My thoughts, like birds, who frighted from their rest,
Around the place where all was hushed before,
Flutter, and hardly settle any more.”—Otway.
Lord Mortimer, distressed3 by the indisposition of Amanda, hastened, at an earlier hour than usual (for his morning visits), to Portman Square, and was ushered6 into Lady Euphrasia’s dressing-room, where she and Miss Malcolm, who had continued with her the preceding night, were sitting tete-??-tete at breakfast. His lordship was a welcome visitor, but it was soon obvious on whose account he had made his appearance, for scarcely were the usual compliments over, ere he inquired about Miss Fitzalan.
Lady Euphrasia said she was still unwell, and had not yet left her apartment. “She has not recovered her surprise of last night,” exclaimed Miss Malcolm, with a malicious7 smile. “What surprise?” asked his lordship. “Dear me,” replied Miss Malcolm, “was not your lordship present at the time she met Colonel Belgrave?” “No,” said Lord Mortimer, changing color, “I was not present. But what has Colonel Belgrave to say to Miss Fitzalan?” asked he, in an agitated8 voice. “That is a question your lordship must put to the young lady herself,” answered Miss Malcolm. “Now, I declare,” cried Lady Euphrasia, addressing her friend, “’tis very probable her illness did not proceed from seeing Colonel Belgrave—you know she never mentioned being acquainted with him, though her father was his tenant9 in Devonshire.”
Lady Euphrasia mentioned their intention of going that evening to the play, and invited him to be of the party. He accepted her invitation, and retired11.
His visible distress4 was a source of infinite mirth to the young ladies, which they indulged the moment he quitted the room. The circumstance relative to Belgrave, the marchioness had informed them of, as she and Lady Greystock were near Amanda when she met him.
Lord Mortimer was unhappy. The mind which has once harbored suspicion will, from the most trivial circumstance, be[Pg 250] tempted12 again to give admission to the unpleasing guest—nor was it a trivial circumstance which discomposed the too susceptible13 heart of Mortimer. The sudden illness of Amanda, her extraordinary agitation14, her eagerness to quit the room, the close, though silent attendance of Belgrave—all these, I say, when recalled to recollection, gave an air of probability to Miss Malcolm’s insinuation, that her disorder15 was occasioned by seeing him. From residing more constantly in England than Sir Charles Bingley had done, he had had more opportunities of learning Belgrave’s real character, which he knew to be that of a professed16 libertine17. It was strange, he thought, that when Amanda informed him she once resided in Devonshire, she should conceal18 her father being the colonel’s tenant. He began to think her reluctance19 to a clandestine20 and immediate21 marriage might have proceeded from some secret attachment22, and not from the strict adherence23 to filial duty, which had exalted24 her so much in his opinion.
Yet the idea was scarcely formed, ere he endeavored to suppress it. He started, as if from an uneasy dream, and wondered how he could have conceived this, or any other idea, injurious to Amanda. He felt a degree of remorse25 at having allowed her, for a moment, to be lessened26 in his opinion—her tenderness, her purity, he said to himself, could not be feigned27; no, she was a treasure greater than he deserved to possess; nor would he, like a wayward son of error, fling away the happiness he had so long desired to obtain.
The calm this resolution produced was but transient. Doubts had been raised, and doubt could not be banished28; he was inclined to think them unjust, yet had not power to dispel29 them. Vainly he applied30 to the ideas which had heretofore been such consolatory31 resources of comfort to him—namely, that his father would consent to his union with Amanda, through the interference of his aunt, and the felicity he should enjoy in that union. An unusual heaviness clung to his heart, which, like a gloomy sky, cast a shade of sadness over every prospect32. Thoughtful and pensive33 he reached home, just as Sir Charles Bingley was entering the door, who informed him he had just received a note from Lord Cherbury, desiring his immediate presence.
Lord Mortimer attended him to the earl, who acquainted him, that he had received a letter from Mr. Fitzalan, in which he expressed a warm sense of the honor Sir Charles did his family, by addressing Miss Fitzalan; and that to have her united to a character so truly estimable, would give him the[Pg 251] truest happiness, from the conviction that hers would be secured by such a union. “He has written to his daughter expressing his sentiments,” continued Lord Cherbury. “I have therefore no doubt, Sir Charles, but that everything will succeed as you wish.” “I am sorry, my lord,” cried Sir Charles, with an agitated voice, and a cheek flushed with emotion, “that I ever troubled your lordship in this affair, as I have now, and forever, relinquished34 all ideas of a union with Miss Fitzalan.” "The resolution is really somewhat extraordinary and sudden,” replied the earl, “after the conversation which so lately passed between us.” “Adopted, however, my lord, from a thorough conviction that happiness could never be attained36 in a union with that young lady.” Sir Charles’s tenderness for Amanda was still undiminished; he wished to preserve her from censure37, and thus proceeded: “Your lordship must allow I could have little chance of happiness in allying myself to a woman who has resolutely38 and uniformly treated me with indifference39. Passion blinded my reason when I addressed your lordship relative to Miss Fitzalan; but its mists are now dispersed40, and sober reflection obliges me to relinquish35 a scheme, whose accomplishment41 could not possibly give me satisfaction.” “You are certainly the best judge of your own actions, Sir Charles,” replied the earl. “My acting42 in the affair proceeded from a wish to serve you, as well as from my friendship for Captain Fitzalan. I must suppose your conduct will never disparage43 your own honor, or cast a slight upon Miss Fitzalan.” “That, my lord, you may be assured of,” said Sir Charles, with some warmth; “my actions and their motives44 have hitherto, and will ever, I trust, bear the strictest investigation46. I cannot retire without thanking your lordship for the interest you took in my favor. Had things succeeded as I then hoped and expected, I cannot deny but I should have been much happier than I am at present.” He then bowed and retired.
Lord Mortimer had listened with astonishment47 to Sir Charles’s relinquishment48 of Amanda. Like his father, he thought it a sudden and extraordinary resolution. He was before jealous of Amanda’s love; he was now jealous of her honor. The agitation of Sir Charles seemed to imply even a cause more powerful than her coldness for resigning her. He recollected49 that the baronet and the colonel were intimate friends. Distracted by apprehensions50, he rushed out of the house, and overtook Sir Charles ere he had quitted the square.
“Why, Bingley,” cried he, with affected51 gayety, “I thought you too valiant52 a knight53 to be easily overcome by despair; and[Pg 252] that without first trying every effort to win her favor, you never would give up a fair lady you had set your heart on.” “I leave such efforts for your lordship,” replied Sir Charles, “or those who have equal patience.” “But seriously, Bingley, I think this sudden resignation of Miss Fitzalan somewhat strange. Why, last night I could have sworn you were as much attached to her as ever. From Lord Cherbury’s friendship for Captain Fitzalan, I think her, in some degree, under his protection and mine. And as the particularity of your attention attracted observation, I think your abruptly withdrawing them requires explanation.” “As Lord Cherbury was the person I applied to relative to Miss Fitzalan,” exclaimed Sir Charles, “and as he was satisfied with the motive45 I assigned for my conduct, be assured, my lord, I shall never give another to you.” “Your words,” retorted Lord Mortimer, with warmth, “imply that there was another motive for your conduct than the one you avowed54. What horrid55 inference may not be drawn56 from such an insinuation? Oh! Sir Charles! reputation is a fragile flower, which the slightest breath may injure.” “My lord, if Miss Fitzalan’s reputation is never injured but by my means, it will ever continue unsullied.”
“I cannot, indeed,” resumed Lord Mortimer, “style myself her guardian57, but I consider myself her friend: and from the feelings of friendship, shall ever evince my interest in her welfare, and resent any conduct which can possibly render her an object of censure to any being.” “Allow me to ask your lordship one question,” cried Sir Charles, “and promise, on your honor, to answer it.” “I do promise,” said Lord Mortimer. “Then, my lord, did you ever really wish I should succeeded with Miss Fitzalan?”
Lord Mortimer colored. “You expect, Sir Charles, I shall answer you on my honor? Then, really, I never did.” “Your passions and mine,” continued Sir Charles, “are impetuous. We had better check them in time, lest they lead us to lengths we may hereafter repent58 of. Of Miss Fitzalan’s fame, be assured, no man can be more tenacious59 than I should. I love her with the truest ardor60. Her acceptance of my proposals would have given me felicity. My suddenly withdrawing them can never injure her, when I declare my motive for so doing was her indifference. Lord Cherbury is satisfied with the reason I have assigned for resigning her. He is conscious that no man of sensibility could experience happiness with a woman in whose heart he had no interest. This, I suppose, your lordship will also allow.” “Certainly,” replied Lord Mortimer.[Pg 253] “Then, it strikes me, my lord, that it is your conduct, not mine, which has a tendency to injure Miss Fitzalan. That it is your words, not mine, which convey an insinuation against her. You really appear as if conscious some other cause existed, which would have made me relinquish her, without the one I have already assigned for doing so.”
Lord Mortimer was instantly convicted of the justice of what Sir Charles said. He began to fear his warmth would really prove prejudicial to Amanda, betray the doubts that had obtruded61 on his mind, and communicate them to those who might not be equally influenced by tenderness and delicacy62 to conceal them.
“You are right, Sir Charles,” said he, “in what you have said; passion, like a bad advocate, hurts the cause in which it is engaged. From my knowledge of your character, I should have been convinced your honor would have prevented any improper64 conduct. You are going to Ireland. Permit me, Sir Charles, to offer you my best wishes for your future happiness.”
Sir Charles took Lord Mortimer’s extended hand. He respected and esteemed65 his lordship, and a mutual67 interchange of good wishes took place between them, as this was the last interview they expected for a long time.
The indisposition of Amanda was more of the mental than the bodily kind, and on the first intimation of a party to the play she agreed to join it, in hopes the amusement would remove her dejection. Her father’s letter, relative to Sir Charles Bingley, had given her some uneasiness; but as he left her free to act, she contented68 herself with using the negative he allowed her, by a solemn resolution of never acting contrary to his inclinations69, and answered his letter to this purpose.
Lord Mortimer and Freelove attended the ladies in the evening to the play. His lordship found an opportunity of tenderly inquiring after Amanda’s health. When they were seated in the house he perceived a lady in another box to whom he wished to speak, and accordingly left his party. This lady offered him a seat by herself, which he accepted. She was a stranger to Amanda, young and extremely beautiful. Amanda, however, had none of that foolish weakness which could make her dread71 a rival in every new face, or feel uneasiness at Lord Mortimer’s attention to any woman but herself. Assured that his affections for her were founded on the basis of esteem66, and that she should retain them while worthy72 of[Pg 254] esteem, she could, without being discomposed by the agreeable conversation he appeared to be enjoying, fix her attention on the stage; so entirely73, indeed, that she observed not from time to time, the glances Lord Mortimer directed towards her. Not so his fair companion. She noticed the wanderings of his eyes, and her own involuntarily pursued their course. She was speaking at the moment, but suddenly stopped, and Lord Mortimer saw her change color. He turned pale himself, and in a faltering74 voice, asked her, “if she knew the lady she had been long looking at?” “Know her?” replied she; “oh, heavens! but too well.”
Lord Mortimer trembled universally, and was compelled to have recourse to his handkerchief to hide his emotion.
It was by Adela, the lovely and neglected wife of Belgrave, he was sitting. She had been a short time in London, and her acquaintance with Lord Mortimer commenced at a ball, where she had danced with him. He was not one of those kind of men who, when in love, had neither eyes nor ears but for the object of that love. He could see perfections in other women besides his Amanda, and was particularly pleased with Mrs. Belgrave. He instantly perceived that she knew Amanda; also, that that knowledge was attended with pain. The well-known profligacy75 of her husband intruded76 on his memory, and he shuddered77 at the dreadful thoughts which arose in his mind.
Curiosity had directed the eyes of Adela to Amanda, but admiration78, and an idea of having somewhere seen her face, riveted79 them upon her; at last the picture Oscar Fitzalan had shown occurred to her recollection, and she was immediately convinced it was no other than the original of that picture she now saw. Shocked at the sight of a person who, as she thought had stepped (though innocently) between her and felicity, and distressed by the emotions which past scenes, thus recalled, gave rise to, she entreated80 Lord Mortimer to conduct her from the box, that she might return home.
He complied with her request, but stopped in the lobby, and entreated her to tell him “where she had known the lady she had so attentively81 regarded.” Adela blushed, and would, if possible, have evaded82 the question; but the earnestness of his lordship’s manner compelled her to answer it. She said “she had no personal knowledge of the lady, but recollected her face, from having seen her picture with a gentleman.” “And who was the gentleman?” asked Lord Mortimer, with a forced smile and a faltering voice. “That,” replied Adela,[Pg 255] with involuntary quickness, “I will not tell.” “I should apologize, indeed,” cried Lord Mortimer, recollecting83 himself, “for a curiosity which may appear impertinent.” He led her to a chair, and deliberated whether he should not follow her example in quitting the house.
Miss Malcolm had first made him uneasy: uneasiness introduced doubts which Sir Charles Bingley had increased, and Mrs. Belgrave almost confirmed. He dreaded84 a horrid confirmation85 of his fears; the picture, like Othello’s handkerchief, was a source of unspeakable anguish86. The agitation that Mrs. Belgrave had betrayed on mentioning it, joined to her concealment87 of the gentleman she had seen it with, tempted him to believe he was no other than her husband.
Yet, that he might not be accused of yielding rashly to jealousy88, he resolved to confine his suspicions, like his pangs89, to his own bosom90, except assured they were well founded. A little time he supposed, would determine the opinion he should form of Amanda. If he found she encouraged Belgrave, he resolved to leave her without any explanation; if, on the contrary, he saw that she avoided him, he meant to mention the circumstance of the picture to her, yet so as not to hurt her feelings, and be regulated by her answer relative to his future conduct. He returned, at last, to the box, and procured92 a seat behind her. He had not occupied it long ere Colonel Belgrave (who, from a retired part of the house where he sat with some female friends, had observed Amanda) entered the next box, and made his way to the pillar against which she leaned. He endeavored to catch her eyes, but the noise he made on entering put her on her guard, and she instantly averted93 her face. Her embarrassment94 was visible to her party, and they all, Lord Mortimer excepted, enjoyed it. Scarcely could he refrain from chastising95 the audacity96 of Belgrave’s looks, who continued to gaze on Amanda, though he could not see her face. Nothing but the discovery which such a step would produce could have prevented his lordship, in his irritable97 state of mind, from chastising what he deemed the height of insolence98.
At last the hour came for relieving Amanda from a situation extremely painful to her. As Lord Mortimer sat next the marchioness, he was compelled to offer her his hand. Freelove led Lady Euphrasia; Lady Greystock and Miss Malcolm followed her, and Amanda was the last who quitted the box. A crowd in the lobby impeded99 their progress. Amanda was close behind the marchioness, when Belgrave forced his way to her,[Pg 256] and attempted to take her hand at the very moment Lord Mortimer turned to look at her, who heard him say, “Dear, though unkind, Amanda, why this cruel change in your conduct?”
The eyes of Mortimer flashed fire. “Miss Fitzalan,” said he, in a voice trembling through passion, “if you will accept my arm, I will make way for you, or at least secure you from impertinence.” Amanda, though trembling and confounded by his looks, hesitated not to accept his offer. Belgrave knew his words alluded100 to him. At present, however, he resolved not to resent them, convinced, that if he did, his views on Amanda would be defeated. From that moment her beauty was not more powerful in stimulating101 his designs than his desire of revenge on Lord Mortimer. He saw he was fondly attached to Amanda, and he believed his proud heart would feel no event so afflictive102 as that which should deprive him of her.
Lord Mortimer handed Amanda in silence to the carriage; he was pressed to return to supper, but refused. The ladies found the marquis and Lord Cherbury together. Amanda retired to her chamber103 immediately after supper; the presence of Belgrave had increased the dejection which she hoped the amusements of the theatre would have dissipated; she now indeed longed for the period when she should be entitled to the protection of Lord Mortimer; when she should no longer dread the audacity or stratagems104 of Belgrave. Lord Cherbury, on her retiring, expressed his regret at her coldness to Sir Charles Bingley, by which she had lost a most honorable and advantageous105 attachment.
This was an opportunity not to be neglected by the marchioness, for commencing her operations against Fitzalan. A glance to Lady Greystock was the signal to begin.
“To those,” said Lady Greystock, “who are ignorant of Miss Fitzalan’s real motives for refusing Sir Charles, it must appear, no doubt, extraordinary; but ambitious people are not easily satisfied; indeed, I cannot blame her so much for entertaining aspiring106 notions as those who instilled107 them into her mind.”
Lord Cherbury stared, and requested an explanation of her words.
“Why, I declare, my lord,” cried she, “I do not know but that it will be more friendly to explain than conceal my meaning. When once informed of the young lady’s views, your lordship may be able to convince her of that fallacy, and prevail on her not to lose another good opportunity of settling herself in consequence of them; in short, my lord, Miss Fitzalan,[Pg 257] prompted by her father, has cast her eyes on Lord Mortimer. Presuming on your friendship, he thought a union between them might easily be accomplished108. I do not believe Lord Mortimer, at first, gave any encouragement to their designs; but when the girl was continually thrown in his way, it was impossible not to notice her at last. I really expressed a thorough disapprobation to her coming to London, knowing their motives for desiring the excursion, but her father never ceased persecuting110 me till I consented to take her under my protection.” “Upon my word,” cried the marquis, who was not of the ladies’ privy111 council, though if he had it is probable he would not have objected to their schemes, “Captain Fitzalan must have had some such motive as this Lady Greystock has mentioned for sending his daughter to London, or else he would not have been so ridiculous as to put himself at the expense of fitting her out for company she has no right to enter.” “I never thought,” exclaimed Lord Cherbury, whose mind was irritated to the most violent degree of resentment112 against his injured friend, “that Captain Fitzalan could have acted with such duplicity. He knew the views I entertained for my son, and there is a mean treachery in his attempting to counteract113 them.” “Nay, my lord,” said Lady Greystock, “you are a father yourself, and must make allowances for the anxiety of a parent to establish a child.” “No, madam,” he replied; “I can make no allowance for a deviation114 from integrity, or for a sacrifice of honor and gratitude115 at the shrine116 of interest. The subject has discomposed me, and I must beg to be excused for abruptly retiring; nothing, indeed, I believe, can wound one so severely117 as deceit, where one reposed118 implicit119 confidence.”
The ladies were enraptured120 at the success of their scheme. The passion of Lord Cherbury could scarcely be smothered121 in their presence. On the head of Fitzalan they knew it would burst with full violence. They did not mention Belgrave; relative to him they resolved to affect profound ignorance.
The passions of Lord Cherbury were impetuous. He had, as I have already hinted, secret motives for desiring a connection between his family and the marquis’s ; and the idea of that desire being defeated drove him almost to distraction122. He knew his son’s passions, though not so easily irritated as his own were, when once irritated, equally violent. To remonstrate123 with him concerning Miss Fitzalan, he believed, would be unavailing; he therefore resolved, if possible, to have her removed out of his way ere he apprised124 him of the discovery[Pg 258] he had made of his attachment. He entertained not a doubt of Lady Greystock’s veracity125; from his general knowledge of mankind, he believed self the predominant consideration in every breast. His feelings were too violent not to seek an immediate vent63, and ere he went to bed, he wrote a bitter and reproachful letter to Fitzalan, which concluded with an entreaty126, or rather a command, to send without delay for his daughter. A dreadful stroke this for poor Fitzalan.
“After all his wanderings round this world of care
And all his griefs,”
He hoped he had at last found a spot where his latter days might close in tranquillity127.
The innocent Amanda was received the next morning with smiles by those who were preparing a plot for her destruction.
Whilst at breakfast, a servant informed Lady Greystock a young woman wanted to speak to her. “Who is she?” asked her ladyship; “did she not send up her name?” “No, my lady; but she said she had particular business with your ladyship.”
The marchioness directed she might be shown up; and a girl about seventeen was accordingly ushered into the room. Her figure was delicate, and her face interesting not only from its innocence128, but the strong expression of melancholy129 diffused130 over it. She appeared trembling with confusion and timidity, and the poverty of her apparel implied the source of her dejection.
“So, child,” said Lady Greystock, after surveying her from head to foot, “I am told you have business with me.” “Yes, madam,” replied she, in an accent so low as scarcely to be heard; “my father, Captain Rushbrook, desired me to deliver a letter to your ladyship.”
She presented it, and endeavored to screen herself from the scrutinizing131 and contemptuous glances of Lady Euphrasia by pulling her hat over her face.
“I wonder, child,” said Lady Greystock, as she opened the letter, “what your father can write to me about. I don’t suppose it can be about the affair he mentioned the other day. Why, really,” continued she, after she had perused132 it, “I believe he takes me for a fool. I am astonished, after his insolent133 conduct, how he can possibly have the assurance to make application to me for relief. No, no, child, he neglected the opportunity he had of securing me his friend. ’Twould really be a sin to give him the power of bringing up his family in idleness.[Pg 259] No, no, child, he must learn you and the other little dainty misses he has, to do something for yourselves.”
The poor girl blushed; a tear trembled in her eye; she tried to suppress it, but it forced its way, and dropped into her bosom. Amanda, inexpressibly shocked, could support the scene no longer. She retired precipitately134, and descended135 to the parlor136. Sympathy, as well as compassion137, made her feel for this daughter of affliction, for she herself knew what it was to feel the “insolence of prosperity, the proud man’s scorn, and all those ills which patient merit of the unworthy takes.”
In a few minutes Miss Rushbrook quitted the drawing-room, and stopped in the hall to wipe away her tears. Amanda had been watching for her, and now appeared. She started, and was hurrying away, when Amanda caught her hand, and leading her softly into the parlor, endeavored, with angelic sweetness, to calm her emotion. Surprised at this unexpected attention, and overcome by her feelings, the poor girl sunk on her chair, and dropping her head on Amanda’s bosom, wet it with a shower of tears, as she exclaimed: “Alas! my unfortunate parents, how can I return to behold138 your misery139? The grave is the only refuge for you and your wretched children!” “You must not encourage such desponding thoughts,” said Amanda. “Providence, all bounteous140 and all powerful, is able in a short time to change the gloomiest scene into one of brightness. Tell me,” she continued, after a pause, “where do you reside?” “At Kensington.” “Kensington!” repeated Amanda. “Surely, in your present situation, you are unable to take such a walk.” “I must attempt it, however,” replied Miss Rushbrook.
Amanda walked from her to the window, revolving141 a scheme which had just darted142 into her mind, “If you know any house,” said she, “where you could stay for a short time, I would call on you in a carriage, and leave you at home.”
This offer was truly pleasing to the poor weak trembling girl, but she modestly declined it, from the fear of giving trouble. Amanda besought143 her not to waste time in such unnecessary scruples144, but to give her the desired information. She accordingly informed her there was a haberdasher’s in Bond Street, mentioning the name, where she could stay till called for.
This point settled, Amanda, fearful of being surprised, conducted her softly to the hall-door, and immediately returned to the drawing-room, where she found Lady Euphrasia just beginning Rushbrook’s letter, for her mother’s amusement. Its style evidently denoted the painful conflicts there were between pride and distress, ere the former could be sufficiently[Pg 260] subdued145, to allow an application for relief to the person who occasioned the latter. The sight of a tender and beloved wife, languishing146 in the arms of sickness, and surrounded by a family, under the pressure of the severest want, had forced him to a step, which, on his own account, no necessity could have compelled him to take. He and his family, he said, had drank of the cup of misery to the very dregs. He waived147 the claims of justice; he only asserted those of humanity, in his present application to her ladyship; and these, he flattered himself, she would allow. He had sent a young petitioner148 in his behalf, whose tearful eye, whose faded cheek, were sad evidences of the misery he described.
The marchioness declared she was astonished at his insolence in making such an application, and Lady Euphrasia protested the letter was the most ridiculous stuff she had ever read.
Amanda, in this, as well as in many other instances, differed from her ladyship; but her opinion, like a little project she had in view about the Rushbrooks, was carefully concealed149.
Out of the allowance her father made her for clothes and other expenses about ten guineas remained, which she had intended laying out in the purchase of some ornaments150 for her appearance at a ball, to be given in the course of the ensuing week by the Duchess of B——, and, for which, at the time of invitation, Lord Mortimer had engaged her for his partner. To give up going to this ball, to consecrate151 to charity the money devoted152 to vanity, was her project; and most fortunate did she deem the application of Rushbrook, ere her purchase was made, and she consequently prevented from giving her mite153. Her soul revolted from the inhumanity of the marchioness, her daughter, and Lady Greystock. Exempt154 from the calamities155 of want themselves, they forgot the pity due to those calamities in others. If this coldness, this obduracy156, she cried, within herself, is the effect of prosperity; if thus it closes the avenues of benevolence157 and compassion, oh! never may the dangerous visitor approach me—for ill should I think the glow of compassion and sensibility exchanged for all its gaudy158 pleasures.
The ladies had mentioned their intention of going to an auction159, where, to use Lady Euphrasia’s phrase, “they expected to see all the world.” Amanda excused herself from being of the party, saying, “she wanted to make some purchases in the city.” Her excuse was readily admitted, and when they retired to their respective toilets, she sent for a coach, and being prepared against it come, immediately stepped into it, and was[Pg 261] driven to Bond Street, where she found Miss Rushbrook, with trembling anxiety, waiting her arrival.
On their way to Kensington, the tenderness of Amanda at once conciliated the affection, and gained the entire confidence of her young companion. She related the little history of her parents’ sorrows. Her father, on returning from America, with his wife and six children, had been advised by Mr. Heathfield, the friend who had effected a reconciliation160 between him and his uncle, to commence a suit against Lady Greystock, on the presumption161 that the will, by which she enjoyed Sir Geoffry’s fortune, was illegally executed. He offered him his purse to carry on the suit, and his house for an habitation. Rushbrook gratefully and gladly accepted both offers, and having disposed of his commission, to discharge some present demands against him, he and his family took up their residence under Mr. Heathfield’s hospitable162 roof. In the midst of the felicity enjoyed beneath it, in the midst of the hopes their own sanguine163 tempers, and the flattering suggestions of the lawyers had excited, a violent fever carried off their benevolent164 friend, ere a will was executed, in which he had promised largely to consider Rushbrook. His heir, narrow and illiberal165, had long feared that his interest would be hurt by the affection he entertained for Rushbrook; and, as if in revenge for the pain this fear had given, the moment he had the power he showed his malignant166 disposition5, sold all the furniture of the house at Kensington, and as a great favor told Rushbrook, he might continue in it till the expiration167 of the half year, when it was to be given up to the landlord. The lawyers understanding the state of his finances, soon informed him he could no longer expect their assistance. Thus, almost in one moment, did all his pleasing prospects168 vanish, and,
Left not a rack behind.”
As a duty he owed his family, he tried whether Lady Greystock would make a compromise between justice and avarice170, and afford him some means of support. Her insolence and inhumanity shocked him to the soul; and as he left her presence, he resolved never to enter it again, or to apply to her. This last resolution, however, only continued till the distresses171 of the family grew so great as to threaten their existence, particularly that of his wife, who, overpowered by grief, had sunk into a languishing illness, which every day increased for want of proper assistance.
[Pg 262] In hopes of procuring172 her some, he was tempted again to apply to Lady Greystock. The youth and innocence of his daughter would, he thought, if anything could do it, soften173 her flinty heart. Besides, he believed that pleasure, at finding his pretensions174 to the fortune entirely withdrawn175, would influence her to administer from it to his wants.
“We have,” said Miss Rushbrook, as she concluded her simple narration176, “tried, and been disappointed in our last resource. What will become of us, I know not; we have long been strangers to the comforts, but even the necessaries of life we cannot now procure91.” “Comfort,” cried Amanda, “often arrives when least expected. To despair, is to doubt the goodness of a Being who has promised to protect all his creatures.”
The carriage had now reached Kensington, and within a few yards of Rushbrook’s habitation. Amanda stopped it. She took Miss Rushbrook’s hand, and as she slipped a ten-pound note into it, exclaimed: “I trust the period is not far distant, when the friendship we have conceived for each other may be cultivated under more fortunate auspices177.”
Miss Rushbrook opened the folded paper. She started, and “the hectic178 of a moment flushed her cheek.” “Oh! madam!” she cried, “your goodness—" tears impeded her further utterance179.
“Do not distress me,” said Amanda, again taking her hand, “by mentioning such a trifle; was my ability equal to my inclination70, I should blush to offer it to your acceptance. As it is, consider it as but the foretaste of the bounty180 which heaven has, I doubt not, in store for you.”
She then desired the door to be opened, and told her companion she would no longer detain her. Miss Rushbrook affectionately kissed her hand, and exclaimed, “You look like an angel, and your goodness is correspondent to your looks. I will not, madam, refuse your bounty. I accept it with gratitude, for those dearer to me than myself. But ah! may I not indulge a hope of seeing you again. You are so kind, so gentle, madam, that every care is lulled181 into forgetfulness whilst conversing182 with you.”
“I shall certainly see you again as soon as possible,” replied Amanda.
Miss Rushbrook then quitted the carriage, which Amanda ordered back to town, and bid the coachman drive as fast as possible. They had not proceeded far, when the traces suddenly gave way, and the man was obliged to dismount, and[Pg 263] procure assistance from a public-house on the road, in repairing them. This occasioned a delay, which greatly distressed Amanda. She wished to get home before the ladies, lest, if this was not the case, her long absence should make Lady Greystock, who was remarkably183 inquisitive184, inquire the reason of it; and to tell her she had a strong objection, convinced, as she was, that her ladyship’s knowing she relieved objects so extremely disagreeable to her, would occasion a quarrel between them, which would either render a longer residence together impossible or highly disagreeable. And to leave London at the present crisis, when everything relative to Lord Mortimer was drawing to a conclusion, was not to be thought of without the greatest pain.
At length the coachman remounted his box, and the velocity185 with which he drove, flattered her with the hope of reaching home as soon as she wished. Tranquillized by this hope, she again indulged her imagination with ideas of the comfort her little bounty had probably given Rushbrook and his dejected family. So sweet to her soul was the secret approbation109 which crowned her charity; so preferable to any pleasure she could have experienced at a ball, that even the disappointment she believed Lord Mortimer would feel from her declining it, was overlooked in the satisfaction she felt from the action she had performed. She was convinced he would inquire her reason for not going, which she determined186 at present to conceal. It would appear like ostentation187, she thought, to say that the money requisite188 for her appearance at the ball was expended189 in charity, and perhaps excite his generosity190 in a manner which delicacy at present forbade her allowing.
She asked the footman who handed her from the carriage whether the ladies were returned; and on being answered in the affirmative, inquired the hour, and learned it was just dinner time. Flurried by this intelligence she hastened to her chamber, followed by the maid appointed to attend her, who said Lady Greystock had inquired for her as soon as she came home. Amanda dressed herself with unusual expedition, and repaired to the drawing-room, where, in addition to the family party, she found Lord Mortimer, Freelove, Miss Malcolm, and some other ladies and gentlemen assembled.
“Bless me, child,” said Lady Greystock the moment she entered the room, “where have you been the whole day?” “I declare, Miss Fitzalan,” exclaimed Lady Euphrasia, “I believe you stole a march somewhere upon us this morning.” “Well,” cried Miss Malcolm, laughing, “your ladyship must[Pg 264] know that people generally have some important reason for stolen marches which they do not choose to divulge191.”
Amanda treated this malicious insinuation with the silent contempt it merited; and on Lady Greystock’s again asking her where she had been, said, in a low hesitating voice, “in the city.”
“In the city!” repeated Lord Mortimer.
This sudden exclamation192 startled her. She looked at him, and perceived him regarding her with the most scrutinizing earnestness. She blushed deeply, as if detected in a falsehood, and immediately bent193 her eyes to the ground.
Lord Mortimer, indeed, had a reason for his exclamation she little thought of. He had met the marchioness and her companions, by appointment, at the auction, but soon grew weary of his situation, which the presence of Amanda could alone have rendered tolerable. He pleaded business as an excuse for withdrawing, and hurrying home, ordered his phaeton, and proceeded towards Kensington. As he passed the coach in which Amanda sat, at the time the traces were mending, he carelessly looked into it, and directly recognized her. Lady Euphrasia had informed him she excused herself from their party on account of some business in the city. He never heard of her having any acquaintance in or about Kensington, and was at once alarmed and surprised by discovering her. He drove to some distance from the carriage, and as soon as it began to move, pursued it with equal velocity till it reached town, and then giving his phaeton in charge to the servant, followed it on foot, till he saw Amanda alight from it at the Marquis of Roslin’s. Amanda had escaped seeing his lordship by a profound meditation195 in which she was engaged at the moment, as she pensively196 leaned against the side of the coach. Lord Mortimer walked back with increased disorder to meet his phaeton. As he approached it, he saw Colonel Belgrave by it, on horseback, admiring the horses, which were remarkably fine, and asking to whom they belonged. His acquaintance with the colonel had hitherto never exceeded more than a passing bow. Now prompted by an irresistible197 impulse, he saluted198 him familiarly; inquired “whether he had had a pleasant ride that morning, and how far he had been.” “No farther than Kensington,” replied the colonel.
This answer was confirmation strong to all the fears of Lord Mortimer. He turned pale, dropped the reins199 which he[Pg 265] had taken, with an intention of remounting, and, without even noticing the colonel, flew from the place, and arrived at home almost in a state of distraction. He was engaged to dine at the Marquis’s, but in the first violence of his feelings, resolved on sending an apology. Ere the servant, however, summoned for that purpose had entered his apartment, he changed his resolution. “I will go,” said he: “though appearances are against her, she may, perhaps,” (and he tried to derive200 some comfort from the idea,) “be able satisfactorily to account for her being at Kensington.”
Tortured by conflicting passions, alternately hoping and doubting, he arrived at Portman Square.
Lady Greystock and Lady Euphrasia dwelt with wonder on the length of Amanda’s morning excursion. When she entered the room, he thought she appeared embarrassed; and that, on Lady Greystock’s addressing her, this embarrassment increased. But when she said she had been in the city, her duplicity, as he termed it, appeared so monstrous201 to him, that he could not forbear an involuntary repetition of her words. So great, indeed, was the indignation it excited in his breast, that he could scarcely forbear reproaching her as the destroyer of his and her own felicity. Her blush appeared to him, not the ingenuous202 coloring of innocence, but the glow of shame and guilt203. It was evident to him that she had seen Belgrave that morning; that he was the occasion of all the mystery which had appeared in her conduct, and that it was the knowledge of the improper influence he had over her heart which made Sir Charles Bingley so suddenly resign her.
“Gracious Heaven!” said he to himself, “who, that looked upon Amanda, could ever suppose duplicity harbored in her breast? Yet that too surely it is, I have every reason to suppose. Yet a little longer I will bear a torturing state of suspense204, nor reveal my doubts till thoroughly205 convinced they are well founded.”
He sat opposite to her at dinner, and his eyes were directed towards her with that tender sadness which we feel on viewing a beloved object we know ourselves on the point of losing forever.
His melancholy was quickly perceived by the penetrating206 marchioness and Lady Euphrasia. They saw, with delight, that the poison of suspicion, infused into his mind, was already beginning to operate. They anticipated the success of all their schemes. Their spirits grew uncommonly207 elevated; and Lady Euphrasia determined, whenever she had the power, to[Pg 266] revenge, on the susceptible nature of Mortimer, all the uneasiness he had made her suffer, and to add, as far as malice208 could add to it, to the misery about to be the lot of Amanda.
The dejection of Lord Mortimer was also observed by Amanda. It excited her fears and affected her sensibility. She dreaded that his aunt had refused complying with his request relative to her interference with his father, or that the earl had been urging him to an immediate union with Lady Euphrasia. Perhaps he now wavered between love and duty. The thought struck a cold damp upon her heart. Yet no, cried she, it cannot be; if inclined to change, Lord Mortimer would at once have informed me.
In the evening there was a large addition to the party; but Lord Mortimer sat pensively apart from the company. Amanda, by chance, procured a seat next his. His paleness alarmed her, and she could not forbear hinting her fears that he was ill.
“I am ill, indeed,” sighed he, heavily. He looked at her as he spoke209, and beheld210 her regarding him with the most exquisite211 tenderness. But the period was past for receiving delight from such an appearance of affection: an affection, he had reason to believe was never more than feigned for him; and, also, from his emotions when with her, that he should never cease regretting the deception212. His passions, exhausted213 by their own violence, had sunk into a calm, and sadness was the predominant feeling of his soul. Though he so bitterly lamented214, he could not, at the moment, have reproached her perfidy215. He gazed on her with mournful tenderness, and to the involuntary expression of regret, which dropped from her on hearing he was ill, only replied, by saying, “Ah! Amanda, the man that really excites your tenderness must be happy.”
Amanda, unconscious that any sinister216 meaning lurked217 beneath these words, considered them as an acknowledgment of the happiness he himself experienced from being convinced of her regard, and her heart swelled218 with pleasure at the idea.
Any further conversation between them was interrupted by Miss Malcolm, who, in a laughing manner, seated herself by Lord Mortimer, to rally him, as she said, into good spirits.
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1
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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libertine
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| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
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18
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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19
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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20
clandestine
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| adj.秘密的，暗中从事的 | |
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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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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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adherence
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| n.信奉，依附，坚持，固着 | |
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24
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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consolatory
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| adj.慰问的，可藉慰的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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36
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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41
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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42
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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43
disparage
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| v.贬抑，轻蔑 | |
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44
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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45
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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46
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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47
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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48
relinquishment
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| n.放弃；撤回；停止 | |
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49
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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51
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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52
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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53
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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54
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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55
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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56
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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57
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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58
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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59
tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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60
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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61
obtruded
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| v.强行向前，强行，强迫( obtrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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63
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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65
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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66
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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67
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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68
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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69
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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70
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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71
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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72
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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73
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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74
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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75
profligacy
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| n.放荡，不检点，肆意挥霍 | |
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76
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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77
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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78
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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79
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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82
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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83
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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84
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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85
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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86
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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88
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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89
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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91
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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92
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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94
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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95
chastising
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| v.严惩（某人）（尤指责打）( chastise的现在分词 ) | |
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96
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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97
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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98
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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99
impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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102
afflictive
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| 带给人痛苦的，苦恼的，难受的 | |
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103
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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104
stratagems
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| n.诡计，计谋( stratagem的名词复数 )；花招 | |
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105
advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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106
aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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107
instilled
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| v.逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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109
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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110
persecuting
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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111
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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112
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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113
counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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114
deviation
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| n.背离，偏离；偏差，偏向；离题 | |
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115
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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116
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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117
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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118
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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120
enraptured
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| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
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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122
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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123
remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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124
apprised
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| v.告知，通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 )；评价 | |
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125
veracity
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| n.诚实 | |
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126
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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127
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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128
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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129
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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130
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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131
scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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132
perused
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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133
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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134
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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135
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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136
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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137
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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138
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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139
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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140
bounteous
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| adj.丰富的 | |
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141
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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142
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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143
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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144
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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145
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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146
languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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147
waived
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| v.宣布放弃( waive的过去式和过去分词 )；搁置；推迟；放弃（权利、要求等） | |
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148
petitioner
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| n.请愿人 | |
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149
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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150
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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151
consecrate
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| v.使圣化，奉…为神圣；尊崇；奉献 | |
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152
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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153
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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154
exempt
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| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
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155
calamities
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| n.灾祸，灾难( calamity的名词复数 )；不幸之事 | |
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156
obduracy
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| n.冷酷无情，顽固，执拗 | |
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157
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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158
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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159
auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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160
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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161
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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162
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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163
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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164
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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165
illiberal
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| adj.气量狭小的，吝啬的 | |
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166
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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167
expiration
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| n.终结，期满，呼气，呼出物 | |
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168
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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169
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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170
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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171
distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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172
procuring
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的现在分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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173
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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174
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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175
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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176
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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177
auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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178
hectic
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| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
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179
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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180
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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181
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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182
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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183
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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184
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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185
velocity
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| n.速度，速率 | |
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186
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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187
ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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188
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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189
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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190
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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191
divulge
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| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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192
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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193
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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194
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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195
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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196
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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197
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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198
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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199
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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200
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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201
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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202
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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203
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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204
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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205
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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206
penetrating
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|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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207
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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208
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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209
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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210
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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211
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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212
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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213
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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214
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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215
perfidy
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| n.背信弃义，不忠贞 | |
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216
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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217
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
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218
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
参考例句： |
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