Ere long he goes laggingly into the ladies' saloon, as in spiritless quest of somebody; but, after some disappointed glances about him, seats himself upon a sofa with an air of melancholy11 exhaustion12 and depression.
At the sofa's further end sits a plump and pleasant person, whose aspect seems to hint that, if she have any weak point, it must be anything rather than her excellent [67] heart. From her twilight13 dress, neither dawn nor dark, apparently14 she is a widow just breaking the chrysalis of her mourning. A small gilt15 testament16 is in her hand, which she has just been reading. Half-relinquished, she holds the book in reverie, her finger inserted at the xiii. of 1st Corinthians, to which chapter possibly her attention might have recently been turned, by witnessing the scene of the monitory mute and his slate17.
The sacred page no longer meets her eye; but, as at evening, when for a time the western hills shine on though the sun be set, her thoughtful face retains its tenderness though the teacher is forgotten.
Meantime, the expression of the stranger is such as ere long to attract her glance. But no responsive one. Presently, in her somewhat inquisitive18 survey, her volume drops. It is restored. No encroaching politeness in the act, but kindness, unadorned. The eyes of the lady sparkle. Evidently, she is not now unprepossessed. Soon, bending over, in a low, sad tone, full of deference19, the stranger breathes, "Madam, pardon my freedom, but there is something in that face which strangely draws me. May I ask, are you a sister of the Church?"
"Why—really—you—"
In concern for her embarrassment20, he hastens to relieve it, but, without seeming so to do. "It is very solitary21 for a brother here," eying the showy ladies brocaded in the background, "I find none to mingle22 souls with. It may be wrong—I know it is—but I cannot force myself to be easy with the people of the world. [68] I prefer the company, however silent, of a brother or sister in good standing2. By the way, madam, may I ask if you have confidence?"
"Really, sir—why, sir—really—I—"
"Could you put confidence in me for instance?"
"Really, sir—as much—I mean, as one may wisely put in a—a—stranger, an entire stranger, I had almost said," rejoined the lady, hardly yet at ease in her affability, drawing aside a little in body, while at the same time her heart might have been drawn23 as far the other way. A natural struggle between charity and prudence24.
"Entire stranger!" with a sigh. "Ah, who would be a stranger? In vain, I wander; no one will have confidence in me."
"You interest me," said the good lady, in mild surprise. "Can I any way befriend you?"
"No one can befriend me, who has not confidence."
"But I—I have—at least to that degree—I mean that——"
"Nay25, nay, you have none—none at all. Pardon, I see it. No confidence. Fool, fond fool that I am to seek it!"
"You are unjust, sir," rejoins the good lady with heightened interest; "but it may be that something untoward26 in your experiences has unduly27 biased28 you. Not that I would cast reflections. Believe me, I—yes, yes—I may say—that—that——"
"That you have confidence? Prove it. Let me have twenty dollars." [69]
"Twenty dollars!"
"There, I told you, madam, you had no confidence."
The lady was, in an extraordinary way, touched. She sat in a sort of restless torment29, knowing not which way to turn. She began twenty different sentences, and left off at the first syllable30 of each. At last, in desperation, she hurried out, "Tell me, sir, for what you want the twenty dollars?"
"And did I not——" then glancing at her half-mourning, "for the widow and the fatherless. I am traveling agent of the Widow and Orphan31 Asylum32, recently founded among the Seminoles."
"And why did you not tell me your object before?" As not a little relieved. "Poor souls—Indians, too—those cruelly-used Indians. Here, here; how could I hesitate. I am so sorry it is no more."
"Grieve not for that, madam," rising and folding up the bank-notes. "This is an inconsiderable sum, I admit, but," taking out his pencil and book, "though I here but register the amount, there is another register, where is set down the motive33. Good-bye; you have confidence. Yea, you can say to me as the apostle said to the Corinthians, 'I rejoice that I have confidence in you in all things.'"
点击收听单词发音
1 enthusiast | |
n.热心人,热衷者 | |
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2 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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3 elation | |
n.兴高采烈,洋洋得意 | |
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4 sanity | |
n.心智健全,神智正常,判断正确 | |
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5 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
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6 bracing | |
adj.令人振奋的 | |
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7 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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8 quiescent | |
adj.静止的,不活动的,寂静的 | |
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9 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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10 demureness | |
n.demure(拘谨的,端庄的)的变形 | |
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11 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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12 exhaustion | |
n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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13 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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14 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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15 gilt | |
adj.镀金的;n.金边证券 | |
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16 testament | |
n.遗嘱;证明 | |
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17 slate | |
n.板岩,石板,石片,石板色,候选人名单;adj.暗蓝灰色的,含板岩的;vt.用石板覆盖,痛打,提名,预订 | |
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18 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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19 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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20 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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21 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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22 mingle | |
vt.使混合,使相混;vi.混合起来;相交往 | |
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23 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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24 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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25 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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26 untoward | |
adj.不利的,不幸的,困难重重的 | |
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27 unduly | |
adv.过度地,不适当地 | |
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28 biased | |
a.有偏见的 | |
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29 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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30 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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31 orphan | |
n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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32 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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33 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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