PHOEBE PYNCHEON slept, on the night of her arrival, in a chamber1 that looked down on the garden of the old house. It fronted towards the east, so that at a very seasonable hour a glow of crimson2 light came flooding through the window, and bathed the dingy3 ceiling and paper-hangings in its own hue4. There were curtains to Phoebe’s bed; a dark, antique canopy5, and ponderous6 festoons of a stuff which had been rich, and even magnificent, in its time; but which now brooded over the girl like a cloud, making a night in that one corner, while elsewhere it was beginning to be day. The morning light, however, soon stole into the aperture7 at the foot of the bed, betwixt those faded curtains. Finding the new guest there — with a bloom on her cheeks like the morning’s own, and a gentle stir of departing slumber8 in her limbs, as when an early breeze moves the foliage9 — the dawn kissed her brow. It was the caress10 which a dewy maiden11 — such as the Dawn is, immortally12 — gives to her sleeping sister, partly from the impulse of irresistible13 fondness, and partly as a pretty hint that it is time now to unclose her eyes.
At the touch of those lips of light, Phoebe quietly awoke, and, for a moment, did not recognize where she was, nor how those heavy curtains chanced to be festooned around her. Nothing, indeed, was absolutely plain to her, except that it was now early morning, and that, whatever might happen next, it was proper, first of all, to get up and say her prayers. She was the more inclined to devotion from the grim aspect of the chamber and its furniture, especially the tall, stiff chairs; one of which stood close by her bedside, and looked as if some old-fashioned personage had been sitting there all night, and had vanished only just in season to escape discovery.
When Phoebe was quite dressed, she peeped out of the window, and saw a rosebush in the garden. Being a very tall one, and of luxuriant growth, it had been propped14 up against the side of the house, and was literally15 covered with a rare and very beautiful species of white rose. A large portion of them, as the girl afterwards discovered, had blight16 or mildew17 at their hearts; but, viewed at a fair distance, the whole rosebush looked as if it had been brought from Eden that very summer, together with the mould in which it grew. The truth was, nevertheless, that it had been planted by Alice Pyncheon — she was Phoebe’s great-great-grand-aunt — in soil which, reckoning only its cultivation18 as a garden-plat, was now unctuous19 with nearly two hundred years of vegetable decay. Growing as they did, however, out of the old earth, the flowers still sent a fresh and sweet incense20 up to their Creator; nor could it have been the less pure and acceptable because Phoebe’s young breath mingled21 with it, as the fragrance22 floated past the window. Hastening down the creaking and carpetless staircase, she found her way into the garden, gathered some of the most perfect of the roses, and brought them to her chamber.
Little Phoebe was one of those persons who possess, as their exclusive patrimony23, the gift of practical arrangement. It is a kind of natural magic that enables these favored ones to bring out the hidden capabilities24 of things around them; and particularly to give a look of comfort and habitableness to any place which, for however brief a period, may happen to be their home. A wild hut of underbrush, tossed together by wayfarers25 through the primitive26 forest, would acquire the home aspect by one night’s lodging27 of such a woman, and would retain it long after her quiet figure had disappeared into the surrounding shade. No less a portion of such homely28 witchcraft29 was requisite30 to reclaim31, as it were, Phoebe’s waste, cheerless, and dusky chamber, which had been untenanted so long — except by spiders, and mice, and rats, and ghosts — that it was all overgrown with the desolation which watches to obliterate32 every trace of man’s happier hours. What was precisely33 Phoebe’s process we find it impossible to say. She appeared to have no preliminary design, but gave a touch here and another there; brought some articles of furniture to light and dragged others into the shadow; looped up or let down a window-curtain; and, in the course of half an hour, had fully34 succeeded in throwing a kindly35 and hospitable36 smile over the apartment. N o longer ago than the night before, it had resembled nothing so much as the old maid’s heart; for there was neither sunshine nor household fire in one nor the other, and, Save for ghosts and ghostly reminiscences, not a guest, for many years gone by, had entered the heart or the chamber.
There was still another peculiarity37 of this inscrutable charm. The bedchamber, No doubt, was a chamber of very great and varied38 experience, as a scene of human life: the joy of bridal nights had throbbed39 itself away here; new immortals40 had first drawn41 earthly breath here; and here old people had died. But — whether it were the white roses, or whatever the subtile influence might be — a person of delicate instinct would have known at once that it was now a maiden’s bedchamber, and had been purified of all former evil and sorrow by her sweet breath and happy thoughts. Her dreams of the past night, being such cheerful ones, had exorcised the gloom, and now haunted the chamber in its stead.
After arranging matters to her satisfaction, Phoebe emerged from her chamber, with a purpose to descend42 again into the garden. Besides the rosebush, she had observed several other species of flowers growing there in a wilderness43 of neglect, and obstructing44 one another’s development (as is often the parallel case in human society) by their uneducated entanglement45 and confusion. At the head of the stairs, however, she met Hepzibah, who, it being still early, invited her into a room which she would probably have called her boudoir, had her education embraced any such French phrase. It was strewn about with a few old books, and a work-basket, and a dusty writing-desk; and had, on one side, a large black article of furniture, of very strange appearance, which the old gentlewoman told Phoebe was a harpsichord46. It looked more like a coffin47 than anything else; and, indeed — not having been played upon, or opened, for years — there must have been a vast deal of dead music in it, stifled48 for want of air. Human finger was hardly known to have touched its chords since the days of Alice Pyncheon, who had learned the sweet accomplishment49 of melody in Europe.
Hepzibah bade her young guest sit down, and, herself taking a chair near by, looked as earnestly at Phoebe’s trim little figure as if she expected to see right into its springs and motive50 secrets.
“Cousin Phoebe,” said she, at last, “I really can’t see my way clear to keep you with me.”
These words, however, had not the inhospitable bluntness with which they may strike the reader; for the two relatives, in a talk before bedtime, had arrived at a certain degree of mutual51 understanding. Hepzibah knew enough to enable her to appreciate the circumstances (resulting from the second marriage of the girl’s mother) which made it desirable for Phoebe to establish herself in another home. Nor did she misinterpret Phoebe’s character, and the genial52 activity pervading53 it — one of the most valuable traits of the true New England woman — which had impelled54 her forth55, as might be said, to seek her fortune, but with a self-respecting purpose to confer as much benefit as she could anywise receive. As one of her nearest kindred, she had naturally betaken herself to Hepzibah, with no idea of forcing herself on her cousin’s protection, but only for a visit of a week or two, which might be indefinitely extended, should it prove for the happiness of both.
To Hepzibah’s blunt observation, therefore, Phoebe replied as frankly56, and more cheerfully.
“Dear cousin, I cannot tell how it will be,” said she. “But I really think we may suit one another much better than you suppose.”
“You are a nice girl — I see it plainly,” continued Hepzibah; “and it is not any question as to that point which makes me hesitate. But, Phoebe, this house of mine is but a melancholy57 place for a young person to be in. It lets in the wind and rain, and the Snow, too, in the garret and upper chambers58, in winter-time, but it never lets in the sunshine. And as for myself, you see what I am — a dismal59 and lonesome old woman (for I begin to call myself old, Phoebe), whose temper, I am afraid, is none of the best, and whose spirits are as bad as can be I cannot make your life pleasant, Cousin Phoebe, neither can I so much as give you bread to eat.”
“You will find me a cheerful little, body” answered Phoebe, smiling, and yet with a kind of gentle dignity. “and I mean to earn my bread. You know I have not been brought up a Pyncheon. A girl learns many things in a New England village.”
“Ah! Phoebe,” said Hepzibah, sighing, “your knowledge would do but little for you here! And then it is a wretched thought that you should fling away your young days in a place like this. Those cheeks would not be so rosy60 after a month or two. Look at my face!“and, indeed, the contrast was very striking —“you see how pale I am! It is my idea that the dust and continual decay of these old houses are unwholesome for the lungs.”
“There is the garden — the flowers to be taken care of,” observed Phoebe. “I should keep myself healthy with exercise in the open air.”
“And, after all, child,” exclaimed Hepzibah, suddenly rising, as if to dismiss the subject, “it is not for me to say who shall be a guest or inhabitant of the old Pyncheon House. Its master is coming.”
“Do you mean Judge Pyncheon?” asked Phoebe in surprise.
“Judge Pyncheon!” answered her cousin angrily. “He will hardly cross the threshold while I live! No, no! But, Phoebe, you shall see the face of him I speak of.”
She went in quest of the miniature already described, and returned with it in her hand. Giving it to Phoebe, she watched her features narrowly, and with a certain jealousy62 as to the mode in which the girl would show herself affected63 by the picture.
“How do you like the face?” asked Hepzibah.
“It is handsome!— it is very beautiful!” said Phoebe admiringly. “It is as sweet a face as a man’s can be, or ought to be. It has something of a child’s expression — and yet not childish — only one feels so very kindly towards him! He ought never to suffer anything. One would bear much for the sake of sparing him toil64 or sorrow. Who is it, Cousin Hepzibah?”
“Did you never hear,” whispered her cousin, bending towards her, “of Clifford Pyncheon?”
“Never. I thought there were no Pyncheons left, except yourself and our cousin Jaffrey,” answered Phoebe. “And yet I seem to have heard the name of Clifford Pyncheon. Yes!— from my father or my mother. but has he not been a long while dead?”
“Well, well, child, perhaps he has!” said Hepzibah with a sad, hollow laugh; “but, in old houses like this, you know, dead people are very apt to come back again! We shall see. And, Cousin Phoebe, since, after all that I have said, your courage does not fail you, we will not part so soon. You are welcome, my child, for the present, to such a home as your kinswoman can offer you.”
With this measured, but not exactly cold assurance of a hospitable purpose, Hepzibah kissed her cheek.
They now went below stairs, where Phoebe — not so much assuming the office as attracting it to herself, by the magnetism66 of innate67 fitness — took the most active part in preparing breakfast. The mistress of the house, meanwhile, as is usual with persons of her stiff and unmalleable cast, stood mostly aside; willing to lend her aid, yet conscious that her natural inaptitude would be likely to impede68 the business in hand. Phoebe and the fire that boiled the teakettle were equally bright, cheerful, and efficient, in their respective offices. Hepzibah gazed forth from her habitual69 sluggishness70, the necessary result of long solitude71, as from another sphere. She could not help being interested, however, and even amused, at the readiness with which her new inmate72 adapted herself to the circumstances, and brought the house, moreover, and all its rusty73 old appliances, into a suitableness for her purposes. Whatever she did, too, was done without conscious effort, and with frequent outbreaks of song, which were exceedingly pleasant to the ear. This natural tunefulness made Phoebe seem like a bird in a shadowy tree; or conveyed the idea that the stream of life warbled through her heart as a brook74 sometimes warbles through a pleasant little dell. It betokened75 the cheeriness of an active temperament76, finding joy in its activity, and, therefore, rendering77 it beautiful; it was a New England trait — the stern old stuff of Puritanism with a gold thread in the web.
Hepzibah brought out Some old silver spoons with the family crest78 upon them, and a china tea-set painted over with grotesque79 figures of man, bird, and beast, in as grotesque a landscape. These pictured people were odd humorists, in a world of their own — a world of vivid brilliancy, so far as color went, and still unfaded, although the teapot and small cups were as ancient as the custom itself of tea-drinking.
“Your great-great-great-great-grandmother had these cups, when she was married,” said Hepzibah to Phoebe.“She was a Davenport, of a good family. They were almost the first teacups ever seen in the colony; and if one of them were to be broken, my heart would break with it. But it is Nonsense to speak so about a brittle80 teacup, when I remember what my heart has gone through without breaking.”
The cups — not having been used, perhaps, since Hepzibah’s youth — had contracted no small burden of dust, which Phoebe washed away with so much care and delicacy81 as to satisfy even the proprietor82 of this invaluable83 china.
“What a nice little housewife you. are” exclaimed the latter, smiling, and at the Same time frowning so prodigiously84 that the smile was sunshine under a thunder-cloud. “Do you do other things as well? Are you as good at your book as you are at washing teacups?”
“Not quite, I am afraid,” said Phoebe, laughing at the form of Hepzibah’s question. “But I was schoolmistress for the little children in our district last summer, and might have been so still.”
“Ah! ’tis all very well!” observed the maiden lady, drawing herself up. “But these things must have come to you with your mother’s blood. I never knew a Pyncheon that had any turn for them.”
It is very queer, but not the less true, that people are generally quite as vain, or even more so, of their deficiencies than of their available gifts; as was Hepzibah of this native inapplicability, so to speak, of the Pyncheons to any useful purpose. She regarded it as an hereditary85 trait; and so, perhaps, it was, but unfortunately a morbid86 one, such as is often generated in families that remain long above the surface of society.
Before they left the breakfast-table, the shop-bell rang sharply, and Hepzibah set down the remnant of her final cup of tea, with a look of sallow despair that was truly piteous to behold87. In cases of distasteful occupation, the second day is generally worse than the first. we return to the rack with all the soreness of the preceding torture in our limbs. At all events, Hepzibah had fully satisfied herself of the impossibility of ever becoming wonted to this peevishly88 obstreperous89 little bell. Ring as often as it might, the sound always smote90 upon her nervous system rudely and suddenly. And especially now, while, with her crested91 teaspoons92 and antique china, she was flattering herself with ideas of gentility, she felt an unspeakable disinclination to confront a customer.
“Do not trouble yourself, dear cousin!” cried Phoebe, starting lightly up. “I am shop-keeper today.”
“You, child!” exclaimed Hepzibah. “What can a little country girl know of such matters?”
“Oh, I have done all the shopping for the family at our village store,” said Phoebe. “And I have had a table at a fancy fair, and made better sales than anybody. These things are not to be learnt; they depend upon a knack93 that comes, I suppose,” added she, smiling, “with one’s mother’s blood. You shall see that I am as nice a little saleswoman as I am a housewife!”
The old gentlewoman stole behind Phoebe, and peeped from the passageway into the shop, to note how she would manage her undertaking94. It was a case of some intricacy. A very ancient woman, in a white short gown and a green petticoat, with a string of gold beads95 about her neck, and what looked like a nightcap on her head, had brought a quantity of yarn96 to barter97 for the commodities of the shop. She was probably the very last person in town who still kept the time-honored spinning-wheel in constant revolution. It was worth while to hear the croaking98 and hollow tones of the old lady, and the pleasant voice of Phoebe, mingling99 in one twisted thread of talk; and still better to contrast their figures — so light and bloomy — so decrepit100 and dusky — with only the counter betwixt them, in one sense, but more than threescore years, in another. As for the bargain, it was wrinkled slyness and craft pitted against native truth and sagacity.
“Was not that well done?” asked Phoebe, laughing, when the customer was gone.
“Nicely done, indeed, child!” answered Hepzibah.“I could not have gone through with it nearly so well. As you say, it must be a knack that belongs to you on the mother’s side.”
It is a very genuine admiration101, that with which persons too shy or too awkward to take a due part in the bustling102 world regard the real actors in life’s stirring scenes; so genuine, in fact, that the former are usually fain to make it palatable103 to their self-love, by assuming that these active and forcible qualities are incompatible104 with others, which they choose to deem higher and more important. Thus, Hepzibah was well content to acknowledge Phoebe’s vastly superior gifts as a shop-keeper’— she listened, with compliant105 ear, to her suggestion of various methods whereby the influx106 of trade might be increased, and rendered profitable, without a hazardous107 outlay108 of capital. She consented that the village maiden should manufacture yeast109, both liquid and in cakes; and should brew110 a certain kind of beer, nectareous to the palate, and of rare stomachic virtues111; and, moreover, should bake and exhibit for sale some little spice-cakes, which whosoever tasted would longingly112 desire to taste again. All such proofs of a ready mind and skilful113 handiwork were highly acceptable to the aristocratic hucksteress, so long as she could murmur114 to herself with a grim smile, and a half-natural sigh, and a sentiment of mixed wonder, pity, and growing affection —
“What a nice little body she is! If she only could be a lady; too — but that’s impossible! Phoebe is no Pyncheon. She takes everything from her mother.”
As to Phoebe’s not being a lady, or whether she were a lady or no, it was a point, perhaps, difficult to decide, but which could hardly have come up for judgment115 at all in any fair and healthy mind. Out of New England, it would be impossible to meet with a person combining so many ladylike attributes with so many others that form no necessary (if compatible) part of the character. She shocked no canon of taste; she was admirably in keeping with herself, and never jarred against surrounding circumstances. Her figure, to be sure — so small as to be almost childlike, and so elastic116 that motion seemed as easy or easier to it than rest,would hardly have suited one’s idea of a countess. Neither did her face — with the brown ringlets on either side, and the slightly piquant117 nose, and the wholesome61 bloom, and the clear shade of tan, and the half dozen freckles118, friendly remembrances of the April sun and breeze — precisely give us a right to call her beautiful. But there was both lustre119 and depth in her eyes. She was very pretty; as graceful120 as a bird, and graceful much in the same way; as pleasant about the house as a gleam of sunshine falling on the floor through a shadow of twinkling leaves, or as a ray of firelight that dances on the wall while evening is drawing nigh. Instead of discussing her claim to rank among ladies, it would be preferable to regard Phoebe as the example of feminine grace and availability combined, in a state of society, if there were any such, where ladies did not exist. There it should be woman’s office to move in the midst of practical affairs, and to gild121 them all, the very homeliest — were it even the scouring122 of pots and kettles — with an atmosphere of loveliness and joy.
Such was the sphere of Phoebe. To find the born and educated lady, on the other hand, we need look no farther than Hepzibah, our forlorn old maid, in her rustling123 and rusty silks, with her deeply cherished and ridiculous consciousness of long descent, her shadowy claims to princely territory, and, in the way of accomplishment, her recollections, it may be, of having formerly125 thrummed on a harpsichord, and walked a minuet, and worked an antique tapestry-stitch on her sampler. It was a fair parallel between new Plebeianism and old Gentility.
It really seemed as if the battered126 visage of the House of the Seven Gables, black and heavy-browed as it still certainly looked, must have shown a kind of cheerfulness glimmering127 through its dusky windows as Phoebe passed to and fro in the interior. Otherwise, it is impossible to explain how the people of the neighborhood so soon became aware of the girl’s presence. There was a great run of custom, setting steadily128 in, from about ten o’ clock until towards noon — relaxing, somewhat, at dinner-time, but recommencing in the afternoon, and, finally, dying away a half an hour or so before the long day’s sunset. One of the stanchest patrons was little Ned Higgins, the devourer129 of Jim Crow and the elephant, who to-day signalized his omnivorous130 prowess by swallowing two dromedaries and a locomotive. Phoebe laughed, as she summed up her aggregate131 of sales upon the slate132; while Hepzibah, first drawing on a pair of silk gloves, reckoned over the sordid133 accumulation of copper134 coin, not without silver intermixed, that had jingled135 into the till.
“We must renew our stock, Cousin Hepzibah!” cried the little saleswoman. “The gingerbread figures are all gone, and so are those Dutch wooden milkmaids, and most of our other playthings. There has been constant inquiry136 for cheap raisins137, and a great cry for whistles, and trumpets138, and jew’s-harps; and at least a dozen little boys have asked for molasses-candy. And we must contrive139 to get a peck of russet apples, late in the season as it is. But, dear cousin, what an enormous heap of copper! Positively140 a copper mountain!”
“Well done! well done! well done!” quoth Uncle Venner, who had taken occasion to shuffle141 in and out of the shop several times in the course of the day. “Here’s a girl that will never end her days at my farm! Bless my eyes, what a brisk little soul!”
“Yes, Phoebe is a nice girl!” said Hepzibah, with a scowl142 of austere143 approbation144. “But, Uncle Venner, you have known the family a great many years. Can you tell me whether there ever was a Pyncheon whom she takes after?”
“I don’t believe there ever was,” answered the venerable man. “At any rate, it never was my luck to see her like among them, nor, for that matter, anywhere else. I’ve seen a great deal of the world, not only in people’s kitchens and back-yards but at the street-corners, and on the wharves145, and in other places where my business calls me; and I’m free to say, Miss Hepzibah, that I never knew a human creature do her work so much like one of God’s angels as this child Phoebe does!”
Uncle Venner’s eulogium, if it appear rather too high-strained for the person and occasion, had, nevertheless, a sense in which it was both subtile and true. There was a spiritual quality in Phoebe’s activity. The life of the long and busy day — spent in occupations that might so easily have taken a squalid and ugly aspect — had been made pleasant, and even lovely, by the spontaneous grace with which these homely duties seemed to bloom out of her character; so that labor146, while she dealt with it, had the easy and flexible charm of play. Angels do not toil, but let their good works grow out of them; and so did Phoebe.
The two relatives — the young maid and the old one — found time before nightfall, in the intervals147 of trade, to make rapid advances towards affection and confidence. A recluse148, like Hepzibah, usually displays remarkable149 frankness, and at least temporary affability, on being absolutely cornered, and brought to the point of personal intercourse150; like the angel whom Jacob wrestled151 with, she is ready to bless you when once overcome.
The old gentlewoman took a dreary152 and proud satisfaction in leading Phoebe from room to room of the house, and recounting the traditions with which, as we may say, the walls were lugubriously153 frescoed154. She showed the indentations made by the lieutenant-governor’s sword-hilt in the door-panels of the apartment where old Colonel Pyncheon, a dead host, had received his affrighted visitors with an awful frown. The dusky terror of that frown, Hepzibah observed, was thought to be lingering ever since in the passageway. She bade Phoebe step into one of the tall chairs, and inspect the ancient map of the Pyncheon territory at the eastward155. In a tract65 of land on which she laid her finger, there existed a silver mine, the locality of which was precisely pointed156 out in some memoranda157 of Colonel Pyncheon himself, but only to be made known when the family claim should be recognized by government. Thus it was for the interest of all New England that the Pyncheons should have justice done them. She told, too, how that there was undoubtedly158 an immense treasure of English guineas hidden somewhere about the house, or in the cellar, or possibly in the garden.
“If you should happen to find it, Phoebe,” said Hepzibah, glancing aside at her with a grim yet kindly smile, “we will tie up the shop-bell for good and all!”
“Yes, dear cousin,” answered Phoebe; “but, in the mean time, I hear somebody ringing it!”
When the customer was gone, Hepzibah talked rather vaguely159, and at great length, about a certain Alice Pyncheon, who had been exceedingly beautiful and accomplished160 in her lifetime, a hundred years ago. The fragrance of her rich and delightful161 character still lingered about the place where she had lived, as a dried rosebud162 scents163 the drawer where it has withered164 and perished. This lovely Alice had met with some great and mysterious calamity165, and had grown thin and white, and gradually faded out of the world. But, even now, she was supposed to haunt the House of the Seven Gables, and, a great many times — especially when one of the Pyncheons was to die — she had been heard playing sadly and beautifully on the harpsichord. One of these tunes166, just as it had sounded from her spiritual touch, had been written down by an amateur of music; it was so exquisitely167 mournful that nobody, to this day, could bear to hear it played, unless when a great sorrow had made them know the still profounder sweetness of it.
“Was it the same harpsichord that you showed me?” inquired Phoebe.
“The very same,” said Hepzibah. “It was Alice Pyncheon’s harpsichord. When I was learning music, my father would never let me open it. So, as I could only play on my teacher’s instrument, I have forgotten all my music long ago.”
Leaving these antique themes, the old lady began to talk about the daguerreotypist, whom, as he seemed to be a well-meaning and orderly young man, and in narrow circumstances, she had permitted to take up his residence in one of the seven gables. But, on seeing more of Mr. Holgrave, she hardly knew what to make of him. He had the strangest companions imaginable; men with long beards, and dressed in linen168 blouses, and other such new-fangled and ill-fitting garments; reformers, temperance lecturers, and all manner of cross-looking philanthropists; community-men, and come-outers, as Hepzibah believed, who acknowledged no law, and ate no solid food, but lived on the scent124 of other people’s cookery, and turned up their noses at the fare. As for the daguerreotypist, she had read a paragraph in a penny paper, the other day, accusing him of making a speech full of wild and disorganizing matter, at a meeting of his banditti-like associates. For her own part, she had reason to believe that he practised animal magnetism, and, if such things were in fashion nowadays, should be apt to suspect him of studying the Black Art up there in his lonesome chamber.
“But, dear cousin,” said Phoebe, “if the young man is so dangerous, why do you let him stay? If he does nothing worse, he may set the house on fire!”
“Why, sometimes,” answered Hepzibah, “I have seriously made it a question, whether I ought not to send him away. But, with all his oddities, he is a quiet kind of a person, and has such a way of taking hold of one’s mind, that, without exactly liking169 him (for I don’t know enough of the young man), I should be sorry to lose sight of him entirely170. A woman clings to slight acquaintances when she lives so much alone as I do.”
“But if Mr. Holgrave is a lawless person!” remonstrated171 Phoebe, a part of whose essence it was to keep within the limits of law.
“Oh!” said Hepzibah carelessly — for, formal as she was, still, in her life’s experience, she had gnashed her teeth against human law —“I suppose he has a law of his own!”
收听单词发音 |
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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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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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immortally
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| 不朽地，永世地，无限地 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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16
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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17
mildew
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| n.发霉；v.（使）发霉 | |
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18
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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19
unctuous
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| adj.油腔滑调的，大胆的 | |
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20
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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21
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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22
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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23
patrimony
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| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
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24
capabilities
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| n.能力( capability的名词复数 )；可能；容量；[复数]潜在能力 | |
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25
wayfarers
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| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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26
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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27
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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28
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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29
witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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30
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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31
reclaim
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| v.要求归还，收回；开垦 | |
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32
obliterate
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| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
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33
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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34
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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35
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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36
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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37
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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38
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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39
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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40
immortals
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| 不朽的人物( immortal的名词复数 )； 永生不朽者 | |
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41
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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42
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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43
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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44
obstructing
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| 阻塞( obstruct的现在分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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45
entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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46
harpsichord
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| n.键琴（钢琴前身） | |
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47
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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48
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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49
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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50
motive
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|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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51
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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52
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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53
pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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54
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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56
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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57
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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58
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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59
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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60
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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61
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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62
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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63
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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64
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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65
tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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66
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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67
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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68
impede
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，阻止 | |
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69
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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70
sluggishness
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| 不振，萧条，呆滞；惰性；滞性；惯性 | |
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71
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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72
inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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73
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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74
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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75
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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77
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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78
crest
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|
| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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79
grotesque
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|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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80
brittle
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|
| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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81
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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82
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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83
invaluable
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|
| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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84
prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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85
hereditary
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|
| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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86
morbid
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|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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87
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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88
peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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89
obstreperous
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| adj.喧闹的，不守秩序的 | |
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90
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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91
crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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92
teaspoons
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| n.茶匙( teaspoon的名词复数 )；一茶匙的量 | |
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93
knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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94
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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95
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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96
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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97
barter
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| n.物物交换，以货易货，实物交易 | |
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98
croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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99
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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100
decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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101
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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102
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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103
palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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104
incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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105
compliant
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| adj.服从的，顺从的 | |
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106
influx
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| n.流入，注入 | |
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107
hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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108
outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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109
yeast
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| n.酵母；酵母片；泡沫；v.发酵；起泡沫 | |
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110
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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111
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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112
longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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113
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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114
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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115
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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116
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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117
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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118
freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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119
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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120
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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121
gild
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| vt.给…镀金，把…漆成金色，使呈金色 | |
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122
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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123
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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124
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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125
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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126
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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127
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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128
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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129
devourer
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| 吞噬者 | |
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130
omnivorous
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| adj.杂食的 | |
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131
aggregate
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| adj.总计的，集合的；n.总数；v.合计；集合 | |
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132
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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133
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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134
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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135
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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136
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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137
raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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138
trumpets
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|
| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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139
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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140
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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141
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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142
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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143
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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144
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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145
wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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146
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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147
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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148
recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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150
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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151
wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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152
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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153
lugubriously
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154
frescoed
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| 壁画( fresco的名词复数 )； 温壁画技法，湿壁画 | |
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155
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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156
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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157
memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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158
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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159
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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160
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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161
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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162
rosebud
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| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
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163
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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164
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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165
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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166
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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167
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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168
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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169
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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170
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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171
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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