But oh for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still."
Tennyson.
A
ll that night Georgia's thoughts ran in a new direction—Charley Wildair. Yes, she had been face to face with the living, breathing friend of her childhood once more. The mystery that surrounded him rose up in her mind, and again she found herself wondering what he had done, what crime he had committed. Evening after evening she walked out in the same place, in the hope of seeing him again, when she was determined2 to speak to him at all hazards; but in vain; he came not, no one knew, or could tell her anything of him who had passed that evening. As day after day wore on,[Pg 284] she began to regard his appearance almost in the light of an apparition—something her disordered imagination had conjured3 up to mock her, and at last even the hope of seeing him again, faded away.
And so a month passed on. Oh! that dreary4, endless, monotonous5 month, with nothing but the dull routine of the school-room day after day.
There were times when Georgia would start wildly up, feeling as though she were going mad; and evening after evening, when the last lesson was said, she would throw her shawl over her shoulders and hurry out into the cold wintry weather, and walk and walk for miles with dizzy rapidity, to cool the fever in her blood. Night after night, when, unable to lie tossing on her bed, she would spring up, and, heedless of the freezing air, pace her room till morning. The wild fire in her eye, even in the presence of others, bespoke6 the consuming fever in her veins7 that seemed drying up the very source of life in her heart. Had she been leading some exciting, turbulent life, it would have been better for her; but this stagnant8 monotony seemed in a fair way of making her a maniac9 before long. There were times when her very soul would cry out with passionate10 yearning11 for what she had lost—times when an uncontrollable impulse to fly, fly, far away from this place, to search over the world for him she had left, and, in spite of all that had passed, to cling to him forever, would seize her, and she would struggle and wrestle12 with the fierce desire until, from very bodily weakness, she would sink down in a very stupor13 of despair.
It seemed to her as if a dark doom14 had been hanging over her from childhood and had fallen at last—a widow in fate though not in fact, an outcast from all the world, and[Pg 285] almost with the brand of murder on her brow. But oh, if she had sinned, was not the expiation15 heavier than it deserved? A life of desolation, a death uncheered by a single friendly face, to live forgotten and die forlorn, that was her doom. Poor Georgia! what wonder that, frenzied16 and despairing, the cry of her heart should be, "My punishment is heavier than I can bear."
The Leonards hardly knew what to make of Georgia. Mr. Leonard looked pityingly on the white face, so eloquent17 of wrong and misery18, and expressed his opinion that she had come through more than people thought. Mrs. Leonard was rather puzzled about the young governess; when in her wild paroxysms she would hear startling legends of her walking through frost and snow for miles together, and would hear a quick, rapid footstep pacing up and down, up and down her chamber19 the livelong night, and would see the wild, lurid20 fire in her great black eyes, she would give it as her opinion that Miss Randall was not quite right in her mind; but when this mood would pass away, and reaction would follow, and when she would note the slow, weary step and pallid21 cheeks, and spiritless eyes, and lifeless movements, she would retract22, and say she really did not know what to make of her.
Miss Felice snappishly said it was all affectation; the governess wanted to be odd, and mysterious, and interesting; and if she was her father she would put an end to her long walks, or know why. But these little remarks were prudently23 made when Georgia was not listening; for if the truth must be told, Miss Leonard stood more than slightly in awe24 of the dark, majestic25, melancholy26 governess. Miss Maggie declared it was "funny," but she rather liked Georgia, though after the first week or two she voted her[Pg 286] "awful tiresome27, worse than Felice," and left her pretty much to herself. Her pupils liked her, but were rather afraid of her in her dark moods, and, like the rest of the household, stood considerably28 in awe of her, wrapped as she was in her dark mantle29 of unvarying gloom.
During this first month of her stay, Georgia had spoken to no one but the household. Visitors there were almost every day, but Georgia always fled at their approach, and both the Misses Leonard, conscious of her superior beauty, had no desire to be eclipsed by their queenly dependent, and were quite willing she should be invisible on these occasions. Since she had heard Dick Curtis was a friend of the family, she had dreaded30 the approach of every stranger, and always sent some excuse for not appearing at table at such times. Therefore, sometimes whole days would pass without her leaving her own room and the school-room.
As the children's study only comprised five hours each day, Georgia had a great deal of spare time to herself. This she had hitherto spent either in her long, wild walks or in her dark reveries; but now, of late, a new inspiration had seized her.
One day, to amuse little Jennie, she had seized her pencil and drawn31 her portrait, and the drawing proved to be so life-like that the whole family were in transports. The Misses Leonard immediately made a simultaneous rush for the school-room, and overwhelmed Georgia with praises of her talent, and pleadings to sketch32 theirs, too. And Georgia, feeling a sort of happiness in pleasing them, readily promised. The drawings were commenced and finished, and Georgia had unconsciously idealized and rendered them so perfectly33 lovely, yet so true to the originals, that they, in their ecstatic admiration34, insisted that they should be[Pg 287] perpetuated35 in oil. Finding the occupation so absorbing and so congenial, Georgia willingly consented, and sittings were appointed every day until the portraits were finished. And finished they were at last, and set in gorgeous frames, and with eyes sparkling with delight, the Misses Leonard saw themselves, or rather their etherialized counterfeits36, hanging in splendor38 on the drawing-room walls, and calling forth39 the most enthusiastic praises of the unknown artist's skill from their guests, for Georgia had only painted them on condition that no one was to be told.
Then she voluntarily offered to paint Mr. and Mrs. Leonard and the three children, and at Jennie's earnest desire, her little tortoise-shell kitten was seduced40 into sitting still long enough to be taken too. This last was a labor41 of love, for, strangely enough, it brought back softened43 thoughts of the happy days spent in romping44 through the cottage by the sea with Betsey Periwinkle.
And a faint, sad, dreary smile broke over Georgia's face as she painted the little blinking animal, and thought of all the old associations it called forth. It brought back Miss Jerusha, and little Emily Murray—dear little Emily Murray, whose memory always came to her like the soft sweet music of an Eolian harp45 amid the repose46 of a storm. She wondered vaguely47 if they missed her much, and what they would think of her flight, and whether they would shudder48 in horror when they heard what she had done, or whether they would think lovingly of her still.
"Some day, when they hear I am dead, perhaps they will forgive me and love me again," she thought, with something of the simplicity49 of the child Georgia, as a gentler feeling came to her heart than had visited it for many a day. Somehow, Emily's memory always did soften42 her and[Pg 288] bring back a gentler mood. In her wildest storms of anguish50 and remorse51, in the darkest hour of her desolation, that sweet, calm, holy young face, with its serene52 brow and seraphic blue eyes, would arise and exorcise her gloom, and leave her calmer, softer feeling behind.
One day, on the occasion of Mrs. Leonard's birthday, the children had a holiday, and Georgia was left to herself. Seating herself at the window, she began to draw faces from memory. The first was a long, angular one, with projecting bones and sharp features, sunken eyes, and thin, compressed lips, the hair drawn tightly back and gathered in an uncompromising hard knot behind. An intelligent, dignified-looking cat sat composedly at her feet, deeply absorbed in thought. Any one could recognize, in these portraits, Miss Jerusha and our old friend Betsey Periwinkle.
"Dear Miss Jerusha! dear, good friend!" murmured Georgia, softly, as she gazed at the picture. "I wonder will I ever see you again. I wonder if you have grieved for my loss, and if you ever, these wild, stormy nights, think of your lost Georgey. Dear Miss Jerusha, may Heaven reward you for your kindness to the poor orphan54 girl."
The next was a fairer face, a small head set on an arching neck; a low, smooth, childish brow; small, regular, dainty features; sweet, wondering, wistful eyes; a little dimpled chin, and softly smiling lips, just revealing the pearly teeth within. It might have been the face of an angel had it not been Emily Murray's, spiritualized, as everything Georgia's magic pencil touched was. Such a lovely, child-like, innocent face as it was, smiling up from the paper with such a look of heavenly calm and serenity55, that no breath of worldly passion had ever disturbed.[Pg 289]
"Oh, dear little Emily! dear little Emily!" said Georgia, in a trembling voice. "My good angel! if I had only been like you. Calm, peaceful, happy little Emily! what will you think of me when you hear what I have done."
She hesitated a moment before she commenced the next, and then, as if a sudden inspiration had seized her, she rapidly began to sketch. Soon there appeared a noble, intellectual-looking head—a high, broad, princely brow—square eyebrows56, meeting across the strongly marked nose—large, strong, earnest eyes—a fine resolute57 mouth, and square, resolute chin. Heavy waves of dark hair were shaken carelessly off the noble forehead, and it needed nothing now but the thick dark mustache, and the calm, handsome, kingly face of Richmond Wildair looked at her from the paper. In the seemingly fathomless58 eyes there shone a look of sorrowful reproach, and a sort of sad sternness pervaded59 the whole face. The very lips seemed to part and say, "oh, Georgia, what have you done?" and with a great cry of "oh, Richmond! Richmond! Richmond!" she flung down her pencil, then threw herself on her face on the couch, and for the first time in years, for the first time almost since she could remember, she wept, wept long, passionately60, and bitterly.
It was a strange thing to see this stone-like Georgia weep. In all her misery she had shed no tears; in her stormy childhood she had wept not, and the tears of childhood are an easily flowing spring; yet now she lay, and wept, and sobbed61, wildly, passionately, vehemently62, wept for hours, until the very source of her tears seemed dried up, and would flow no longer.
And from that day Georgia grew calmer and more rational than she had ever been before. It was strange the[Pg 290] consolation63 she derived64 from these "counterfeit37 presentments" of those she loved, and yet it was so. For hours she would sit gazing at them, and sometimes she would fancy Emily's smiling lips seemed saying, "Hope on, Georgia! before morning dawns night is ever darkest."
The Leonards, grateful for being made such handsome people, were quite solicitous65 in their efforts to make the governess comfortable. Georgia had a heart easily won by kindness, and as time passed on, she seemed, for the present at least, to grow reconciled to her lot. Perhaps the secret of this was that she had begun an achievement that had long been in her thoughts, and in which she was so completely absorbed as to be for a time quite insensible to outward things. This was a large painting of Hagar in the Wilderness66, a wild, weird67 thing, on which she worked night and day in a fever of enthusiasm.
Had any one seen her, in the still, mystic watches of the night, bending over her easel, her dark hair flowing behind her, her wild eyes blazing, her whole face inspired—they might have taken her for the very genius of art descended68 on earth. She scarcely knew what was her design in painting this; probably, at the time, she had none, but a love of the work itself—a love that increased to a perfect fever, as it grew under her brush. None of the family knew aught of it, and they puzzled themselves in vain wondering what she could be doing to keep a light burning so late every night.
It was drawing toward the close of February that the severest snow storm that they had during the season fell. For nearly a week it raged with unceasing violence, and several gentlemen and ladies from the city were storm-bound at Mr. Leonard's. During their stay, Georgia, as[Pg 291] usual, absented herself from the table and drawing-room, and the young ladies were so busy with their guests that even Miss Maggie found no time to visit her. Georgia did not regret this circumstance, as it gave her more time to devote to her painting, and secured her from interruption.
One wild, snowy evening, when it was too dark to paint and too soon to light the lamp, Georgia passed from her room and walked swiftly in the direction of the library in search of a book. She knew the library was seldom visited, especially in the evening, when other amusements ruled the hour, and so, not fearing detection, she went in, found the book she was in search of, and, seating herself within a deep bay-window, drew the crimson69 damask curtains close, and thus shut in on one side by red drapery and on the other by the clear glass, through which she could watch the drifting snow, she began to read.
It was a volume of poems by W. D. Randall, the young poet, whose fame was already resounding70 through the land. Such a sweet, dreamy, delicious volume as it was! Fascinated, absorbed, Georgia strained her eyes, and read and read on as long as one ray of light remained, unable to tear herself away from the enchanted71 pages, and feeling as if she were transported to some Arcadia, some fairy-land, by the magic power of the poet's pen.
At last it grew too dark to read another word, and then she closed the book and fell into a reverie of—the author. She knew he was a visitor at the house, and for once her curiosity was strongly excited. She resolved to see him. She would make Maggie point him out the next time he came, and see for herself what manner of man this young genius was. There had been a steel portrait of him in the book, but Miss Felice had carefully cut it out and preserved[Pg 292] it for her own private use, as something not to be profaned72 by vulgar eyes, to the violent indignation of Miss Maggie.
While she still sat musing73 dreamily, she was startled by hearing the door flung open, and then a gleam of light flashed through the curtain. Hoping it might be some servant to light the gas, she glanced out between the folds and saw Miss Felice herself, standing74 beside a tall, handsome, distinguished-looking young man. Retreat was now out of the question. Georgia would not have encountered the stranger for worlds, lest he should happen to recognize her; and, trusting they only came for a book and would soon go away again, she resolved to sit still.
"And so you will translate 'Undine' for me, Mr. Randall," said Miss Felice, whose dress was perfection, and whose face was quite brilliant with smiles. "Oh, that will be charming. The children's governess teaches German, but I never could get her to read Undine."
This, then, was the poet. At any other time she would have become completely absorbed in looking at him, but the mention of "Undine" sent a pang75 to her heart, and she sank back in her seat and bowed her face in her hands. The sweet, sorrowful story of the German poet seemed so like her own—she was the Undine, Freddy Richmond was the base, designing Bertalda, and Huldbrand—oh, no, no! Richmond was not like him.
"It is a lovely tale. You do well to learn German, Miss Leonard, if only for the sake of reading 'Undine' in the original," said Mr. Randall.
"I have something else that is lovely here," said Miss Leonard, looking arch.
"Yes—yourself," said Mr. Randall.
"No, no; of course not—W. D. Randall's poems."[Pg 293]
"And you call that lovely! Well, I gave you credit for better taste, Miss Felice."
"Oh, they are charming, sweet, so nice!" cried Miss Felice, clasping her hands in a small transport.
A smile broke over the handsome face of the poet. How pleasant it must be for a poet to hear his poems called nice.
"Well, never mind them; let us find 'Undine,'" said Mr. Randall.
"I'm sure I've sat up nights and nearly cried my eyes out over that beautiful poem 'Regina,' Did you ever see any one like the 'Regina' you described so delightfully76?"
"Yes," said Mr. Randall, a sort of shadow coming over his face, "once, in my childhood, I saw such a one—a 'queen of noble nature's crowning;' one whose every motion seemed to say:
"'Incedo Regina'—
'I move a queen.'"
"Dear me," said Miss Felice, "how nice! I really should like to see her. I suppose she will be Mrs. Randall some day," and Miss Felice, looking up between her ringlets, did the artless to perfection.
Mr. Randall smiled again; it was evident he read Miss Felice like a book.
"Hardly, I am afraid. I don't approve of the Regina style of woman for wives myself. Something less imposing77 would suit me better—a nice little thing like——"
Miss Felice had cast down her long lashes78, and stood looking as innocent and guileless as a stage angel; but here Mr. Randall most provokingly paused and began caressing79 a hideously80 ugly little Scotch81 terrier that had followed him into the room.[Pg 294]
Georgia had to smile in spite of herself at the provoking nonchalance82 of the poet, more particularly as Miss Felice turned half pettishly83 away, and then, remembering that her role was to be sweet and simple, she gave him a smiling glance and returned to the charge.
"And those verses on Niagara are so pretty! Papa took Maggie and me to the Falls last summer, and I did like them so much! Oh, dear me! they are so sweet!"
Mr. Randall laughed outright84. Miss Felice looked up in astonishment85, but just at that moment little Jennie came running in with something in her hand.
"Oh Licie! look what I have got—such a lovely picture of the most beautiful lady ever was! Just look."
"What an angelic face!" impulsively86 exclaimed Mr. Randall; "a perfect Madonna! And only a pencil drawing, too! Why, Miss Leonard, this is something exquisite87—a perfect little gem88! I never saw anything more lovely."
"Where did you get it, Jennie?" said Miss Felice.
"In the hall; it's Miss Randall's—she dropped it coming out of the school-room. I'm going to ask her to give it to me; she can make plenty more."
"Is it possible the artist resides here? You don't mean to say that——"
"Oh, it's only the governess," said Miss Felice; "she draws and paints very well indeed. By the way, she's a namesake of yours, too, Mr. Randall. Yes, I see now it is one of her drawings; I could tell them anywhere."
The poet was gazing in a sort of rapture89 at the picture. The soft eyes and sweet, beautiful lips seemed smiling upon him—the face seemed living and radiant before him.
"Why, one would think you were enchanted, Mr. Randall," said Miss Felice, half pouting90. "It's fortunate it's[Pg 295] only a picture and not a living face, or your doom would be sealed."
"Oh, it is perfect, it is exquisite!" said the poet, under his breath; "a Madonna, a Saint Cecilia, a seraph53! Why, Miss Leonard, do you know you have a genius under the roof with you?"
"Yes, sir—Mr. Randall," said Miss Felice, courtesying.
"Pshaw! I mean the artist. Come, is she the mysterious painter of those delicious portraits in the drawing-room that have attracted such crowds of admirers already?"
"Well, since you have guessed it, yes. It was her own wish it should not be known."
"Why, she must be the eighth wonder of the world—this governess. Who is she? What is she? Where does she come from?" said Mr. Randall, impetuously.
"She is Miss Randall—a governess, as I before told you, from New York city, and that is her whole biography as far as I know it, except that she is very strange, and wild, and solemn-looking, with oh, such immense black, haunting eyes!"
"Oh, Felice, she's really pretty!" said Jennie; "a great deal prettier than you or Mag. Now ain't she, Royal?"
"Who?" said Royal, entering at this moment.
"Our Miss Randall."
"Yes, I reckon she is. Miss Randall's a tip-top lady," said Royal, emphatically.
"I really should like to see her. Won't you present me to this genius, Miss Leonard? It is not fair to hide so brilliant a light under a bushel," said Mr. Randall. "I shall probably claim kindred with her, as we both have the same name."
"Well, I will ask," said Miss Felice, biting her lip. "I[Pg 296] am not so sure, though, that she will consent, she is so queer. Here's 'Undine,' and now for the translation, Mr. Randall."
"Dear me, Mr. Randall, hadn't you better keep that altogether?" said Miss Felice, pettishly. "One would think you had fallen in love with it."
"So I have," said Mr. Randall. "Come here, Miss Jennie; I have a favor to ask of you."
"What is it?" said Jennie.
"That if Miss Randall gives you this drawing, you will give it to me, and I will bring you the prettiest book I can find in New York in exchange."
"Will you, though? Isn't that nice, Royal? Oh, I'll get it from Miss Randall—she's real good—and I'll give it to you. May I tell her it's for you?"
"Just as you like; tell her anything you please, so as to get it for me. Won't you tell me how I can see this wonderful governess of yours, Miss Jennie?"
"Let's see. Come up to the school-room with mamma."
"Mr. Randall, they are waiting for us down stairs," said Miss Felice, stiffly. "Jennie—Royal—go out and go to bed."
Georgia caught a parting glimpse of the graceful93, gallant94 form of the young poet as he held open the door for Miss Felice to go out, and drew a deep breath of relief when they were gone. Then, having assured herself that the coast was clear, she hurried out and sought her own room, and searched for Emily's portrait, but it was missing.[Pg 297]
Next morning, as Georgia was about to enter the school-room, Miss Felice fluttered up stairs, in a floating white cashmere morning-gown, and with the drawing in her hand.
"Yes," said Georgia, quietly.
"Will you be kind enough to give it to me?"
"It is the portrait of a very dear friend. I should be happy to oblige you were it otherwise, Miss Leonard," said Georgia, coldly.
Georgia bowed gravely.
"Of what possible use can that portrait be to you, Miss Leonard?"
"Well, it's not for me, it's for a friend. Do oblige me, Miss Randall. Mr. Randall wants it so dreadfully."
"Mr. Randall! who is he?"
"The author, the poet that everybody is talking about. He saw it last night with Jennie, and took a desperate fancy to it, and, what's more, wants to be introduced to you."
"I would rather be excused," said Georgia, with some of her old hauteur98. "I do not like to refuse you, Miss Leonard, and if any other picture——"
"Oh, any other won't do; I must have this. There, I shall keep it, and you can draw a dozen like it any time. And every one would not refuse to be introduced to Mr. Randall, I can tell you," said Miss Felice, half inclined to[Pg 298] be angry; "he is immensely rich and ever so handsome, and as clever as ever he can be, and most young ladies would consider it an honor to be acquainted with him."
Georgia bowed slightly, and made an impatient motion to pass on.
"Well, I am going to keep it, Miss Randall," said Miss Felice, half inquiringly.
"As you please, Miss Leonard. Good-morning," and Georgia swept on to the school-room, and Miss Felice ran to give the poet the picture, and tell him their haughty99 governess refused the introduction.
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1
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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expiation
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| n.赎罪，补偿 | |
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frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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awe
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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melancholy
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tiresome
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considerably
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mantle
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dreaded
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drawn
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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perfectly
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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perpetuated
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| vt.使永存（perpetuate的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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counterfeits
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| v.仿制，造假( counterfeit的第三人称单数 ) | |
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counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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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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romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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seraph
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| n.六翼天使 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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fathomless
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| a.深不可测的 | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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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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solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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profaned
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| v.不敬( profane的过去式和过去分词 )；亵渎，玷污 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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pettishly
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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pouting
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的现在分词 ) | |
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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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intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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