AFTER an early tea, the little country-girl strayed into the garden. The enclosure had formerly1 been very extensive, but was now contracted within small compass, and hemmed2 about, partly by high wooden fences, and partly by the outbuildings of houses that stood on another street. In its centre was a grass-plat, surrounding a ruinous little structure, which showed just enough of its original design to indicate that it had once been a summer-house. A hop-vine, springing from last year’s root, was beginning to clamber over it, but would be long in covering the roof with its green mantle3. Three of the seven gables either fronted or looked sideways, with a dark solemnity of aspect, down into the garden.
The black, rich soil had fed itself with the decay of a long period of time; such as fallen leaves, the petals4 of flowers, and the stalks and seed — vessels5 of vagrant6 and lawless plants, more useful after their death than ever while flaunting7 in the sun. The evil of these departed years would naturally have sprung up again, in such rank weeds (symbolic of the transmitted vices8 of society) as are always prone9 to root themselves about human dwellings10. Phoebe Saw, however, that their growth must have been checked by a degree of careful labor11, bestowed12 daily and systematically13 on the garden. The white double rose-bush had evidently been propped14 up anew against the house since the commencement of the season; and a pear-tree and three damson-trees, which, except a row of currant-bushes, constituted the only varieties of fruit, bore marks of the recent amputation15 of several superfluous16 or defective17 limbs. There were also a few species of antique and hereditary18 flowers, in no very flourishing condition, but scrupulously19 weeded; as if some person, either out of love or curiosity, had been anxious to bring them to such perfection as they were capable of attaining20. The remainder of the garden presented a well-selected assortment21 of esculent vegetables, in a praiseworthy state of advancement22. Summer squashes almost in their golden blossom; cucumbers, now evincing a tendency to spread away from the main stock, and ramble23 far and wide; two or three rows of string-beans and as many more that were about to festoon themselves on poles; tomatoes, occupying a site so sheltered and sunny that the plants were already gigantic, and promised an early and abundant harvest.
Phoebe wondered whose care and toil24 it could have been that had planted these vegetables, and kept the soil so clean and orderly. Not surely her cousin Hepzibah’s, who had no taste nor spirits for the lady-like employment of cultivating flowers, and — with her recluse25 habits, and tendency to shelter herself within the dismal26 shadow of the house — would hardly have come forth27 under the speck28 of open sky to weed and hoe among the fraternity of beans and squashes.
It being her first day of complete estrangement29 from rural objects, Phoebe found an unexpected charm in this little nook of grass, and foliage30, and aristocratic flowers, and plebeian31 vegetables. The eye of Heaven seemed to look down into it pleasantly, and with a peculiar32 smile, as if glad to perceive that nature, elsewhere overwhelmed, and driven out of the dusty town, had here been able to retain a breathing-place. The spot acquired a somewhat wilder grace, and yet a very gentle one, from the fact that a pair of robins33 had built their nest in the pear-tree, and were making themselves exceed ingly busy and happy in the dark intricacy of its boughs34. Bees, too — strange to say — had thought it worth their while to come hither, possibly from the range of hives beside some farm-house miles away. How many aerial voyages might they have made, in quest of honey, or honey-laden, betwixt dawn and sunset! Yet, late as it now was, there still arose a pleasant hum out of one or two of the squash-blossoms, in the depths ofwich these bees were plying35 their golden labor. There was one other object in the garden which Nature might fairly claim as her inalienable property, in spite of whatever man could do to render it his own. This was a fountain, set round with a rim36 of old mossy stones, and paved, in its bed, with what appeared to be a sort of mosaic-work of variously colored pebbles37. The play and slight agitation38 of the water, in its upward gush39, wrought40 magically with these variegated41 pebbles, and made a continually shifting apparition42 of quaint43 figures, vanishing too suddenly to be definable. Thence, swelling45 over the rim of moss-grown stones, the water stole away under the fence, through what we regret to call a gutter46, rather than a channel. Nor must we forget to mention a hen-coop of very reverend antiquity47 that stood in the farther corner of the garden, not a great way from the fountain. It now contained only Chanticleer, his two wives, and a solitary48 chicken. All of them were pure specimens49 of a breed which had been transmitted down as an heirloom in the Pyncheon family, and were said, while in their prime, to have attained51 almost the size of turkeys, and, on the score of delicate flesh, to be fit for a prince’s table. In proof of the authenticity52 of this legendary53 renown54, Hepzibah could have exhibited the shell of a great egg, which an ostrich55 need hardly have been ashamed of. Be that as it might, the hens were now scarcely larger than pigeons, and had a queer, rusty56, withered57 aspect, and a gouty kind of movement, and a sleepy and melancholy58 tone throughout all the variations of their clucking and cackling. It was evident that the race had degenerated59, like many a noble race besides, in consequence of too strict a watchfulness60 to keep it pure. These feathered people had existed too long in their distinct variety; a fact of which the present representatives, judging by their lugubrious61 deportment, seemed to be aware. They kept themselves alive, unquestionably, and laid now and then an egg, and hatched a chicken; not for any pleasure of their own, but that the world might not absolutely lose what had once been so admirable a breed of fowls63. The distinguishing mark of the hens was a crest64 of lamentably65 scanty66 growth, in these latter days, but so oddly and wickedly analogous67 to Hepzibah’s turban, that Phoebe — to the poignant68 distress69 of her conscience, but inevitably70 — was led to fancy a general resemblance betwixt these forlorn bipeds and her respectable relative.
The girl ran into the house to get some crumbs71 of bread, cold potatoes, and other such scraps72 as were suitable to the accommodating appetite of fowls. Returning, she gave a peculiar call, which they seemed to recognize. The chicken crept through the pales of the coop and ran, with some show of liveliness, to her feet; while Chanticleer and the ladies of his household regarded her with queer, sidelong glances, and then croaked73 one to another, as if communicating their sage74 opinions of her character. So wise, as well as antique, was their aspect, as to give color to the idea, not merely that they were the descendants of a time-honored race, but that they had existed, in their individual capacity, ever since the House of the Seven Gables was founded, and were somehow mixed up with its destiny. They were a species of tutelary75 sprite, or Banshee; although winged and feathered differently from most other guardian76 angels.
“Here, you odd little chicken!” said Phoebe; “here are some nice crumbs for you!”
The chicken, hereupon, though almost as venerable in appearance as its, mother — possessing, indeed, the whole antiquity of its progenitors77 in miniature — mustered78 vivacity79 enough to flutter upward and alight on Phoebe’s shoulder.
“That little fowl62 pays you a high compliment!” said a voice behind Phoebe.
Turning quickly, she was surprised at sight of a young man, who had found access into the garden by a door opening out of another gable than that whence she had emerged. He held a hoe in his hand, and, while Phoebe was gone in quest of the crumbs, had begun to busy himself with drawing up fresh earth about the roots of the tomatoes.
“The chicken really treats you like an old acquaintance,” continued he in a quiet way, while a smile made his face pleasanter than Phoebe at first fancied it. “Those venerable personages in the coop, too, seem very affably disposed. You are lucky to be in their good graces so soon! They have known me much longer, but never honor me with any familiarity, though hardly a day passes without my bringing them food. Miss Hepzibah, I suppose, will interweave the fact with her other traditions, and set it down that the fowls know you to be a Pyncheon!”
“The secret is,” said Phoebe, smiling, “that I have learned how to talk with hens and chickens.”
“Ah, but these hens,” answered the young man —“these hens of aristocratic lineage would scorn to understand the vulgar language of a barn-yard fowl. I prefer to think — and so would Miss Hepzibah — that they recognize the family tone. For you are a Pyncheon?”
“My name is Phoebe Pyncheon,” said the girl, with a manner of some reserve; for she was aware that her new acquaintance could be no other than the daguerreotypist, of whose lawless propensities80 the old maid had given her a disagreeable idea. “I did not know that my cousin Hepzibah’s garden was under another person’s care.”
“Yes,” said Holgrave, “I dig, and hoe, and weed, in this black old earth, for the sake of refreshing81 myself with what little nature and simplicity82 may be left in it, after men have so long sown and reaped here. I turn up the earth by way of pastime. My sober occupation, so far as I have any, is with a lighter83 material. In short, I make pictures out of sunshine; and, not to be too much dazzled with my own trade, I have prevailed with Miss Hepzibah to let me lodge84 in one of these dusky gables. It is like a bandage over one’s eyes, to come into it. But would you like to see a specimen50 of my productions?”
“A daguerreotype85 likeness86, do you mean?” asked Phoebe with less reserve; for, in spite of prejudice, her own youthfulness sprang forward to meet his. “I don’t much like pictures of that sort — they are so hard and stern; besides dodging87 away from the eye, and trying to escape altogether. They are conscious of looking very unamiable, I suppose, and therefore hate to be seen.”
“If you would permit me,” said the artist, looking at Phoebe, “I should like to try whether the daguerreotype can bring out disagreeable traits on a perfectly89 amiable88 face. But there certainly is truth in what you have said. Most of my likenesses do look unamiable; but the very sufficient reason, I fancy, is, because the originals are so. There is a wonderful insight in Heaven’s broad and simple sunshine. While we give it credit only for depicting90 the merest surface, it actually brings out the secret character with a truth that no painter would ever venture upon, even could he detect it. There is, at least, no flattery in my humble91 line of art. Now, here is a likeness which I have taken over and over again, and still with no better result. Yet the original wears, to common eyes, a very different expression. It would gratify me to have your judgment92 on this character.”
He exhibited a daguerreotype miniature in a morocco case. Phoebe merely glanced at it, and gave it back.
“I know the face,” she replied; “for its stern eye has been following me about all day. It is my Puritan ancestor, who hangs yonder in the parlor93. To be sure, you have found some way of copying the portrait without its black velvet94 cap and gray beard, and have given him a modern coat and satin cravat95, instead of his cloak and band. I don’t think him improved by your alterations96.”
“You would have seen other differences had you looked a little longer,” said Holgrave, laughing, yet apparently97 much struck. “I can assure you that this is a modern face, and one which you will very probably meet. Now, the remarkable98 point is, that the original wears, to the world’s eye — and, for aught I know, to his most intimate friends — an exceedingly pleasant countenance99, indicative of benevolence100, openness of heart, sunny good-humor, and other praiseworthy qualities of that cast. The sun, as you see, tells quite another story, and will not be coaxed101 out of it, after half a dozen patient attempts on my part. Here we have the man, sly, subtle, hard, imperious, and, withal, cold as ice. Look at that eye! Would you like to be at its mercy? At that mouth! Could it ever smile? And yet, if you could only see the benign102 smile of the original! It is so much the More unfortunate, as he is a public character of some eminence103, and the likeness was intended to be engraved104.”
“Well, I don’t wish to see it any more,” observed Phoebe, turning away her eyes. “It is certainly very like the old portrait. But my cousin Hepzibah has another picture — a miniature. If the original is still in the world, I think he might defy the sun to make him look stern and hard.”
“You have seen that picture, then!” exclaimed the artist, with an expression of much interest. “I never did, but have a great curiosity to do so. And you judge favorably of the face?”
“There never was a sweeter one,” said Phoebe. “It is almost too soft and gentle for a man’s.”
“Is there nothing wild in the eye?” continued Holgrave, so earnestly that it embarrassed Phoebe, as did also the quiet freedom with which he presumed on their so recent acquaintance. “Is there nothing dark or sinister105 anywhere? Could you not conceive the original to have been guilty of a great crime?”
“It is nonsense,” said Phoebe a little impatiently, “for us to talk about a picture which you have never seen. You mistake it for some other. A crime, indeed! Since you are a friend of my cousin Hepzibah’s, you should ask her to show you the picture.”
“It will suit my purpose still better to see the original,” replied the daguerreotypist coolly. “As to his character, we need not discuss its points; they have already been settled by a competent tribunal, or one which called itself competent. But, stay! Do not go yet, if you please! I have a proposition to make you.”
Phoebe was on the point of retreating, but turned back, with some hesitation106; for she did not exactly comprehend his manner, although, on better observation, its feature seemed rather to be lack of ceremony than any approach to offensive rudeness. There was an odd kind of authority, too, in what he now proceeded to say, rather as if the garden were his own than a place to which he was admitted merely by Hepzibah’s courtesy.
“If agreeable to you,” he observed, “it would give me pleasure to turn over these flowers, and those ancient and respectable fowls, to your care. Coming fresh from country air and occupations, you will soon feel the need of some such out-of-door employment. My own sphere does not so much lie among flowers. You can trim and tend them, therefore, as you please; and I will ask only the least trifle of a blossom, now and then, in exchange for all the good, honest kitchen vegetables with which I propose to enrich Miss Hepzibah’s table. So we will be fellow-laborers, somewhat on the community system.”
Silently, and rather surprised at her own compliance107, Phoebe accordingly betook herself to weeding a flower-bed, but busied herself still more with cogitations respecting this young man, with whom she so unexpectedly found herself on terms approaching to familiarity. She did not altogether like him. His character perplexed108 the little country-girl, as it might a more practised observer; for, while the tone of his conversation had generally been playful, the impression left on her mind was that of gravity, and, except as his youth modified it, almost sternness. She rebelled, as it were, against a certain magnetic element in the artist’s nature, which he exercised towards her, possibly without being conscious of it.
After a little while, the twilight109, deepened by the shadows of the fruit-trees and the surrounding buildings, threw an obscurity over the garden.
“There,” said Holgrave, “it is time to give over work! That last stroke of the hoe has cut off a beanstalk. Good-night, Miss Phoebe Pyncheon! Any bright day, if you will put one of those rosebuds110 in your hair, and come to my rooms in Central Street, I will seize the purest ray of sunshine, and make a picture of the flower and its wearer.” He retired111 towards his own solitary gable, but turned his head, on reaching the door, and called to Phoebe, with a tone which certainly had laughter in it, yet which seemed to be more than half in earnest.
“Be careful not to drink at Maule’s well!” said he. “Neither drink nor bathe your face in it!”
“Maule’s well!” answered Phoebe. “Is that it with the rim of mossy stones? I have no thought of drinking there — but why not?”
“Oh,” rejoined the daguerreotypist, “because, like an old lady’s cup of tea, it is water bewitched!”
He vanished; and Phoebe, lingering a moment, saw a glimmering113 light, and then the steady beam of a lamp, in a chamber114 of the gable. On returning into Hepzibah’s apartment of the house, she found the low-studded parlor so dim and dusky that her eyes could not penetrate115 the interior. She was indistinctly aware, however, that the gaunt figure of the old gentlewoman was sitting in one of the straight-backed chairs, a little withdrawn116 from the window, the faint gleam of which showed the blanched117 paleness of her cheek, turned sideways towards a corner.
“Shall I light a lamp, Cousin Hepzibah?” she asked.
“Do, if you please, my dear child,” answered Hepzibah. “But put it on the table in the corner of the passage. My eyes are weak; and I can seldom bear the lamplight on them.”
What an instrument is the human voice! How wonderfully responsive to every emotion of the human soul! In Hepzibah’s tone, at that moment, there was a certain rich depth and moisture, as if the words, commonplace as they were, had been steeped in the warmth of her heart. Again, while lighting118 the lamp in the kitchen, Phoebe fancied that her cousin spoke119 to her.
“In a moment, cousin!” answered the girl. “These matches just glimmer112, and go out.”
But, instead of a response from Hepzibah, she seemed to hear the murmur120 of an unknown voice. It was strangely indistinct, however, and less like articulate words than an unshaped sound, such as would be the utterance121 of feeling and sympathy, rather than of the intellect. So vague was it, that its impression or echo in Phoebe’s mind was that of unreality. She concluded that she must have mistaken some other sound for that of the human voice; or else that it was altogether in her fancy.
She set the lighted lamp in the passage, and again entered the parlor. Hepzibah’s form, though its sable122 outline mingled123 with the dusk, was now less imperfectly visible. In the remoter parts of the room, however, its walls being so ill adapted to reflect light, there was nearly the same obscurity as before.
“Cousin,” said Phoebe, “did you speak to me just now?”
“No, child!” replied Hepzibah.
Fewer words than before, but with the same mysterious music in them! Mellow124, melancholy, yet not mournful, the tone seemed to gush up out of the deep well of Hepzibah’s heart, all steeped in its profoundest emotion. There was a tremor125 in it, too, that — as all strong feeling is electric — partly communicated itself to Phoebe. The girl sat silently for a moment. But soon, her senses being very acute, she became conscious of an irregular respiration126 in an obscure corner of the room. Her physical organization, moreover, being at once delicate and healthy, gave her a perception, operating with almost the effect of a spiritual medium, that somebody was near at hand.
“My dear cousin,” asked she, overcoming an indefinable reluctance127, “is there not some one in the room with us?”
“Phoebe, my dear little girl,” said Hepzibah, after a moment’s pause,“you were up betimes, and have been busy all day. Pray go to bed; for I am sure you must need rest. I will sit in the parlor awhile, and collect my thoughts. It has been my custom for more years, child, than you have lived!” While thus dismissing her, the maiden128 lady stept forward, kissed Phoebe, and pressed her to her heart, which beat against the girl’s bosom129 with a strong, high, and tumultuous swell44. How came there to be so much love in this desolate130 old heart, that it could afford to well over thus abundantly?
“Goodnight, cousin,” said Phoebe, strangely affected131 by Hepzibah’s manner. “If you begin to love me, I am glad!”
She retired to her chamber, but did not soon fall asleep, nor then very profoundly. At some uncertain period in the depths of night, and, as it were, through the thin veil of a dream, she was conscious of a footstep mounting the stairs heavily, but not with force and decision. The voice of Hepzibah, with a hush132 through it, was going up along with the footsteps; and, again, responsive to her cousin’s voice, Phoebe heard that strange, vague murmur, which might be likened to an indistinct shadow of human utterance.
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1
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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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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amputation
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| n.截肢 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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40
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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41
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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42
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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43
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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44
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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45
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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46
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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47
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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48
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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49
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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50
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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51
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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52
authenticity
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| n.真实性 | |
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53
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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54
renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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55
ostrich
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| n.鸵鸟 | |
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56
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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57
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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58
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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59
degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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61
lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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62
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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63
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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64
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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65
lamentably
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| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
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66
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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67
analogous
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| adj.相似的；类似的 | |
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68
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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69
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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70
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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71
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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72
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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73
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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74
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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75
tutelary
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| adj.保护的；守护的 | |
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76
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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77
progenitors
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| n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 )；先驱；前辈；原本 | |
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78
mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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79
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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80
propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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81
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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82
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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83
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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84
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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85
daguerreotype
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| n.银板照相 | |
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86
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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87
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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88
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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89
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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90
depicting
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| 描绘，描画( depict的现在分词 )； 描述 | |
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91
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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92
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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93
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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95
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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96
alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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97
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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98
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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99
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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100
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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101
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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102
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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103
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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104
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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105
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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106
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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107
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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108
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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109
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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110
rosebuds
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| 蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女，初入社交界的少女( rosebud的名词复数 ) | |
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111
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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112
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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113
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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114
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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115
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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116
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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117
blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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118
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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119
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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120
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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121
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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122
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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123
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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124
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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125
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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126
respiration
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| n.呼吸作用；一次呼吸；植物光合作用 | |
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127
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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128
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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129
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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130
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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131
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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132
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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