestic, the moment he should discover who it was that summoned him. As she looked she was surprised to perceive that the door itself had strangely changed the modest and unpretending hue106 which it had worn when she last saw it for a queer uncouth107 flaring108 colour, somewhat between a pink and an orange. Before she had time to wonder at this metamorphosis the door did open, and if its opening did produce any surprise it was her own; for, instead of discovering the plain but respectable figure of Alexander Tod, whom she had been long taught to consider more as an old friend than as a menial, she beheld109 a saucy110 fopling, bepowdered, underbred footman, in a gaudy111 vulgar looking livery. The man stared when she asked for her uncle, and seemed but half inclined to consent to the hall being encumbered112 with her baggage, and, after having shown her with unconcealed petulance113 into a little back parlour, she had the mortification, through the door which he had carelessly left ajar behind him, to hear herself thus announced,—
“A young person in the back parlour who wishes to speak to you, sar.”
And, chagrined114 as she was by this provoking delay, she could not help laughing, as she threw herself into a sofa to wait for her uncle’s appearance. He came at last, and his joy at again beholding115 her was great and unfeigned.
“Welcome again to my house, my dear Chirsty,” said he, with tears of joy, after his first warm and silent embraces were over; “Oh! why did you cease to write to me? But I need say no more, for what is done cannot be undone116; yet, if you had but written to me, things might have been otherwise.”
“I ought indeed to have written to you, my dear uncle,” replied Chirsty; “but much as I have deserved your anger, things cannot be but well with me, whilst I am thus affectionately and kindly received by you.”
Her uncle replied not; but, with his eyes thrown on the ground, and with an air of solemnity which she had never seen him wear before, he led her upstairs to the large drawing-room, where she found seated a middle-aged118 and [266]rather good-looking woman, with an expression of countenance by no means very prepossessing, and whose person was tawdry and very much overdressed. What was her astonishment, and what was the shock she felt, when her uncle led her up to this lady, saying,—
“Mrs. Ross, this is my niece, of whom you have heard me speak so much; and Chirsty, my dear, you will henceforth know and treat this lady as my wife and your aunt.”
However little sensible people may think of those newborn and baseless dreams which have been recently blown up into something falsely resembling a science by the folly119 and vanity of man, and which I for one yet hope, for the honour of human intellect, to see burst and collapse120 ere I die, it must be admitted, that all are more or less Lavaterists; and that even the youngest of us will involuntarily exercise some such scrutiny121 on the features of a countenance, when we happen to be placed in such circumstances as Chirsty Ross now found herself thrown into. She, poor girl, failed not to bring all the little knowledge of this sort which she possessed122 into immediate requisition. The result of her investigations123 were most unfavourable to the subject of them, nor were these disagreeable impressions at all diminished by the profusion125 of protestations of kindness and affection which the lady lavished126 upon her with a vulgar volubility, whilst at the same time she seemed to eye the young intruder in a manner that augured127 but little for her future happiness. But although Chirsty perceived all this, she inwardly determined128 to doubt the correctness of her own observation,—at all events, sorrowfully as she retired129 to rest, or rather to moisten her pillow with her tears, she failed not to arm herself with the virtuous130 resolution, that as this woman, be she what she might, was the wife of her uncle, who had acted as a father to her, she would use her best endeavours to gain her affection, seeing that she was now bound to regard her as a parent. But yet she did not close her eyes, without having almost unconsciously exclaimed,
“What could have induced my uncle, with such tastes as he has, to marry such a person as this? Ah! if I had not fooled away my time in Edinburgh! or if I had only but written!”
Next morning she met her uncle alone in the library, and a single sentence of his explained the whole. [267]
“What could have induced you to forget to write to me, Chirsty?” said the good man, kissing her tenderly, whilst his eyes betrayed a sensation which he vainly tried to hide. “We were so happy here alone together! But I have been a fool, Chirsty! Blinded by momentary131 pique132, I saw not the slough133 of despond into which I was plunging134 until too late! But she is not a bad woman, though not quite what I was at first led to believe her to be; and so, all we can now say is, that she is your aunt and my wife, and we are both bound to make the best of it.”
Chirsty assured her uncle that nothing should be wanting on her part towards her aunt; and she kept her word, for, neglecting all other things, she devoted135 herself entirely to the task of pleasing her. For some little while her pious136 endeavours seemed to have succeeded; but it happened that Chirsty, unambitious as she was to shine, so far eclipsed her aunt in every attraction that makes woman charming, that without intending it, or rather whilst intending the very reverse, she monopolised all the attention of those with whom they associated either at home or abroad. Compared to her Mrs. Ross was treated like a piece of furniture,—any table or cabinet in the room had more attention paid to it. She could not shut her eyes to her own inferiority, and envy, hatred137, and malice138 took full possession of her. Chirsty’s efforts to please, though they had ceased to be successful, were still unremitting; but her uninterrupted gentleness was met by perpetual peevishness139 and ill humour, always excepting such times as her uncle chanced to be present, when the lady’s words and manner were ever bland140, kind, and false. With such devilish tempers it often happens that the more they torture the more they hate, and so it was that the dislike of this woman towards her niece rapidly grew to so great a height, that she resolved to get her removed from the house.
Fondly believing that she had a stronger hold over her husband’s affections than she really possessed, she first of all attempted to undermine her in her uncle’s good opinion by sly insinuations against her truth, her temper, and what she called the girl’s pretended love for him, which she declared was in reality no greater than her attention to her own self-interest required. But finding that this line of attack only excited his anger, she with great art gradually [268]withdrew from it, and by slow degrees she began to confess that she now believed she had been altogether mistaken in her estimation of Chirsty, and every succeeding day heard her bestow more and more praise on her temper and disposition141. This was a language that was much more congenial to the nabob, but he was not altogether the dupe of it. He however listened with seeming attention to his wife when she prosed on about the zeal142 she felt for her niece’s interest, as well as when, after a long prologue143, she finally proposed the grand scheme of sending Chirsty out to India to the care of a particular friend of the nabob’s at Calcutta, that she might there make some wealthy match, so as to secure her a magnificent independence for life. Plainly as Mr. Ross saw through the motives144 that dictated145 all this apparent solicitude146, he took care to appear to think it quite genuine. Nor did he refuse to entertain the project; for as he began shrewdly to suspect that his niece could now have but little happiness under the same roof with his wife, he resolved at least to put it in Chirsty’s power to accept or reject this proposal. He accordingly sought for a private interview with her, and then it was that her tears, and her half confessions147 with difficulty extracted, satisfied him of the correctness of his suspicions, and the readiness with which she acceded148 to the plan which he laid before her at once determined him as to the propriety149 of going immediately into it. He therefore lost not a moment in securing everything that might contribute to her comfort and happiness during the voyage, and he presented her with a letter of credit for a sum of money amply sufficient to put her above all anxiety as to that matter on reaching the shores of the Ganges.
These substantial marks of her uncle’s affection towards her, supported as they were by a thousand little nameless kindnesses, did not tend to allay150 the grief which she felt at parting with him. The reflection that she went because she felt convinced that her uncle’s future domestic comfort required her absence, was all that she had to give her courage to bear it, and she was so much absorbed in this conviction, that she hardly gave much thought to the consideration of what her own future fate might be.
The gallant151 ship had gone merrily on its voyage for several days before Chirsty began to mix at all with her fellow-passengers. But when she first came upon deck, it [269]was like the appearance of the morning sun over the eastern horizon of some country where he is worshipped. All eyes were instantly bent152 upon her; and ere the people had been familiarised to her beauty, the elegance153 of her manners, and the charms of her conversation, soon made her the great centre of attraction to all who walked the quarter-deck. Above all others, she seemed to have made a deep and powerful impression on the commander, whom I shall call Captain Mordaunt, a very elegant and agreeable man, of superior intellect and information. He soon showed himself indefatigable154 in his attentions to her. His command of the ship gave him a thousand opportunities of manifesting a marked degree of politeness towards her, by doing her many little courteous155 services which no one else had the power to perform. He easily invented means of keeping all other aspirants156 to her favour at a sufficient distance from her. Her heart was as yet her own; and as Mordaunt never lost any opportunity of engaging her in conversation, and as his talk was always well worth listening to, it was no wonder that so many unequivocal proofs of an attachment157 on the part of so handsome a man, in the prime of life, and of address so superior, should have soon prepared the way for her favourable124 reception of his declared passion; and this having once been made, and mutually acknowledged, it seemed to grow in warmth as the days fled merrily away, and as the progress of the prosperous bark carried them nearer and nearer to that sun which gives life and heat to all animated159 nature. Often did Mordaunt gladden the artless mind of Chirsty Ross as they sat apart together on the poop of the vessel160, towards the conclusion of their voyage, in the full enjoyment6 of the fanning sea-breeze, by the enchanting161 pictures which he painted of the happiness of their future wedded162 life.
“I have already realised a tolerable fortune,” said he, one evening carelessly, “so that by the time I return to Calcutta from my trip to China, whither you know the vessel is bound, I may safely claim your hand, in order that we may sail home together as man and wife. You can have no dread163 of spending our honeymoon164 on the wide waters, my love, since they have yielded us so happy a courtship, especially when you think that we shall be on our way to some sweet rural residence in England, where we shall be insured the enjoyment of tranquillity165 [270]and happiness for the rest of our days. And there, with what I have saved, added to the liberal allowance which your rich uncle will give you during his life, and with the certainty which you have of succeeding to his immense fortune at his death, we shall be able to live in a style altogether worthy of that exquisite166 beauty, and that angelic soul, with which Heaven has blessed you, and of those fascinating manners and brilliant accomplishments, which are calculated to make you the queen of any society you may be pleased to grace with your presence.”
“Stay, stay, Mordaunt!” replied Chirsty, smiling playfully. “You are running too fast before the wind. I need not tell you what you have so often told me, that I am prepared to be thine on the wide ocean, in the populous167 city, or in the lonely desert, in sickness or in health, in wealth or in poverty! And well is it, indeed, that you have so often vowed168 all this much to me, for I must needs disabuse169 your mind of some part of its visions of riches, so far at least as that share may have reached which your fancy has ascribed to me. I have neither claims nor expectations from my uncle, who has already done more for me than any niece in my circumstances had a right to expect.”
“Haul taut170 that weather main-brace!” cried the captain, suddenly starting from her side; and although there appeared to be little change in the wind or the weather to warrant such activity, he became from that moment too much occupied in the care of the ship for any further conversation with Chirsty that evening.
In the morning the lovers met as usual, and then, as well as during the few remaining days of the voyage, Mordaunt was as full of affection and endearment171 to her as ever. Their last private interview took place ere she left the ship to go into the small craft that was to take her up the river, and then all their mutual158 vows172 were solemnly repeated. An understanding took place between them, that their engagement should be kept private, unless circumstances should arise which might render a disclosure necessary. Poor Chirsty gave way to all the poignancy174 of that grief which she felt at being thus obliged to part, even for a few months, from him to whom, in the then orphan175 state of her soul, she had given up the whole strength of her undivided affections. But hard as [271]she found the effort to be, she was obliged to dry up her tears, and even to throw a faint and fleeting176 smile over her countenance as she left the ship, that she might not betray her own secret before indifferent persons; and it was only that warm and cherishing hope that lay nearest to her heart that kept the pulses of her life playing, and that enabled her to go through the trying scene of parting coolly with her lover, after he had deposited her under the roof of her uncle’s friend, where they bid each other such a polite adieu as might have befitted two well-bred people who were separating with mutual esteem177 for one another, and who were, at the same time, very little solicitous178 as to whether there did or did not exist any future chance of their ever meeting again.
Mr. Gardner, as I shall call the gentleman to whose protection the nabob had consigned179 Chirsty, well deserved the confidence which had been placed in him. He spoke180 warmly of the many obligations under which he lay to Mr. Ross, and he declared himself to be delighted in having the opportunity which had thus been afforded him of proving his gratitude181 for those obligations. His lady entered deeply into all her husband’s feelings, and both of them zealously182 occupied themselves in doing all in their power to promote the young lady’s comfort and happiness. Numerous and brilliant were the parties which they made for the purpose of introducing their lovely protegé with sufficient eclat183 to the society of Calcutta. But not even the novelty and grandeur184 of Eastern magnificence, though produced for her with all its splendour, had any effect in removing that pensive185 air which their young friend wore when she landed, and which she continued to wear notwithstanding all the smiling new faces to which she was every moment introduced. One very natural result, however, was soon produced by these numerous public appearances which the kindness of her friends obliged her to make. She was immediately encircled by crowds of admirers; and before she had been many months in the country she had been put to the unpleasant necessity of declining proposals of marriage from numerous military men and civilians186 of rank so high as to make those with whom she lived wonder at the indifference187 she displayed. The more she was courted the more retiring she appeared to become. [272]
Among the few who were admitted to a somewhat more familiar intercourse with Chirsty, was a Scottish gentleman of good family, whom I shall call Charles Gr?me. Though young, he had risen to a high civil situation, and he had already realised a very handsome fortune. He was a gentleman of enlarged mind and extremely liberal education; and as he was of manners much more retiring than most of those with whom she had become acquainted, she the more readily yielded to that intimacy188 which his greater friendship with her host and hostess gave him very frequent opportunities of forming with her. Like herself he was full of accomplishments; yet such was his modesty189, that she had known him for a considerable time before accident led her to discover them. His mind was richly stored with the treasures of European literature; yet it was only on particular occasions that he allowed himself to give forth the sweets he had hoarded190 up, or to indulge in those critical remarks to which every one was prepared to listen with delight. As he became better known to her, and more at his ease with her, she discovered that his tastes, his acquirements, his sentiments, nay191, his very soul, were all so much in harmony with her own, that she soon began to prefer his society to that of any other gentleman who approached her. Had her heart been unengaged, she might perhaps have had some degree of palpitation in its pulses, as she sensibly felt their friendship becoming every day more and more familiar; but, as the partridge believes that when its head is in the bush the whole of its body is secure, so she, knowing her own safety, owing to that secret cause which bound her to another, never dreamed that the accomplished192 Scotchman could be in any danger of feeling for her any sentiment one degree warmer than that of esteem. Thus it was, that with perfect unconsciousness on her part of the havoc193 she was working in his heart, she read with him, criticised with him, played with him, sang with him, or sketched194 with him, as the fancy of the moment might dictate86, her heart being all the while filled with gratitude to him for so good-naturedly enabling her to pass, with at least some degree of rational enjoyment, some of those tedious hours that must yet elapse ere the return of him to whom she had pledged her virgin195 affections. [273]
As for Charles Gr?me, he soon began to find that he existed only when his soul was animated by her bright eyes and her seraphic voice. When absent from their influence he felt like a walking mass of frozen clay. Her society became more necessary to him than food or air. He almost lived at the house of the Gardners, who, on their part, gave him every encouragement, being secretly pleased at what they believed to be the mutual attachment that was so rapidly growing, as they thought, between two individuals whom they had reason to love so much, and whom they knew to be so worthy of each other, and so well calculated to make each other happy for life. Day after day the infatuated young man drank deeper and deeper draughts196 of the sweet intoxication197 of love. At last the hour of wretchedness came. Seizing what he fondly believed to be a favourable moment, and with a bosom198 full of bounding hopes, he laid open the state of his heart to the idol23 of his soul. The scales fell, as if by magic, from her mental vision.
“What have I done, Mr. Gr?me,” she cried, whilst her cheeks were suffused199 with blushes, and her whole frame trembled. “I have been blind! I have been thoughtless, most culpably200 thoughtless. Forgive me! oh, forgive me! but I cannot, I dare not, love you! I am already the pledged bride of another.”
It would be vain for me to attempt to describe the kind of temporary death that fell upon her unfortunate lover as she uttered these terrible words, which, like the simoom of the desert, left no atom of hope behind them. Sinking into a chair, he uttered no sound, and he sat for some time quite unconscious even of those attentions which her compassion201 for him at the moment led her unscrupulously to administer to him. The friendship and the high respect which she entertained for him, as well as a regard for her own justification202 in his eyes, forbade her to allow him to leave her without a full explanation. It was given to him under the seal of secrecy203, and the interview terminated with an agony of feeling and floods of tears upon his part, in which her compassion for that affliction which she had so innocently occasioned him compelled her, in spite of herself, to participate.
The young Scotchman tried for some time after this, to frequent the house where she lived as he had done [274]previously. But her smiles fell upon him like sunshine upon a spectre. Reason and prudence204 at last came to his aid; and seeing that his heart could never hope for ease whilst he remained within reach of her attractions, he, to the great astonishment and disappointment of his friends, made use of the powerful interest which he possessed to procure205 another situation in a distant station, and he tore himself away from Calcutta.
And now came the time of misery206 to poor Chirsty herself, the season of hope deferred207, of nervous impatience, and of sad forebodings. The period for which her fond heart panted in secret arrived—it passed away. Days, nay, weeks and months beyond it elapsed; and yet no tidings came of the gallant vessel that bore her betrothed208 husband. Delicately alive to the apprehension209 of betraying her secret by inquiry, she did not dare to ask questions. Fears, agonising fears, began to possess her, that some fatal calamity210 had befallen the ship, till, happening accidentally one day to cast her eyes over an old shipping211 list, she read, and her sight grew dim as she read, of its arrival from China, and its subsequent departure for England! How indestructible is hope! Even then she imagined it possible that all this might have been the result of accident, or might have arisen from the orders of superiors. But still her anxiety preyed212 terribly upon her mind, whilst she now looked forward to the new period of the ship’s return from England. In vain did she try to occupy herself in her former pursuits. In vain did her friends endeavour to interest her with the amusements they provided for her. All were equally fruitless in their efforts; and the only explanation which the Gardners could find for her mysterious abstraction, was in the belief that the remembrance of Charles Gr?me was not altogether indifferent to her; and thence they cherished the hope that the matter between that young man and her might yet one day end as they wished it to do.
Months rolled on as if the days of which they were composed had been years, till Chirsty was one evening, with some difficulty, induced by her friends to go to a great public entertainment. She entered the room, leaning on Mrs. Gardner’s arm; and they were on their way to find a seat at the upper end of it, when her eyes suddenly beheld him for whose return she had been so long vainly [275]sighing. Her heart beat as if it would have burst from its seat in her bosom. She clung unconsciously with a firmer hold to the arm of her friend, and her limbs tottered213 under her with nervous joy as she moved forward. He was advancing slowly with a lady; and as he drew near, she held out her hand to him with a smile of happy and welcome recognition. He started at sight of her; and then, after scanning every feature of her countenance with calm indifference, he bowed coldly, turned aside, and moved away. Chirsty uttered a faint cry, swooned away, and was carried home by her friends in a state of insensibility, leaving the whole room in confusion.
Sufficient natural and ordinary reasons were very easily found by a company in such a climate as that of India for such an accident. But Mrs. Gardner had seen enough to convince her that some deeper and more powerful cause had operated upon Chirsty, than the mere88 heat of weather or the crowded state of a room; and after she had successfully used the necessary means for recovering her from her fainting fit, she insisted on being allowed to share confidentially214 in the secret of her afflictions. Chirsty felt some slight relief in telling her all; and strange it was that she still clung most unaccountably to hope. He might not have recognised her at first. He would yet appear. But Mrs. Gardner’s common sense told her there was no hope; and she judged that it would be far better that Chirsty should receive conviction, however cruel that conviction might be, rather than remain in an anxiety which was so agonising and destructive. A very little time enabled Mrs. Gardner to collect all the particulars of his treachery. To sum up all in one word, he had arrived at Calcutta from England with a rich wife, with whom he had already sailed on his last voyage home.
This overwhelming intelligence was too much for the shattered frame of poor Chirsty Ross. She was attacked by a most alarming fever, which finally produced delirium215; and even after the physicians had been able to master the bodily disease, the mental derangement216 continued so long, unabated, that her friends the Gardners considered it proper to write home to inform her uncle of her unhappy state.
It pleased God, however, to restore her at length to her right mind; and then it was that she was seized with an [276]unconquerable desire of returning to England. The most that the Gardners could prevail upon her to agree to, was to delay her voyage to a period so far distant as might insure that fresh letters should reach her uncle, to inform him of her perfect mental recovery, and to teach him to look for her arrival by a certain ship they named; and after impatiently waiting till the time destined217 for her departure arrived, she bade her kind friends the Gardners an affectionate farewell, and sailed with a fair wind for Britain.
Who was it that arrived a week afterwards at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Gardner in the middle of the night, having come by Dawk from a far distant province? It was the shadow of Charles Gr?me!
“Thank God! thank God!” cried he energetically, after being told of her recovery, and at the same time bursting into a flood of tears, which weakness and fatigue218 left him no power to restrain. “Thank God for her restoration! But oh! that I had reached Calcutta but eight days sooner!”
He took his determination, applied219 for leave, to which the state of his health might of itself well enough have entitled him, and went for England by the very first fleet that sailed.
Chirsty Ross had a prosperous, but not a happy voyage. Her bodily health improved every day that she was at sea; but her thoughts having full time to brood over her miseries220, her spirits became more and more sunk. She rallied a little when she beheld the English shore; and when she arrived in the river, her heart began to beat with affectionate joy at the prospect of again embracing her dear uncle. Even the image of her aunt had had its asperities221 softened222 down by length of time and absence; and she almost felt something resembling pleasure at the prospect of seeing her again. As the vessel arrived in the evening at her moorings, a boat came alongside, and a voice was heard to demand if there was a Miss Ross on board? Readily did Chirsty answer to the inquiry; and being told that it was her uncle’s servant come to take her home, she lost not a moment in desiring her black maid to hand up a small box, containing a few things to be put into the boat; and leaving the girl to follow next day with her heavy baggage, she quickly descended28 the ladder. She was immediately accosted223 by a stout224, vulgar-looking man [277]out of livery, who announced himself to her as Mr. Ross’s servant, and informed her that a carriage waited for her near the landing-place. She did accordingly find a post-chaise there; but when the door of it was opened, and the steps were let down, she started back on perceiving that there was a man seated at the farther side of it.
“Only a friend of Mr. Ross, ma’am, whom he has sent to attend you home,” said the fellow who held the handle of the carriage-door.
Surprised as she was at the vulgarity of the dress and appearance of the gentleman who was inside, and still more at his want of politeness in not coming out of the carriage to hand her into it, her heart was too full of home at the moment to admit of her inquiring very particularly into circumstances, and accordingly, without more ado, she entered the vehicle. But whilst she was yet only in the act of seating herself, the fellow who had passed himself as her uncle’s servant, sprang in after her, pulled up the steps, shut the door, the side blinds were drawn225 up, and the post-chaise was instantly flying at the rate of twelve or fourteen miles an hour. She screamed aloud, but the ruffian hands of both the villains226 were immediately on her mouth and silence was inculcated with the most horrible and blasphemous227 menaces.
“We must have none of your Indian fury here, mistress,” said one of the fellows. “Behave peaceably and quietly, and you shall be treated gently enough, but if you offer to rave13 and riot, the whip, the gag, and the strait-waistcoat shall be your portion.”
“Merciful Providence228!” said Chirsty Ross, “why am I thus treated, and whither would you carry me?”
“As to your treatment, young lady,” said the man, “methinks you have no right to complain of that as yet; and as to the why, I should be as mad as yourself were I to hold any talk with you about that; and, then, as to the whither, you have been already told that you are going to your uncle’s residence.”
“Mad!” exclaimed Chirsty, with a shudder229 that ran through her whole frame. “But, ah! I see how it is. Mr. Gardner’s letters have been received by my uncle, and not those which I wrote to him sometime afterwards. And yet how did he know to expect me in England, and by this particular ship, too, if my letters have not yet [278]reached him? It is very puzzling—very perplexing—very distressing230; but since I am going to him, I may thank God that all will soon be put to rights.”
“Aye, aye,” said both the men at once, whilst they laughed rudely to one another, “all will soon be put to rights, I’ll warrant me.”
Chirsty sat silently dreaming over this strange and most vexatious occurrence, yet hoping that her misery would be but of short duration, till the chaise suddenly stopped, when one of the men let down the window, and called to the postilion to ring the great bell at a gate, which he had no sooner done than the peal231 was answered by the fierce barking of a watch-dog.
“What place is this?” cried Chirsty, with new-born alarm. “This is not the house of my Uncle Ross.”
“You will see that all in good time, ma’am,” replied one of the men. “Postboy, ring again. What are they all about, I wonder?”
At this second summons the huge nail-studded leaves of the ponderous232 oak and iron-bound gate were slowly rolled back, and the chaise was admitted into a large paved court, where the lights that were borne by one or two men of similar appearance to those who accompanied her, showed the plain front of a pretty considerable brick building, the narrow windows of which were strongly barred with iron. The door, too, was of the most massive strength, and the whole character of the edifice233 would of itself have conveyed to her the heart-sinking conviction that she was within the precincts of a mad-house, even if those strange sounds of uncouth laughter, wild rage, and wailing234 despair that came from various parts of the interior, had been altogether unheard by her. Rapidly did her thoughts traverse her mind. The first natural impulse that possessed her was a desire to scream out for help. But Chirsty was not destitute235 of resolution and self-command; and as she immediately reflected that nothing but the calmest behaviour could afford her any chance of convincing the people of such an establishment that she in reality was sane236, she at once resolved to restrain herself from everything that might look like excitement.
“Where is Sarah?” cried one of the men as he assisted Chirsty out of the vehicle. “Aye, aye, here she comes. Here is your charge, Sall.” [279]
“A tall, handsome young woman,” said Sarah, surveying Chirsty from head to foot, whilst she herself exhibited a person in every respect the reverse of that which she was admiring, being almost a dwarf237, though with a body thickly and strongly built. Her head was large, with harsh prominent features, and her legs were bowed, and her arms long and uncouth looking. Round her waist, if waist that might be called where waist there was none, there was fastened a leathern belt, to which was appended a large bunch of great keys. In the eyes of Chirsty she was altogether a most formidable looking object.
“A tall handsome young woman,” said she. “In what sort of temper is she, I wonder?”
“She was a little bit riotous238 at first,” said one of the men, “but she has been quiet enough ever since.”
“Come this way, young lady,” said Sarah to Chirsty, in a rough tone and sharp voice, and at the same time she stretched out her long arm, and grasped her wrist with her bony fingers, whilst with the other hand she held up an iron lamp, the light of which she threw before her.
“Treat me not harshly,” said Chirsty gently. “I am ready to obey you. I am quite aware that, from the strange mistake that has occurred, it would be vain for me to attempt to convince you at present of my sanity239. I must patiently submit, therefore, to whatever restraint you may impose on me, until my uncle comes to see me, and convince himself. But do not, I pray you, exercise any unnecessary severity.”
“No, no, poor thing,” replied Sarah. “No, no; no severity, that is not quite necessary, I promise you. As to your uncle—ha! ha! ha!—no doubt you may chance to see un ere you leave this. Come this way.”
Whilst this dialogue was passing, Chirsty was led by her strange conductress through some long passages, in which were several rectangular turnings, past many strongly secured doors, from within which issued strange discordant240 sounds of human misery, mingled241 with the clanking of chains; and up one or two flights of stairs, which induced her to believe that the apartment to which she was about to be introduced was in the upper story, and in a wing of the building. The door was like those she had seen in her way thither242, of immense strength, and it was secured by a powerful lock, a couple of heavy bolts, [280]and a huge chain and padlock. It was the last door of the narrow passage, which terminated about a yard beyond it in a dead wall. The little woman pushed Chirsty past it into the cul-de-sac which the passage thus formed, and then quitting her arm, she planted the fixed243 gaze of her formidable eye upon her, and placing the lamp on the ground, she selected the necessary keys, and using both hands she exerted her strength to undo117 the lock and padlock, and then drawing the bolts and removing the chain, she opened the den46 within. Beckoning244 to her charge with an air of command not to be misunderstood, she pushed Chirsty into the place, and then standing173 in the aperture245 of the half-closed door for a minute or more, with her right hand on the key, she threw in the light of the lamp so as fully9 to show the whole interior. It was indeed a wretched place. A low narrow bedstead, with bedclothes of the coarsest and meanest description, was the whole of its furniture, and that occupied more than a fourth part of the space contained within its four brick and stone walls. The floor was of flags,—it had no fireplace, and one small narrow iron-grated window was all the visible perforation that could admit light or air.
“May I not be allowed to have the few things which came in my travelling-box?” said Chirsty mildly, after having seated herself on the side of the bed.
“We shall consider of that, young lady,” said Sarah sternly. “But in the meanwhile, to satisfy my mind that you may be safely left for a little time, you must suffer me to put those lily-white hands of yours into this glove,” and setting the lamp on the floor, she drew from her ample pocket a leathern bag, into which Chirsty patiently submitted to have both her hands thrust together, after which they were secured by a strap246 in such a manner as to leave them entirely useless.
“Let me see now that you have got nothing dangerous about you,” said Sarah; and after searching her all over, and removing from her a pocket-book containing such small instruments as women generally use, together with one or two other articles, and not forgetting her purse, which she secreted247 carefully in her own bosom, she added, “I shall be back with you in the twinkling of an eye, for you must have food ere you go to rest; meanwhile, the quieter you are the better it will be for you,” and with [281]these words she lifted the lamp and retired with it, locking and bolting the door with the utmost care.
It is needless for me to speculate as to what were Chirsty’s thoughts, left as she was in the dark, as she listened to the retreating steps of her keeper until a stillness reigned248 around her that was only interrupted at times by the distant baying of the watch-dog in the court-yard, or by some of those melancholy demonstrations249 of madness that came every now and then upon her ear, of different degrees of intensity250, as they chanced to be modified by circumstances. Notwithstanding all the resolution which she had summoned to her support, she shuddered251 to think of the vexatious confinement to which she might be exposed ere her fond uncle might be able to gather courage enough to come to visit her in the melancholy state of mind in which he probably believed her to be. Whilst she was ruminating252 on such matters, she heard the returning footsteps of Sarah.
“Here is some food for you,” said her keeper, after opening the door and entering cautiously, “and, see, I have brought your night-clothes. I promised to use no needless severity; and if you continue to behave, you shall have no reason to complain of me. Let me help you to eat your supper, for this night you must be contented7 with simple bread and milk.” And the first meal that poor Chirsty eat after returning to her native Britain, was doled253 out to her by spoonfuls from a porringer by the long fingers of her dwarfish254 keeper, who after making down her bed, assisted her into it, and then left her for the night.
And a strange night it was to her. Fatigue brought sleep upon her it is true, but there was no refreshment255 in it, for it was full of wild visions, and she started from time to time, and awaked to have her mind brought back to the full conviction of her distressing situation by the maniac256 laughter or howlings that broke at intervals257 upon the stillness around her. The only support she had in circumstances so trying was derived258 from religious meditations259 and aspirations260, together with the hope which never forsook261 her, that her affectionate uncle might next day visit and relieve her.
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1
enumerated
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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trumpery
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| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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7
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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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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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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12
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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13
rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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14
doff
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| v.脱，丢弃，废除 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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18
broth
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| n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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progeny
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| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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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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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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41
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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42
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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43
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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44
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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45
curries
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| n.咖喱食品( curry的名词复数 ) | |
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46
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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47
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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48
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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49
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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50
provincially
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| adv.外省地，地方地 | |
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51
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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52
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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53
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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54
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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55
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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56
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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57
negotiation
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| n.谈判，协商 | |
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58
instructors
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| 指导者，教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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59
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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60
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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61
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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62
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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63
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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64
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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65
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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66
revert
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| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
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67
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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68
relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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69
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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70
inhaling
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| v.吸入( inhale的现在分词 ) | |
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71
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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72
perishable
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| adj.（尤指食物）易腐的，易坏的 | |
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73
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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74
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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75
malady
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|
| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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76
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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77
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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78
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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79
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
paternal
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|
| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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81
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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82
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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83
obtrude
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| v.闯入；侵入；打扰 | |
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84
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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85
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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86
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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87
dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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88
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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89
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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90
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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91
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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92
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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93
extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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94
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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95
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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97
secondly
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|
| adv.第二，其次 | |
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98
procrastinated
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|
| 拖延，耽搁( procrastinate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
scrupled
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| v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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101
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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102
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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103
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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104
illuminate
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|
| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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105
countenance
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|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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106
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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107
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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108
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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109
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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110
saucy
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|
| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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111
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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112
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
petulance
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| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
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114
chagrined
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|
| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
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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116
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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117
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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118
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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119
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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120
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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121
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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122
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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123
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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124
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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125
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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126
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
augured
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| v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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128
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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129
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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130
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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131
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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132
pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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133
slough
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| v.蜕皮，脱落，抛弃 | |
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134
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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135
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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136
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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137
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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138
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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139
peevishness
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| 脾气不好；爱发牢骚 | |
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140
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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141
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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142
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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143
prologue
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| n.开场白，序言；开端，序幕 | |
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144
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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145
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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146
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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147
confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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148
acceded
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|
| v.（正式）加入( accede的过去式和过去分词 )；答应；（通过财产的添附而）增加；开始任职 | |
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149
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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150
allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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151
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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152
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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153
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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154
indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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155
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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156
aspirants
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| n.有志向或渴望获得…的人( aspirant的名词复数 )v.渴望的，有抱负的，追求名誉或地位的( aspirant的第三人称单数 )；有志向或渴望获得…的人 | |
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157
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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158
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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159
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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160
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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161
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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162
wedded
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|
| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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163
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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164
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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165
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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166
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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167
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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168
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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169
disabuse
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| v.解惑；矫正 | |
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170
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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171
endearment
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| n.表示亲爱的行为 | |
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172
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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173
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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174
poignancy
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| n.辛酸事，尖锐 | |
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175
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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176
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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177
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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178
solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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179
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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180
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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181
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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182
zealously
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| adv.热心地；热情地；积极地；狂热地 | |
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183
eclat
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| n.显赫之成功，荣誉 | |
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184
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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185
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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186
civilians
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| 平民，百姓( civilian的名词复数 )； 老百姓 | |
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187
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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188
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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189
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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190
hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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191
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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192
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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193
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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194
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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195
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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196
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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197
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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198
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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199
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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200
culpably
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| adv.该罚地，可恶地 | |
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201
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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202
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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203
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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204
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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205
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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206
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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207
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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208
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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209
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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210
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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211
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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212
preyed
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| v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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213
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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214
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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215
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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216
derangement
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| n.精神错乱 | |
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217
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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218
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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219
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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220
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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221
asperities
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| n.粗暴( asperity的名词复数 )；（表面的）粗糙；（环境的）艰苦；严寒的天气 | |
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222
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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223
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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225
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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226
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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227
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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228
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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229
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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230
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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231
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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232
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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233
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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234
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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235
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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236
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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237
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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238
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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239
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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240
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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241
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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242
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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243
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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244
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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245
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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246
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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247
secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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248
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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249
demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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250
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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251
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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252
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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253
doled
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| 救济物( dole的过去式和过去分词 )； 失业救济金 | |
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254
dwarfish
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| a.像侏儒的，矮小的 | |
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255
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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256
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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257
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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258
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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259
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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260
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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261
forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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