1. December to April
Week after week, month after month, the time had flown by. Christmas had passed; dreary1 winter with dark evenings had given place to more dreary winter with light evenings. Thaws2 had ended in rain, rain in wind, wind in dust. Showery days had come—the period of pink dawns and white sunsets; with the third week in April the cuckoo had appeared, with the fourth, the nightingale.
Edward Springrove was in London, attending to the duties of his new office, and it had become known throughout the neighbourhood of Carriford that the engagement between himself and Miss Adelaide Hinton would terminate in marriage at the end of the year.
The only occasion on which her lover of the idle delicious days at Budmouth watering-place had been seen by Cytherea after the time of the decisive correspondence, was once in church, when he sat in front of her, and beside Miss Hinton.
The rencounter was quite an accident. Springrove had come there in the full belief that Cytherea was away from home with Miss Aldclyffe; and he continued ignorant of her presence throughout the service.
It is at such moments as these, when a sensitive nature writhes3 under the conception that its most cherished emotions have been treated with contumely, that the sphere-descended Maid, Music, friend of Pleasure at other times, becomes a positive enemy—racking, bewildering, unrelenting. The congregation sang the first Psalm4 and came to the verse—
‘Like some fair tree which, fed by streams,
With timely fruit doth bend,
He still shall flourish, and success
All his designs attend.’
Cytherea’s lips did not move, nor did any sound escape her; but could she help singing the words in the depths of her being, although the man to whom she applied5 them sat at her rival’s side?
Perhaps the moral compensation for all a woman’s petty cleverness under thriving conditions is the real nobility that lies in her extreme foolishness at these other times; her sheer inability to be simply just, her exercise of an illogical power entirely6 denied to men in general—the power not only of kissing, but of delighting to kiss the rod by a punctilious8 observance of the self-immolating doctrines9 in the Sermon on the Mount.
As for Edward—a little like other men of his temperament10, to whom, it is somewhat humiliating to think, the aberrancy11 of a given love is in itself a recommendation—his sentiment, as he looked over his cousin’s book, was of a lower rank, Horatian rather than Psalmodic—
‘O, what hast thou of her, of her
Whose every look did love inspire;
Whose every breathing fanned my fire,
And stole me from myself away!’
Then, without letting him see her, Cytherea slipt out of church early, and went home, the tones of the organ still lingering in her ears as she tried bravely to kill a jealous thought that would nevertheless live: ‘My nature is one capable of more, far more, intense feeling than hers! She can’t appreciate all the sides of him—she never will! He is more tangible12 to me even now, as a thought, than his presence itself is to her!’ She was less noble then.
But she continually repressed her misery13 and bitterness of heart till the effort to do so showed signs of lessening14. At length she even tried to hope that her lost lover and her rival would love one another very dearly.
The scene and the sentiment dropped into the past. Meanwhile, Manston continued visibly before her. He, though quiet and subdued15 in his bearing for a long time after the calamity16 of November, had not simulated a grief that he did not feel. At first his loss seemed so to absorb him—though as a startling change rather than as a heavy sorrow—that he paid Cytherea no attention whatever. His conduct was uniformly kind and respectful, but little more. Then, as the date of the catastrophe17 grew remoter, he began to wear a different aspect towards her. He always contrived18 to obliterate19 by his manner all recollection on her side that she was comparatively more dependent than himself—making much of her womanhood, nothing of her situation. Prompt to aid her whenever occasion offered, and full of delightful20 petits soins at all times, he was not officious. In this way he irresistibly21 won for himself a position as her friend, and the more easily in that he allowed not the faintest symptom of the old love to be apparent.
Matters stood thus in the middle of the spring when the next move on his behalf was made by Miss Aldclyffe.
2. The Third of may
She led Cytherea to a summer-house called the Fane, built in the private grounds about the mansion22 in the form of a Grecian temple; it overlooked the lake, the island on it, the trees, and their undisturbed reflection in the smooth still water. Here the old and young maid halted; here they stood, side by side, mentally imbibing23 the scene.
The month was May—the time, morning. Cuckoos, thrushes, blackbirds, and sparrows gave forth24 a perfect confusion of song and twitter. The road was spotted25 white with the fallen leaves of apple-blossoms, and the sparkling grey dew still lingered on the grass and flowers. Two swans floated into view in front of the women, and then crossed the water towards them.
‘They seem to come to us without any will of their own—quite involuntarily—don’t they?’ said Cytherea, looking at the birds’ graceful26 advance.
‘Yes, but if you look narrowly you can see their hips27 just beneath the water, working with the greatest energy.’
‘I’d rather not see that, it spoils the idea of proud indifference28 to direction which we associate with a swan.’
‘It does; we’ll have “involuntarily.” Ah, now this reminds me of something.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of a human being who involuntarily comes towards yourself.’
Cytherea looked into Miss Aldclyffe’s face; her eyes grew round as circles, and lines of wonderment came visibly upon her countenance29. She had not once regarded Manston as a lover since his wife’s sudden appearance and subsequent death. The death of a wife, and such a death, was an overwhelming matter in her ideas of things.
‘Is it a man or woman?’ she said, quite innocently.
‘Mr. Manston,’ said Miss Aldclyffe quietly.
‘Mr. Manston attracted by me now?’ said Cytherea, standing30 at gaze.
‘Didn’t you know it?’
‘Certainly I did not. Why, his poor wife has only been dead six months.’
‘Of course he knows that. But loving is not done by months, or method, or rule, or nobody would ever have invented such a phrase as “falling in love.” He does not want his love to be observed just yet, on the very account you mention; but conceal31 it as he may from himself and us, it exists definitely—and very intensely, I assure you.’
‘I suppose then, that if he can’t help it, it is no harm of him,’ said Cytherea naively32, and beginning to ponder.
‘Of course it isn’t—you know that well enough. She was a great burden and trouble to him. This may become a great good to you both.’
A rush of feeling at remembering that the same woman, before Manston’s arrival, had just as frankly33 advocated Edward’s claims, checked Cytherea’s utterance34 for awhile.
‘There, don’t look at me like that, for Heaven’s sake!’ said Miss Aldclyffe. ‘You could almost kill a person by the force of reproach you can put into those eyes of yours, I verily believe.’
Edward once in the young lady’s thoughts, there was no getting rid of him. She wanted to be alone.
‘Do you want me here?’ she said.
‘Now there, there; you want to be off, and have a good cry,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, taking her hand. ‘But you mustn’t, my dear. There’s nothing in the past for you to regret. Compare Mr. Manston’s honourable35 conduct towards his wife and yourself, with Springrove towards his betrothed36 and yourself, and then see which appears the more worthy37 of your thoughts.’
3. from the Fourth of may to the Twenty-first of June
The next stage in Manston’s advances towards her hand was a clearly defined courtship. She was sadly perplexed38, and some contrivance was necessary on his part in order to meet with her. But it is next to impossible for an appreciative39 woman to have a positive repugnance40 towards an unusually handsome and gifted man, even though she may not be inclined to love him. Hence Cytherea was not so alarmed at the sight of him as to render a meeting and conversation with her more than a matter of difficulty.
Coming and going from church was his grand opportunity. Manston was very religious now. It is commonly said that no man was ever converted by argument, but there is a single one which will make any Laodicean in England, let him be once love-sick, wear prayer-books and become a zealous41 Episcopalian—the argument that his sweetheart can be seen from his pew.
Manston introduced into his method a system of bewitching flattery, everywhere pervasive42, yet, too, so transitory and intangible, that, as in the case of the poet Wordsworth and the Wandering Voice, though she felt it present, she could never find it. As a foil to heighten its effect, he occasionally spoke43 philosophically44 of the evanescence of female beauty—the worthlessness of mere45 appearance. ‘Handsome is that handsome does’ he considered a proverb which should be written on the looking-glass of every woman in the land. ‘Your form, your motions, your heart have won me,’ he said, in a tone of playful sadness. ‘They are beautiful. But I see these things, and it comes into my mind that they are doomed47, they are gliding48 to nothing as I look. Poor eyes, poor mouth, poor face, poor maiden49! “Where will her glories be in twenty years?” I say. “Where will all of her be in a hundred?” Then I think it is cruel that you should bloom a day, and fade for ever and ever. It seems hard and sad that you will die as ordinarily as I, and be buried; be food for roots and worms, be forgotten and come to earth, and grow up a mere blade of churchyard-grass and an ivy50 leaf. Then, Miss Graye, when I see you are a Lovely Nothing, I pity you, and the love I feel then is better and sounder, larger and more lasting51 than that I felt at the beginning.’ Again an ardent52 flash of his handsome eyes.
It was by this route that he ventured on an indirect declaration and offer of his hand.
She implied in the same indirect manner that she did not love him enough to accept it.
An actual refusal was more than he had expected. Cursing himself for what he called his egregious53 folly54 in making himself the slave of a mere lady’s attendant, and for having given the parish, should they know of her refusal, a chance of sneering56 at him—certainly a ground for thinking less of his standing than before—he went home to the Old House, and walked indecisively up and down his back-yard. Turning aside, he leant his arms upon the edge of the rain-water-butt standing in the corner, and looked into it. The reflection from the smooth stagnant57 surface tinged58 his face with the greenish shades of Correggio’s nudes59. Staves of sunlight slanted60 down through the still pool, lighting7 it up with wonderful distinctness. Hundreds of thousands of minute living creatures sported and tumbled in its depth with every contortion61 that gaiety could suggest; perfectly62 happy, though consisting only of a head, or a tail, or at most a head and a tail, and all doomed to die within the twenty-four hours.
‘Damn my position! Why shouldn’t I be happy through my little day too? Let the parish sneer55 at my repulses63, let it. I’ll get her, if I move heaven and earth to do it!’
Indeed, the inexperienced Cytherea had, towards Edward in the first place, and Manston afterwards, unconsciously adopted bearings that would have been the very tactics of a professional fisher of men who wished to have them each successively dangling64 at her heels. For if any rule at all can be laid down in a matter which, for men collectively, is notoriously beyond regulation, it is that to snub a petted man, and to pet a snubbed man, is the way to win in suits of both kinds. Manston with Springrove’s encouragement would have become indifferent. Edward with Manston’s repulses would have sheered off at the outset, as he did afterwards. Her supreme65 indifference added fuel to Manston’s ardour—it completely disarmed66 his pride. The invulnerable Nobody seemed greater to him than a susceptible67 Princess.
4. from the Twenty-first of June to the end of July
Cytherea had in the meantime received the following letter from her brother. It was the first definite notification of the enlargement of that cloud no bigger than a man’s hand which had for nearly a twelvemonth hung before them in the distance, and which was soon to give a colour to their whole sky from horizon to horizon.
‘BUDMOUTH REGIS,
Saturday.
‘DARLING SIS,—I have delayed telling you for a long time of a little matter which, though not one to be seriously alarmed about, is sufficiently68 vexing69, and it would be unfair in me to keep it from you any longer. It is that for some time past I have again been distressed70 by that lameness72 which I first distinctly felt when we went to Lulstead Cove73, and again when I left Knapwater that morning early. It is an unusual pain in my left leg, between the knee and the ankle. I had just found fresh symptoms of it when you were here for that half-hour about a month ago—when you said in fun that I began to move like an old man. I had a good mind to tell you then, but fancying it would go off in a few days, I thought it was not worth while. Since that time it has increased, but I am still able to work in the office, sitting on the stool. My great fear is that Mr. G. will have some out-door measuring work for me to do soon, and that I shall be obliged to decline it. However, we will hope for the best. How it came, what was its origin, or what it tends to, I cannot think. You shall hear again in a day or two, if it is no better...—Your loving brother, OWEN.’
This she answered, begging to know the worst, which she could bear, but suspense74 and anxiety never. In two days came another letter from him, of which the subjoined paragraph is a portion:—
‘I had quite decided75 to let you know the worst, and to assure you that it was the worst, before you wrote to ask it. And again I give you my word that I will conceal nothing—so that there will be no excuse whatever for your wearing yourself out with fears that I am worse than I say. This morning then, for the first time, I have been obliged to stay away from the office. Don’t be frightened at this, dear Cytherea. Rest is all that is wanted, and by nursing myself now for a week, I may avoid an illness of six months.’
After a visit from her he wrote again:—
‘Dr. Chestman has seen me. He said that the ailment76 was some sort of rheumatism77, and I am now undergoing proper treatment for its cure. My leg and foot have been placed in hot bran, liniments have been applied, and also severe friction78 with a pad. He says I shall be as right as ever in a very short time. Directly I am I shall run up by the train to see you. Don’t trouble to come to me if Miss Aldclyffe grumbles79 again about your being away, for I am going on capitally.... You shall hear again at the end of the week.’
At the time mentioned came the following:—
‘I am sorry to tell you, because I know it will be so disheartening after my last letter, that I am not so well as I was then, and that there has been a sort of hitch80 in the proceedings81. After I had been treated for rheumatism a few days longer (in which treatment they pricked83 the place with a long needle several times,) I saw that Dr. Chestman was in doubt about something, and I requested that he would call in a brother professional man to see me as well. They consulted together and then told me that rheumatism was not the disease after all, but erysipelas. They then began treating it differently, as became a different matter. Blisters84, flour, and starch85, seem to be the order of the day now—medicine, of course, besides.
‘Mr. Gradfield has been in to inquire about me. He says he has been obliged to get a designer in my place, which grieves me very much, though, of course, it could not be avoided.’
A month passed away; throughout this period, Cytherea visited him as often as the limited time at her command would allow, and wore as cheerful a countenance as the womanly determination to do nothing which might depress him could enable her to wear. Another letter from him then told her these additional facts:—
‘The doctors find they are again on the wrong tack86. They cannot make out what the disease is. O Cytherea! how I wish they knew! This suspense is wearing me out. Could not Miss Aldclyffe spare you for a day? Do come to me. We will talk about the best course then. I am sorry to complain, but I am worn out.’
Cytherea went to Miss Aldclyffe, and told her of the melancholy87 turn her brother’s illness had taken. Miss Aldclyffe at once said that Cytherea might go, and offered to do anything to assist her which lay in her power. Cytherea’s eyes beamed gratitude88 as she turned to leave the room, and hasten to the station.
‘O, Cytherea,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, calling her back; ‘just one word. Has Mr. Manston spoken to you lately?’
‘Yes,’ said Cytherea, blushing timorously89.
‘He proposed?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you refused him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tut, tut! Now listen to my advice,’ said Miss Aldclyffe emphatically, ‘and accept him before he changes his mind. The chance which he offers you of settling in life is one that may possibly, probably, not occur again. His position is good and secure, and the life of his wife would be a happy one. You may not be sure that you love him madly; but suppose you are not sure? My father used to say to me as a child when he was teaching me whist, “When in doubt win the trick!” That advice is ten times as valuable to a woman on the subject of matrimony. In refusing a man there is always the risk that you may never get another offer.’
‘Why didn’t you win the trick when you were a girl?’ said Cytherea.
‘Come, my lady Pert; I’m not the text,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, her face glowing like fire.
Cytherea laughed stealthily.
‘I was about to say,’ resumed Miss Aldclyffe severely91, ‘that here is Mr. Manston waiting with the tenderest solicitude92 for you, and you overlooking it, as if it were altogether beneath you. Think how you might benefit your sick brother if you were Mrs. Manston. You will please me very much by giving him some encouragement. You understand me, Cythie dear?’
Cytherea was silent.
‘And,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, still more emphatically, ‘on your promising93 that you will accept him some time this year, I will take especial care of your brother. You are listening, Cytherea?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, leaving the room.
She went to Budmouth, passed the day with her brother, and returned to Knapwater wretched and full of foreboding. Owen had looked startlingly thin and pale—thinner and paler than ever she had seen him before. The brother and sister had that day decided that notwithstanding the drain upon their slender resources, another surgeon should see him. Time was everything.
Owen told her the result in his next letter:—
‘The three practitioners94 between them have at last hit the nail on the head, I hope. They probed the place, and discovered that the secret lay in the bone. I underwent an operation for its removal three days ago (after taking chloroform)... Thank God it is over. Though I am so weak, my spirits are rather better. I wonder when I shall be at work again? I asked the surgeons how long it would be first. I said a month? They shook their heads. A year? I said. Not so long, they said. Six months? I inquired. They would not, or could not, tell me. But never mind.
‘Run down, when you have half a day to spare, for the hours drag on so drearily95. O Cytherea, you can’t think how drearily!’
She went. Immediately on her departure Miss Aldclyffe sent a note to the Old House, to Manston. On the maiden’s return, tired and sick at heart as usual, she found Manston at the station awaiting her. He asked politely if he might accompany her to Knapwater. She tacitly acquiesced96. During their walk he inquired the particulars of her brother’s illness, and with an irresistible97 desire to pour out her trouble to some one, she told him of the length of time which must elapse before he could be strong again, and of the lack of comfort in lodgings98.
Manston was silent awhile. Then he said impetuously: ‘Miss Graye, I will not mince99 matters—I love you—you know it. Stratagem100 they say is fair in love, and I am compelled to adopt it now. Forgive me, for I cannot help it. Consent to be my wife at any time that may suit you—any remote day you may name will satisfy me—and you shall find him well provided for.’
For the first time in her life she truly dreaded101 the handsome man at her side who pleaded thus selfishly, and shrank from the hot voluptuous102 nature of his passion for her, which, disguise it as he might under a quiet and polished exterior103, at times radiated forth with a scorching104 white heat. She perceived how animal was the love which bargained.
‘I do not love you, Mr. Manston,’ she replied coldly.
5. from the first to the Twenty-seventh of August
The long sunny days of the later summer-time brought only the same dreary accounts from Budmouth, and saw Cytherea paying the same sad visits.
She grew perceptibly weaker, in body and mind. Manston still persisted in his suit, but with more of his former indirectness, now that he saw how unexpectedly well she stood an open attack. His was the system of Dares at the Sicilian games—
‘He, like a captain who beleaguers105 round
Some strong-built castle on a rising ground,
Views all the approaches with observing eyes,
This and that other part again he tries,
And more on industry than force relies.’
Miss Aldclyffe made it appear more clearly than ever that aid to Owen from herself depended entirely upon Cytherea’s acceptance of her steward106. Hemmed107 in and distressed, Cytherea’s answers to his importunities grew less uniform; they were firm, or wavering, as Owen’s malady108 fluctuated. Had a register of her pitiful oscillations been kept, it would have rivalled in pathos109 the diary wherein De Quincey tabulates110 his combat with Opium—perhaps as noticeable an instance as any in which a thrilling dramatic power has been given to mere numerals. Thus she wearily and monotonously111 lived through the month, listening on Sundays to the well-known round of chapters narrating112 the history of Elijah and Elisha in famine and drought; on week-days to buzzing flies in hot sunny rooms. ‘So like, so very like, was day to day.’ Extreme lassitude seemed all that the world could show her.
Her state was in this wise, when one afternoon, having been with her brother, she met the surgeon, and begged him to tell the actual truth concerning Owen’s condition.
The reply was that he feared that the first operation had not been thorough; that although the wound had healed, another attempt might still be necessary, unless nature were left to effect her own cure. But the time such a self-healing proceeding82 would occupy might be ruinous.
‘How long would it be?’ she said.
‘It is impossible to say. A year or two, more or less.’
‘And suppose he submitted to another artificial extraction?’
‘Then he might be well in four or six months.’
Now the remainder of his and her possessions, together with a sum he had borrowed, would not provide him with necessary comforts for half that time. To combat the misfortune, there were two courses open—her becoming betrothed to Manston, or the sending Owen to the County Hospital.
Thus terrified, driven into a corner, panting and fluttering about for some loophole of escape, yet still shrinking from the idea of being Manston’s wife, the poor little bird endeavoured to find out from Miss Aldclyffe whether it was likely Owen would be well treated in the hospital.
‘County Hospital!’ said Miss Aldclyffe; ‘why, it is only another name for slaughter-house—in surgical113 cases at any rate. Certainly if anything about your body is snapt in two they do join you together in a fashion, but ’tis so askew114 and ugly, that you may as well be apart again.’ Then she terrified the inquiring and anxious maiden by relating horrid115 stories of how the legs and arms of poor people were cut off at a moment’s notice, especially in cases where the restorative treatment was likely to be long and tedious.
‘You know how willing I am to help you, Cytherea,’ she added reproachfully. ‘You know it. Why are you so obstinate116 then? Why do you selfishly bar the clear, honourable, and only sisterly path which leads out of this difficulty? I cannot, on my conscience, countenance you; no, I cannot.’
Manston once more repeated his offer; and once more she refused, but this time weakly, and with signs of an internal struggle. Manston’s eye sparkled; he saw for the hundredth time in his life, that perseverance117, if only systematic118, was irresistible by womankind.
6. The Twenty-seventh of August
On going to Budmouth three days later, she found to her surprise that the steward had been there, had introduced himself, and had seen her brother. A few delicacies119 had been brought him also by the same hand. Owen spoke in warm terms of Manston and his free and unceremonious call, as he could not have refrained from doing of any person, of any kind, whose presence had served to help away the tedious hours of a long day, and who had, moreover, shown that sort of consideration for him which the accompanying basket implied—antecedent consideration, so telling upon all invalids—and which he so seldom experienced except from the hands of his sister.
How should he perceive, amid this tithe-paying of mint, and anise, and cummin, the weightier matters which were left undone120?
Again the steward met her at Carriford Road Station on her return journey. Instead of being frigid121 as at the former meeting at the same place, she was embarrassed by a strife122 of thought, and murmured brokenly her thanks for what he had done. The same request that he might see her home was made.
He had perceived his error in making his kindness to Owen a conditional123 kindness, and had hastened to efface124 all recollection of it. ‘Though I let my offer on her brother’s—my friend’s—behalf, seem dependent on my lady’s graciousness to me,’ he whispered wooingly in the course of their walk, ‘I could not conscientiously125 adhere to my statement; it was said with all the impulsive126 selfishness of love. Whether you choose to have me, or whether you don’t, I love you too devotedly127 to be anything but kind to your brother.... Miss Graye, Cytherea, I will do anything,’ he continued earnestly, ‘to give you pleasure—indeed I will.’
She saw on the one hand her poor and much-loved Owen recovering from his illness and troubles by the disinterested128 kindness of the man beside her, on the other she drew him dying, wholly by reason of her self-enforced poverty. To marry this man was obviously the course of common sense, to refuse him was impolitic temerity129. There was reason in this. But there was more behind than a hundred reasons—a woman’s gratitude and her impulse to be kind.
The wavering of her mind was visible in her tell-tale face. He noticed it, and caught at the opportunity.
They were standing by the ruinous foundations of an old mill in the midst of a meadow. Between grey and half-overgrown stonework—the only signs of masonry131 remaining—the water gurgled down from the old millpond to a lower level, under the cloak of rank broad leaves—the sensuous132 natures of the vegetable world. On the right hand the sun, resting on the horizon-line, streamed across the ground from below copper-coloured and lilac clouds, stretched out in flats beneath a sky of pale soft green. All dark objects on the earth that lay towards the sun were overspread by a purple haze133, against which a swarm134 of wailing135 gnats136 shone forth luminously137, rising upward and floating away like sparks of fire.
The stillness oppressed and reduced her to mere passivity. The only wish the humidity of the place left in her was to stand motionless. The helpless flatness of the landscape gave her, as it gives all such temperaments138, a sense of bare equality with, and no superiority to, a single entity139 under the sky.
He came so close that their clothes touched. ‘Will you try to love me? Do try to love me!’ he said, in a whisper, taking her hand. He had never taken it before. She could feel his hand trembling exceedingly as it held hers in its clasp.
Considering his kindness to her brother, his love for herself, and Edward’s fickleness140, ought she to forbid him to do this? How truly pitiful it was to feel his hand tremble so—all for her! Should she withdraw her hand? She would think whether she would. Thinking, and hesitating, she looked as far as the autumnal haze on the marshy141 ground would allow her to see distinctly. There was the fragment of a hedge—all that remained of a ‘wet old garden’—standing in the middle of the mead130, without a definite beginning or ending, purposeless and valueless. It was overgrown, and choked with mandrakes, and she could almost fancy she heard their shrieks142.... Should she withdraw her hand? No, she could not withdraw it now; it was too late, the act would not imply refusal. She felt as one in a boat without oars143, drifting with closed eyes down a river—she knew not whither.
He gave her hand a gentle pressure, and relinquished144 it.
Then it seemed as if he were coming to the point again. No, he was not going to urge his suit that evening. Another respite145.
7. The early part of September
Saturday came, and she went on some trivial errand to the village post-office. It was a little grey cottage with a luxuriant jasmine encircling the doorway146, and before going in Cytherea paused to admire this pleasing feature of the exterior. Hearing a step on the gravel147 behind the corner of the house, she resigned the jasmine and entered. Nobody was in the room. She could hear Mrs. Leat, the widow who acted as postmistress, walking about over her head. Cytherea was going to the foot of the stairs to call Mrs. Leat, but before she had accomplished148 her object, another form stood at the half-open door. Manston came in.
‘Both on the same errand,’ he said gracefully149.
‘I will call her,’ said Cytherea, moving in haste to the foot of the stairs.
‘One moment.’ He glided150 to her side. ‘Don’t call her for a moment,’ he repeated.
But she had said, ‘Mrs. Leat!’
He seized Cytherea’s hand, kissed it tenderly, and carefully replaced it by her side.
She had that morning determined151 to check his further advances, until she had thoroughly152 considered her position. The remonstrance153 was now on her tongue, but as accident would have it, before the word could be spoken Mrs. Leat was stepping from the last stair to the floor, and no remonstrance came.
With the subtlety154 which characterized him in all his dealings with her, he quickly concluded his own errand, bade her a good-bye, in the tones of which love was so garnished155 with pure politeness that it only showed its presence to herself, and left the house—putting it out of her power to refuse him her companionship homeward, or to object to his late action of kissing her hand.
The Friday of the next week brought another letter from her brother. In this he informed her that, in absolute grief lest he should distress71 her unnecessarily, he had some time earlier borrowed a few pounds. A week ago, he said, his creditor156 became importunate157, but that on the day on which he wrote, the creditor had told him there was no hurry for a settlement, that ‘his sister’s suitor had guaranteed the sum.’ ‘Is he Mr. Manston? tell me, Cytherea,’ said Owen.
He also mentioned that a wheeled chair had been anonymously158 hired for his especial use, though as yet he was hardly far enough advanced towards convalescence159 to avail himself of the luxury. ‘Is this Mr. Manston’s doing?’ he inquired.
She could dally160 with her perplexity, evade161 it, trust to time for guidance, no longer. The matter had come to a crisis: she must once and for all choose between the dictates162 of her understanding and those of her heart. She longed, till her soul seemed nigh to bursting, for her lost mother’s return to earth, but for one minute, that she might have tender counsel to guide her through this, her great difficulty.
As for her heart, she half fancied that it was not Edward’s to quite the extent that it once had been; she thought him cruel in conducting himself towards her as he did at Budmouth, cruel afterwards in making so light of her. She knew he had stifled163 his love for her—was utterly164 lost to her. But for all that she could not help indulging in a woman’s pleasure of recreating defunct165 agonies, and lacerating herself with them now and then.
‘If I were rich,’ she thought, ‘I would give way to the luxury of being morbidly166 faithful to him for ever without his knowledge.’
But she considered; in the first place she was a homeless dependent; and what did practical wisdom tell her to do under such desperate circumstances? To provide herself with some place of refuge from poverty, and with means to aid her brother Owen. This was to be Mr. Manston’s wife.
She did not love him.
But what was love without a home? Misery. What was a home without love? Alas167, not much; but still a kind of home.
‘Yes,’ she thought, ‘I am urged by my common sense to marry Mr. Manston.’
Did anything nobler in her say so too?
With the death (to her) of Edward her heart’s occupation was gone. Was it necessary or even right for her to tend it and take care of it as she used to in the old time, when it was still a capable minister?
By a slight sacrifice here she could give happiness to at least two hearts whose emotional activities were still unwounded. She would do good to two men whose lives were far more important than hers.
‘Yes,’ she said again, ‘even Christianity urges me to marry Mr. Manston.’
Directly Cytherea had persuaded herself that a kind of heroic self-abnegation had to do with the matter, she became much more content in the consideration of it. A wilful168 indifference to the future was what really prevailed in her, ill and worn out, as she was, by the perpetual harassments of her sad fortune, and she regarded this indifference, as gushing169 natures will do under such circumstances, as genuine resignation and devotedness170.
Manston met her again the following day: indeed, there was no escaping him now. At the end of a short conversation between them, which took place in the hollow of the park by the waterfall, obscured on the outer side by the low hanging branches of the limes, she tacitly assented172 to his assumption of a privilege greater than any that had preceded it. He stooped and kissed her brow.
Before going to bed she wrote to Owen explaining the whole matter. It was too late in the evening for the postman’s visit, and she placed the letter on the mantelpiece to send it the next day.
The morning (Sunday) brought a hurried postscript173 to Owen’s letter of the day before:—
‘September 9, 1865.
‘DEAR CYTHEREA—I have received a frank and friendly letter from Mr. Manston explaining the position in which he stands now, and also that in which he hopes to stand towards you. Can’t you love him? Why not? Try, for he is a good, and not only that, but a cultured man. Think of the weary and laborious174 future that awaits you if you continue for life in your present position, and do you see any way of escape from it except by marriage? I don’t. Don’t go against your heart, Cytherea, but be wise.—Ever affectionately yours, OWEN.’
She thought that probably he had replied to Mr. Manston in the same favouring mood. She had a conviction that that day would settle her doom46. Yet
‘So true a fool is love,’
that even now she nourished a half-hope that something would happen at the last moment to thwart175 her deliberately-formed intentions, and favour the old emotion she was using all her strength to thrust down.
8. The Tenth of September
The Sunday was the thirteenth after Trinity, and the afternoon service at Carriford was nearly over. The people were singing the Evening Hymn176.
Manston was at church as usual in his accustomed place two seats forward from the large square pew occupied by Miss Aldclyffe and Cytherea.
The ordinary sadness of an autumnal evening-service seemed, in Cytherea’s eyes, to be doubled on this particular occasion. She looked at all the people as they stood and sang, waving backwards177 and forwards like a forest of pines swayed by a gentle breeze; then at the village children singing too, their heads inclined to one side, their eyes listlessly tracing some crack in the old walls, or following the movement of a distant bough178 or bird with features petrified179 almost to painfulness. Then she looked at Manston; he was already regarding her with some purpose in his glance.
‘It is coming this evening,’ she said in her mind. A minute later, at the end of the hymn, when the congregation began to move out, Manston came down the aisle180. He was opposite the end of her seat as she stepped from it, the remainder of their progress to the door being in contact with each other. Miss Aldclyffe had lingered behind.
‘Don’t let’s hurry,’ he said, when Cytherea was about to enter the private path to the House as usual. ‘Would you mind turning down this way for a minute till Miss Aldclyffe has passed?’
She could not very well refuse now. They turned into a secluded181 path on their left, leading round through a thicket182 of laurels183 to the other gate of the church-yard, walking very slowly. By the time the further gate was reached, the church was closed. They met the sexton with the keys in his hand.
‘We are going inside for a minute,’ said Manston to him, taking the keys unceremoniously. ‘I will bring them to you when we return.’
The sexton nodded his assent171, and Cytherea and Manston walked into the porch, and up the nave184.
They did not speak a word during their progress, or in any way interfere185 with the stillness and silence that prevailed everywhere around them. Everything in the place was the embodiment of decay: the fading red glare from the setting sun, which came in at the west window, emphasizing the end of the day and all its cheerful doings, the mildewed186 walls, the uneven187 paving-stones, the wormy pews, the sense of recent occupation, and the dank air of death which had gathered with the evening, would have made grave a lighter188 mood than Cytherea’s was then.
‘What sensations does the place impress you with?’ she said at last, very sadly.
‘I feel imperatively189 called upon to be honest, from very despair of achieving anything by stratagem in a world where the materials are such as these.’ He, too, spoke in a depressed190 voice, purposely or otherwise.
‘I feel as if I were almost ashamed to be seen walking such a world,’ she murmured; ‘that’s the effect it has upon me; but it does not induce me to be honest particularly.’
He took her hand in both his, and looked down upon the lids of her eyes.
‘I pity you sometimes,’ he said more emphatically.
‘I am pitiable, perhaps; so are many people. Why do you pity me?’
‘I think that you make yourself needlessly sad.’
‘Not needlessly.’
‘Yes, needlessly. Why should you be separated from your brother so much, when you might have him to stay with you till he is well?’
‘That can’t be,’ she said, turning away.
He went on, ‘I think the real and only good thing that can be done for him is to get him away from Budmouth awhile; and I have been wondering whether it could not be managed for him to come to my house to live for a few weeks. Only a quarter of a mile from you. How pleasant it would be!’
‘It would.’
He moved himself round immediately to the front of her, and held her hand more firmly, as he continued, ‘Cytherea, why do you say “It would,” so entirely in the tone of abstract supposition? I want him there: I want him to be my brother, too. Then make him so, and be my wife! I cannot live without you. O Cytherea, my darling, my love, come and be my wife!’
His face bent191 closer and closer to hers, and the last words sank to a whisper as weak as the emotion inspiring it was strong.
She said firmly and distinctly, ‘Yes, I will.’
‘Next month?’ he said on the instant, before taking breath.
‘No; not next month.’
‘The next?’
‘No.’
‘December? Christmas Day, say?’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘O, you darling!’ He was about to imprint192 a kiss upon her pale, cold mouth, but she hastily covered it with her hand.
‘Don’t kiss me—at least where we are now!’ she whispered imploringly193.
‘Why?’
‘We are too near God.’
He gave a sudden start, and his face flushed. She had spoken so emphatically that the words ‘Near God’ echoed back again through the hollow building from the far end of the chancel.
‘What a thing to say!’ he exclaimed; ‘surely a pure kiss is not inappropriate to the place!’
‘No,’ she replied, with a swelling194 heart; ‘I don’t know why I burst out so—I can’t tell what has come over me! Will you forgive me?’
‘How shall I say “Yes” without judging you? How shall I say “No” without losing the pleasure of saying “Yes?”’ He was himself again.
‘I don’t know,’ she absently murmured.
‘I’ll say “Yes,”’ he answered daintily. ‘It is sweeter to fancy we are forgiven, than to think we have not sinned; and you shall have the sweetness without the need.’
She did not reply, and they moved away. The church was nearly dark now, and melancholy in the extreme. She stood beside him while he locked the door, then took the arm he gave her, and wound her way out of the churchyard with him. Then they walked to the house together, but the great matter having been set at rest, she persisted in talking only on indifferent subjects.
‘Christmas Day, then,’ he said, as they were parting at the end of the shrubbery.
‘I meant Old Christmas Day,’ she said evasively.
‘H’m, people do not usually attach that meaning to the words.’
‘No; but I should like it best if it could not be till then?’ It seemed to be still her instinct to delay the marriage to the utmost.
‘Very well, love,’ he said gently. ”Tis a fortnight longer still; but never mind. Old Christmas Day.’
9. The Eleventh of September
‘There. It will be on a Friday!’
She sat upon a little footstool gazing intently into the fire. It was the afternoon of the day following that of the steward’s successful solicitation195 of her hand.
‘I wonder if it would be proper in me to run across the park and tell him it is a Friday?’ she said to herself, rising to her feet, looking at her hat lying near, and then out of the window towards the Old House. Proper or not, she felt that she must at all hazards remove the disagreeable, though, as she herself owned, unfounded impression the coincidence had occasioned. She left the house directly, and went to search for him.
Manston was in the timber-yard, looking at the sawyers as they worked. Cytherea came up to him hesitatingly. Till within a distance of a few yards she had hurried forward with alacrity—now that the practical expression of his face became visible she wished almost she had never sought him on such an errand; in his business-mood he was perhaps very stern.
‘It will be on a Friday,’ she said confusedly, and without any preface.
‘Come this way!’ said Manston, in the tone he used for workmen, not being able to alter at an instant’s notice. He gave her his arm and led her back into the avenue, by which time he was lover again. ‘On a Friday, will it, dearest? You do not mind Fridays, surely? That’s nonsense.’
‘Not seriously mind them, exactly—but if it could be any other day?’
‘Well, let us say Old Christmas Eve, then. Shall it be Old Christmas Eve?’
‘Yes, Old Christmas Eve.’
‘Your word is solemn, and irrevocable now?’
‘Certainly, I have solemnly pledged my word; I should not have promised to marry you if I had not meant it. Don’t think I should.’ She spoke the words with a dignified196 impressiveness.
‘You must not be vexed197 at my remark, dearest. Can you think the worse of an ardent man, Cytherea, for showing some anxiety in love?’
‘No, no.’ She could not say more. She was always ill at ease when he spoke of himself as a piece of human nature in that analytical198 way, and wanted to be out of his presence. The time of day, and the proximity199 of the house, afforded her a means of escape. ‘I must be with Miss Aldclyffe now—will you excuse my hasty coming and going?’ she said prettily200. Before he had replied she had parted from him.
‘Cytherea, was it Mr. Manston I saw you scudding201 away from in the avenue just now?’ said Miss Aldclyffe, when Cytherea joined her.
‘Yes.’
‘“Yes.” Come, why don’t you say more than that? I hate those taciturn “Yesses” of yours. I tell you everything, and yet you are as close as wax with me.’
‘I parted from him because I wanted to come in.’
‘What a novel and important announcement! Well, is the day fixed202?’
‘Yes.’
Miss Aldclyffe’s face kindled203 into intense interest at once. ‘Is it indeed? When is it to be?’
‘On Old Christmas Eve.’
‘Old Christmas Eve.’ Miss Aldclyffe drew Cytherea round to her front, and took a hand in each of her own. ‘And then you will be a bride!’ she said slowly, looking with critical thoughtfulness upon the maiden’s delicately rounded cheeks.
The normal area of the colour upon each of them decreased perceptibly after that slow and emphatic90 utterance by the elder lady.
Miss Aldclyffe continued impressively, ‘You did not say “Old Christmas Eve” as a fiancee should have said the words: and you don’t receive my remark with the warm excitement that foreshadows a bright future.... How many weeks are there to the time?’
‘I have not reckoned them.’
‘Not? Fancy a girl not counting the weeks! I find I must take the lead in this matter—you are so childish, or frightened, or stupid, or something, about it. Bring me my diary, and we will count them at once.’
Cytherea silently fetched the book.
Miss Aldclyffe opened the diary at the page containing the almanac, and counted sixteen weeks, which brought her to the thirty-first of December—a Sunday. Cytherea stood by, looking on as if she had no appetite for the scene.
‘Sixteen to the thirty-first. Then let me see, Monday will be the first of January, Tuesday the second, Wednesday third, Thursday fourth, Friday fifth—you have chosen a Friday, as I declare!’
‘A Thursday, surely?’ said Cytherea.
‘No: Old Christmas Day comes on a Saturday.’
The perturbed204 little brain had reckoned wrong. ‘Well, it must be a Friday,’ she murmured in a reverie.
‘No: have it altered, of course,’ said Miss Aldclyffe cheerfully. ‘There’s nothing bad in Friday, but such a creature as you will be thinking about its being unlucky—in fact, I wouldn’t choose a Friday myself to be married on, since all the other days are equally available.’
‘I shall not have it altered,’ said Cytherea firmly; ‘it has been altered once already: I shall let it be.’
收听单词发音 |
1
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
thaws
|
|
| n.（足以解冻的）暖和天气( thaw的名词复数 )；（敌对国家之间）关系缓和v.（气候）解冻( thaw的第三人称单数 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
writhes
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
psalm
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
lighting
|
|
| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
punctilious
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，谨小慎微的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
doctrines
|
|
| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
aberrancy
|
|
| 脱离正道，偏离常轨，反常 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
12
tangible
|
|
| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
lessening
|
|
| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
calamity
|
|
| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
catastrophe
|
|
| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
obliterate
|
|
| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
irresistibly
|
|
| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
imbibing
|
|
| v.吸收( imbibe的现在分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
spotted
|
|
| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
hips
|
|
| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
naively
|
|
| adv. 天真地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
appreciative
|
|
| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
repugnance
|
|
| n.嫌恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
zealous
|
|
| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
pervasive
|
|
| adj.普遍的；遍布的，(到处)弥漫的；渗透性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
philosophically
|
|
| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
doom
|
|
| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
doomed
|
|
| 命定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
gliding
|
|
| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
ivy
|
|
| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
lasting
|
|
| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
egregious
|
|
| adj.非常的，过分的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
sneering
|
|
| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
stagnant
|
|
| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
tinged
|
|
| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
nudes
|
|
| （绘画、照片或雕塑）裸体( nude的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
slanted
|
|
| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
contortion
|
|
| n.扭弯，扭歪，曲解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
repulses
|
|
| v.击退( repulse的第三人称单数 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
64
dangling
|
|
| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
disarmed
|
|
| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
susceptible
|
|
| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
vexing
|
|
| adj.使人烦恼的，使人恼火的v.使烦恼( vex的现在分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
distressed
|
|
| 痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
lameness
|
|
| n. 跛, 瘸, 残废 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
cove
|
|
| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
ailment
|
|
| n.疾病，小病 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
rheumatism
|
|
| n.风湿病 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
friction
|
|
| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
grumbles
|
|
| 抱怨( grumble的第三人称单数 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
hitch
|
|
| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
proceeding
|
|
| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
pricked
|
|
| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
blisters
|
|
| n.水疱( blister的名词复数 )；水肿；气泡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
starch
|
|
| n.淀粉；vt.给...上浆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
tack
|
|
| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
timorously
|
|
| adv.胆怯地，羞怯地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
emphatic
|
|
| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
severely
|
|
| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
solicitude
|
|
| n.焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
promising
|
|
| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
practitioners
|
|
| n.习艺者，实习者( practitioner的名词复数 )；从业者（尤指医师） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
drearily
|
|
| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
acquiesced
|
|
| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
irresistible
|
|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
mince
|
|
| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
stratagem
|
|
| n.诡计，计谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
dreaded
|
|
| 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) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
voluptuous
|
|
| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
exterior
|
|
| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
scorching
|
|
| adj. 灼热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
beleaguers
|
|
| v.围攻( beleaguer的第三人称单数 )；困扰；骚扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
106
steward
|
|
| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
hemmed
|
|
| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
malady
|
|
| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
pathos
|
|
| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
tabulates
|
|
| 把（数字、事实）列成表( tabulate的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
monotonously
|
|
| adv.单调地，无变化地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
narrating
|
|
| v.故事( narrate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
surgical
|
|
| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
askew
|
|
| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
horrid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
obstinate
|
|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
perseverance
|
|
| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
systematic
|
|
| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
delicacies
|
|
| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
undone
|
|
| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
frigid
|
|
| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
strife
|
|
| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
conditional
|
|
| adj.条件的，带有条件的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
efface
|
|
| v.擦掉，抹去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
conscientiously
|
|
| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
impulsive
|
|
| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
devotedly
|
|
| 专心地； 恩爱地； 忠实地； 一心一意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
disinterested
|
|
| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
temerity
|
|
| n.鲁莽，冒失 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
mead
|
|
| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
masonry
|
|
| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
sensuous
|
|
| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
haze
|
|
| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
swarm
|
|
| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
wailing
|
|
| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
gnats
|
|
| n.叮人小虫( gnat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
luminously
|
|
| 发光的； 明亮的； 清楚的； 辉赫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
temperaments
|
|
| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
entity
|
|
| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
fickleness
|
|
| n.易变；无常；浮躁；变化无常 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
marshy
|
|
| adj.沼泽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
shrieks
|
|
| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
oars
|
|
| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
relinquished
|
|
| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
respite
|
|
| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
gravel
|
|
| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
gracefully
|
|
| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
glided
|
|
| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
remonstrance
|
|
| n抗议，抱怨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
subtlety
|
|
| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
garnished
|
|
| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
creditor
|
|
| n.债仅人，债主，贷方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
importunate
|
|
| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
anonymously
|
|
| ad.用匿名的方式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
convalescence
|
|
| n.病后康复期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
dally
|
|
| v.荒废(时日)，调情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
evade
|
|
| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
dictates
|
|
| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
stifled
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
defunct
|
|
| adj.死亡的；已倒闭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
morbidly
|
|
| adv.病态地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
wilful
|
|
| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
gushing
|
|
| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
devotedness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
assent
|
|
| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
assented
|
|
| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
postscript
|
|
| n.附言，又及；(正文后的)补充说明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
laborious
|
|
| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
thwart
|
|
| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
hymn
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
backwards
|
|
| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
bough
|
|
| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
petrified
|
|
| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
aisle
|
|
| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
secluded
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
thicket
|
|
| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
laurels
|
|
| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
nave
|
|
| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
mildewed
|
|
| adj.发了霉的，陈腐的，长了霉花的v.（使）发霉，（使）长霉( mildew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
uneven
|
|
| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
lighter
|
|
| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
imperatively
|
|
| adv.命令式地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
depressed
|
|
| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
imprint
|
|
| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
imploringly
|
|
| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
swelling
|
|
| n.肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
solicitation
|
|
| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
analytical
|
|
| adj.分析的；用分析法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
proximity
|
|
| n.接近，邻近 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
prettily
|
|
| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
201
scudding
|
|
| n.刮面v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
202
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
203
kindled
|
|
| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
204
perturbed
|
|
| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |