WHEN Phoebe awoke — which she did with the early twittering of the conjugal1 couple of robins2 in the pear-tree — she heard movements below stairs, and, hastening down, found Hepzibah already in the kitchen. She stood by a window, holding a book in close contiguity3 to her nose, as if with the hope of gaining an olfactory4 acquaintance with its contents, since her imperfect vision made it not very easy to read them. If any volume could have manifested its essential wisdom in the mode suggested, it would certainly have been the one now in Hepzibah’s hand; and the kitchen, in such an event, would forthwith have streamed with the fragrance7 of venison, turkeys, capons, larded partridges, puddings, cakes, and Christmas pies, in all manner of elaborate mixture and concoction9. It was a cookery book, full of innumerable old fashions of English dishes, and illustrated10 with engravings, which represented the arrangements of the table at such banquets as it might have befitted a nobleman to give in the great hall of his castle. And, amid these rich and potent11 devices of the culinary art (not one of which, probably, had been tested, within the memory of any man’s grandfather), poor Hepzibah was seeking for some nimble little titbit, which, with what skill she had, and such materials as were at hand, she might toss up for breakfast.
Soon, with a deep sigh, she put aside the savory12 volume, and inquired of Phoebe whether old Speckle, as she called one of the hens, had laid an egg the preceding day. Phoebe ran to see, but returned without the expected treasure in her hand. At that instant, however, the blast of a fish-dealer’s conch was heard, announcing his approach along the street. With energetic raps at the shop-window, Hepzibah summoned the man in, and made purchase of what he warranted as the finest mackerel in his cart, and as fat a one as ever he felt with his finger so early in the season. Requesting Phoebe to roast some coffee — which she casually14 observed was the real Mocha, and so long kept that each of the small berries ought to be worth its weight in gold — the maiden15 lady heaped fuel into the vast receptacle of the ancient fireplace in such quantity as soon to drive the lingering dusk out of the kitchen. The country-girl, willing to give her utmost assistance, proposed to make an Indian cake, after her mother’s peculiar16 method, of easy manufacture, and which she could vouch17 for as possessing a richness, and, if rightly prepared, a delicacy18, unequalled by any other mode of breakfast-cake. Hepzibah gladly assenting19, the kitchen was soon the scene of savory preparation. Perchance, amid their proper element of smoke, which eddied20 forth6 from the ill-constructed chimney, the ghosts of departed cook-maids looked wonderingly on, or peeped down the great breadth of the flue, despising the simplicity21 of the projected meal, yet ineffectually pining to thrust their shadowy hands into each inchoate22 dish. The half-starved rats, at any rate, stole visibly out of their hiding-places, and sat on their hind-legs, snuffing the fumy23 atmosphere, and wistfully awaiting an opportunity to nibble25.
Hepzibah had no natural turn for cookery, and, to say the truth, had fairly incurred26 her present meagreness by often choosing to go without her dinner rather than be attendant on the rotation27 of the spit, or ebullition of the pot. Her zeal28 over the fire, therefore, was quite an heroic test of sentiment. It was touching29, and positively30 worthy31 of tears (if Phoebe, the only spectator, except the rats and ghosts aforesaid, had not been better employed than in shedding them), to see her rake out a bed of fresh and glowing coals, and proceed to broil32 the mackerel. Her usually pale cheeks were all ablaze33 with heat and hurry. She watched the fish with as much tender care and minuteness of attention as if — we know not how to express it otherwise — as if her own heart were on the gridiron, and her immortal34 happiness were involved in its being done precisely35 to a turn!
Life, within doors, has few pleasanter prospects36 than a neatly37 arranged and well-provisioned breakfast-table. We come to it freshly, in the dewy youth of the day, and when our spiritual and sensual elements are in better accord than at a later period; so that the material delights of the morning meal are capable of being fully24 enjoyed, without any very grievous reproaches, whether gastric38 or conscientious39, for yielding even a trifle overmuch to the animal department of our nature. The thoughts, too, that run around the ring of familiar guests have a piquancy40 and mirthfulness, and oftentimes a vivid truth, which more rarely find their way into the elaborate intercourse41 of dinner. Hepzibah’s small and ancient table, supported on its slender and graceful42 legs, and covered with a cloth of the richest damask, looked worthy to be the scene and centre of one of the cheerfullest of parties. The vapor43 of the broiled44 fish arose like incense45 from the shrine46 of a barbarian47 idol48, while the fragrance of the Mocha might have gratified the nostrils49 of a tutelary50 Lar, or whatever power has scope over a modern breakfast-table. Phoebe’s Indian cakes were the sweetest offering of all — in their hue51 befitting the rustic52 altars of the innocent and golden age — or, so brightly yellow were they, resembling some of the bread which was changed to glistening53 gold when Midas tried to eat it. The butter must not be forgotten — butter which Phoebe herself had churned, in her own rural home, and brought it to her cousin as a propitiatory54 gift — smelling of clover-blossoms, and diffusing55 the charm of pastoral scenery through the dark-panelled parlor56. All this, with the quaint5 gorgeousness of the old china cups and saucers, and the crested57 spoons, and a silver cream-jug (Hepzibah’s only other article of plate, and shaped like the rudest porringer), set out a board at which the stateliest of old Colonel Pyncheon’s guests need not have scorned to take his place. But the Puritan’s face scowled59 down out of the picture, as if nothing on the table pleased his appetite.
By way of contributing what grace she could, Phoebe gathered some roses and a few other flowers, possessing either scent60 or beauty, and arranged them in a glass pitcher61, which, having long ago lost its handle, was so much the fitter for a flower-vase. The early sunshine — as fresh as that which peeped into Eve’s bower62 while she and Adam sat at breakfast there — came twinkling through the branches of the pear-tree, and fell quite across the table. All was now ready. There were chairs and plates for three. A chair and plate for Hepzibah — the same for Phoebe — but what other guest did her cousin look for?
Throughout this preparation there had been a constant tremor63 in Hepzibah’s frame; an agitation64 so powerful that Phoebe could see the quivering of her gaunt shadow, as thrown by the firelight on the kitchen wall, or by the sunshine on the parlor floor. Its manifestations65 were so various, and agreed so little with one another, that the girl knew not what to make of it. Sometimes it seemed an ecstasy67 of delight and happiness. At such moments, Hepzibah would fling out her arms, and infold Phoebe in them, and kiss her cheek as tenderly as ever her mother had; she appeared to do so by an inevitable68 impulse, and as if her bosom69 were oppressed with tenderness, of which she must needs pour out a little, in order to gain breathing-room. The next moment, without any visible cause for the change, her unwonted joy shrank back, appalled70, as it were, and clothed itself in mourning; or it ran and hid itself, so to speak, in the dungeon71 of her heart, where it had long lain chained, while a cold, spectral72 sorrow took the place of the imprisoned73 joy, that was afraid to be enfranchised74 — a sorrow as black as that was bright. She often broke into a little, nervous, hysteric laugh, more touching than any tears could be; and forthwith, as if to try which was the most touching, a gush75 of tears would follow; or perhaps the laughter and tears came both at once, and surrounded our poor Hepzibah, in a moral sense, with a kind of pale, dim rainbow. Towards Phoebe, as we have said, she was affectionate — far tenderer than ever before, in their brief acquaintance, except for that one kiss on the preceding night — yet with a Continually recurring76 pettishness77 and irritability78. She would speak sharply to her; then, throwing aside all the starched79 reserve of her ordinary manner, ask pardon, and the next instant renew the just-forgiven injury.
At last, when their mutual80 labor8 was all finished, she took Phoebe’s hand in her own trembling one.
“Bear with me, my dear child,” she cried; “for truly my heart is full to the brim! Bear with me; for I love you, Phoebe, though I speak so roughly. Think nothing of it, dearest child! By and by, I shall be kind, and only kind!”
“My dearest cousin, cannot you tell me what has happened?” asked Phoebe, with a sunny and tearful sympathy. “What is it that moves you so?”
“Hush81! hush! He is coming!” whispered Hepzibah, hastily wiping her eyes. “Let him see you first, Phoebe; for you are young and rosy82, and cannot help letting a smile break out whether or no. He always liked bright faces! And mine is old now, and the tears are hardly dry on it. He never could abide83 tears. There; draw the curtain a little, so that the shadow may fall across his side of the table! But let there be a good deal of sunshine, too; for he never was fond of gloom, as some people are. He has had but little sunshine in his life — poor Clifford, — and, oh, what a black shadow. Poor, poor Clifford!”
Thus murmuring in an undertone, as if speaking rather to her own heart than to Phoebe, the old gentlewoman stepped on tiptoe about the room, making such arrangements as suggested themselves at the crisis.
Meanwhile there was a step in the passage-way, above stairs. Phoebe recognized it as the same which had passed upward, as through her dream, in the night-time. The approaching guest, whoever it might be, appeared to pause at the head of the staircase; he paused twice or thrice in the descent; he paused again at the foot. Each time, the delay seemed to be without purpose, but rather from a forgetfulness of the purpose which had set him in motion, or as if the person’s feet came involuntarily to a stand-still because the motive-power was too feeble to sustain his progress. Finally, he made a long pause at the threshold of the parlor. He took hold of the knob of the door; then loosened his grasp without opening it. Hepzibah, her hands convulsively clasped, stood gazing at the entrance.
“Dear Cousin Hepzibah, pray don’t look so!” said Phoebe, trembling; for her cousin’s emotion, and this mysteriously reluctant step, made her feel as if a ghost were coming into the room. “You really frighten me! Is something awful going to happen?”
“Hush!” whispered Hepzibah. “Be cheerful! whatever may happen, be nothing but cheerful!”
The final pause at the threshold proved so long, that Hepzibah, unable to endure the suspense85, rushed forward, threw open the door, and led in the stranger by the hand. At the first glance, Phoebe saw an elderly personage, in an old-fashioned dressing-gown of faded damask, and wearing his gray or almost white hair of an unusual length. It quite overshadowed his forehead, except when he thrust it back, and stared vaguely86 about the room. After a very brief inspection87 of his face, it was easy to conceive that his footstep must necessarily be such an one as that which, slowly and with as indefinite an aim as a child’s first journey across a floor, had just brought him hitherward. Yet there were no tokens that his physical strength might not have sufficed for a free and determined88 gait. It was the spirit of the man that could not walk. The expression of his countenance89 — while, notwithstanding it had the light of reason in it — seemed to waver, and glimmer91, and nearly to die away, and feebly to recover itself again. It was like a flame which we see twinkling among half-extinguished embers; we gaze at it more intently than if it were a positive blaze, gushing92 vividly93 upward — more intently, but with a certain impatience94, as if it ought either to kindle95 itself into satisfactory splendor96, or be at once extinguished.
For an instant after entering the room, the guest stood still, retaining Hepzibah’s hand instinctively98, as a child does that of the grown person who guides it. He saw Phoebe, however, and caught an illumination from her youthful and pleasant aspect, which, indeed, threw a cheerfulness about the parlor, like the circle of reflected brilliancy around the glass vase of flowers that was standing90 in the sunshine. He made a salutation, or, to speak nearer the truth, an ill-defined, abortive99 attempt at curtsy. Imperfect as it was, however, it conveyed an idea, or, at least, gave a hint, of indescribable grace, such as no practised art of external manners could have attained100. It was too slight to seize upon at the instant; yet, as recollected101 afterwards, seemed to transfigure the whole man.
“Dear Clifford,” said Hepzibah, in the tone with which one soothes102 a wayward infant, “this is our cousin Phoebe — little Phoebe Pyncheon — Arthur’s only child, you know. She has come from the country to stay with us awhile; for our old house has grown to be very lonely now.”
“Phoebe — Phoebe Pyncheon?— Phoebe?” repeated the guest, with a strange, sluggish103, ill-defined utterance104. “Arthur’s child! Ah, I forget! No matter. She is very welcome!”
“Come, dear Clifford, take this chair,” said Hepzibah, leading him to his place. “Pray, Phoebe, lower the curtain a very little more. Now let us begin breakfast.”
The guest seated himself in the place assigned him, and looked strangely around. He was evidently trying to grapple with the present scene, and bring it home to his mind with a more satisfactory distinctness. He desired to be certain, at least, that he was here, in the low-studded, cross-beamed, oaken-panelled parlor, and not in some other spot, which had stereotyped105 itself into his senses. But the effort was too great to be sustained with more than a fragmentary success. Continually, as we may express it, he faded away out of his place; or, in other words, his mind and consciousness took their departure, leaving his wasted, gray, and melancholy106 figure — a substantial emptiness, a material ghost — to occupy his seat at table. Again, after a blank moment, there would be a flickering107 taper-gleam in his eyeballs. It betokened108 that his spiritual part had returned, and was doing its best to kindle the heart’s household fire, and light up intellectual lamps in the dark and ruinous mansion109, where it was doomed111 to be a forlorn inhabitant.
At one of these moments of less torpid112, yet still imperfect animation113, Phoebe became convinced of what she had at first rejected as too extravagant114 and startling an idea. She saw that the person before her must have been the original of the beautiful miniature in her cousin Hepzibah’s possession. Indeed, with a feminine eye for costume, she had at once identified the damask dressing-gown, which enveloped115 him, as the same in figure, material, and fashion, with that so elaborately represented in the picture. This old, faded garment, with all its pristine116 brilliancy extinct, seemed, in some indescribable way, to translate the wearer’s untold117 misfortune, and make it perceptible to the beholder118’s eye. It was the better to be discerned, by this exterior119 type, how worn and old were the soul’s more immediate120 garments; that form and countenance, the beauty and grace of which had almost transcended121 the skill of the most exquisite122 of artists. It could the more adequately be known that the soul of the man must have suffered some miserable123 wrong, from its earthly experience. There he seemed to sit, with a dim veil of decay and ruin betwixt him and the world, but through which, at flitting intervals124, might be caught the same expression, so refined, so softly imaginative, which Malbone — venturing a happy touch, with suspended breath — had imparted to the miniature! There had been something so innately126 characteristic in this look, that all the dusky years, and the burden of unfit calamity127 which had fallen upon him, did not suffice utterly128 to destroy it.
Hepzibah had now poured out a cup of deliciously fragrant129 coffee, and presented it to her guest. As his eyes met hers, he seemed bewildered and disquieted130.
“Is this you, Hepzibah?” he murmured sadly. then, more apart, and perhaps unconscious that he was overheard, “How changed! how changed! And is she angry with me? Why does she bend her brow so?”
Poor Hepzibah! It was that wretched scowl58 which time and her near-sightedness, and the fret131 of inward discomfort132, had rendered so habitual133 that any vehemence134 of mood invariably evoked135 it. But at the indistinct murmur84 of his words her whole face grew tender, and even lovely, with sorrowful affection; the harshness of her features disappeared, as it were, behind the warm and misty136 glow.
“Angry! she repeated; “angry with you, Clifford!”
Her tone, as she uttered the exclamation137, had a plaintive138 and really exquisite melody thrilling through it, yet without subduing139 a certain something which an obtuse140 auditor141 might still have mistaken for asperity142. It was as if some transcendent musician should draw a soul-thrilling sweetness out of a cracked instrument, which makes its physical imperfection heard in the midst of ethereal harmony — so deep was the sensibility that found an organ in Hepzibah’s voice!
“There is nothing but love, here, Clifford,” she added —“nothing but love! You are at home!”
The guest responded to her tone by a smile, which did not half light up his face. Feeble as it was, however, and gone in a moment, it had a charm of wonderful beauty. It was followed by a coarser expression; or one that had the effect of coarseness on the fine mould and outline of his countenance, because there was nothing intellectual to temper it. It was a look of appetite. He ate food with what might almost be termed voracity143; and seemed to forget himself, Hepzibah, the young girl, and everything else around him, in the sensual enjoyment144 which the bountifully spread table afforded. In his natural system, though high-wrought and delicately refined, a sensibility to the delights of the palate was probably inherent. It would have been kept in check, however, and even converted into an accomplishment145, and one of the thousand modes of intellectual culture, had his more ethereal characteristics retained their vigor146. But as it existed now, the effect was painful and made Phoebe droop147 her eyes.
In a little while the guest became sensible of the fragrance of the yet untasted coffee. He quaffed148 it eagerly. The subtle essence acted on him like a charmed draught149, and caused the opaque150 substance of his animal being to grow transparent151, or, at least, translucent152; so that a spiritual gleam was transmitted through it, with a clearer lustre153 than hitherto.
“More, more!” he cried, with nervous haste in his utterance, as if anxious to retain his grasp of what sought to escape him. “This is what I need! Give me more!”
Under this delicate and powerful influence he sat more erect154, and looked out from his eyes with a glance that took note of what it rested on. It was not so much that his expression grew more intellectual; this, though it had its share, was not the most peculiar effect. Neither was what we call the moral nature so forcibly awakened155 as to present itself in remarkable156 prominence157. But a certain fine temper of being was now not brought out in full relief, but changeably and imperfectly betrayed, of which it was the function to deal with all beautiful and enjoyable things. In a character where it should exist as the chief attribute, it would bestow158 on its possessor an exquisite taste, and an enviable susceptibility of happiness. Beauty would be his life; his aspirations159 would all tend toward it; and, allowing his frame and physical organs to be in consonance, his own developments would likewise be beautiful. Such a man should have nothing to do with sorrow; nothing with strife160; nothing with the martyrdom which, in an infinite variety of shapes, awaits those who have the heart, and will, and conscience, to fight a battle with the world. To these heroic tempers, such martyrdom is the richest meed in the world’s gift. To the individual before us, it could only be a grief, intense in due proportion with the severity of the infliction162. He had no right to be a martyr161; and, beholding163 him so fit to be happy and so feeble for all other purposes, a generous, strong, and noble spirit would, methinks, have been ready to sacrifice what little enjoyment it might have planned for itself — it would have flung down the hopes, so paltry164 in its regard — if thereby165 the wintry blasts of our rude sphere might come tempered to such a man.
Not to speak it harshly or scornfully, it seemed Clifford’s nature to be a Sybarite. It was perceptible, even there, in the dark old parlor, in the inevitable polarity with which his eyes were attracted towards the quivering play of sunbeams through the shadowy foliage166. It was seen in his appreciating notice of the vase of flowers, the scent of which he inhaled167 with a zest168 almost peculiar to a physical organization so refined that spiritual ingredients are moulded in with it. It was betrayed in the unconscious smile with which he regarded Phoebe, whose fresh and maidenly169 figure was both sunshine and flowers — their essence, in a prettier and more agreeable mode of manifestation66. Not less evident was this love and necessity for the Beautiful, in the instinctive97 caution with which, even so soon, his eyes turned away from his hostess, and wandered to any quarter rather than come back. It was Hepzibah’s misfortune — not Clifford’s fault. How could he — so yellow as she was, so wrinkled, so sad of mien170, with that odd uncouthness171 of a turban on her head, and that most perverse172 of scowls173 contorting her brow — how could he love to gaze at her? But, did he owe her no affection for so much as she had silently given? He owed her nothing. A nature like Clifford’s can contract no debts of that kind. It is — we say it without censure174, nor in diminution175 of the claim which it indefeasibly possesses on beings of another mould — it is always selfish in its essence; and we must give it leave to be so, and heap up our heroic and disinterested176 love upon it so much the more, without a recompense. Poor Hepzibah knew this truth, or, at least, acted on the instinct of it. So long estranged177 from what was lovely as Clifford had been, she rejoiced — rejoiced, though with a present sigh, and a secret purpose to shed tears in her own chamber178 that he had brighter objects now before his eyes than her aged179 and uncomely features. They never possessed180 a charm; and if they had, the canker of her grief for him would long since have destroyed it.
The guest leaned back in his chair. Mingled181 in his countenance with a dreamy delight, there was a troubled look of effort and unrest. He was seeking to make himself more fully sensible of the scene around him; or, perhaps, dreading182 it to be a dream, or a play of imagination, was vexing183 the fair moment with a struggle for some added brilliancy and more durable184 illusion.
“How pleasant!— How delightful185!” he murmured, but not as if addressing any one. “Will it last? How balmy the atmosphere through that open window! An open window! How beautiful that play of sunshine! Those flowers, how very fragrant! That young girl’s face, how cheerful, how blooming!— a flower with the dew on it, and sunbeams in the dew-drops! Ah! this must be all a dream! A dream! A dream! But it has quite hidden the four stone walls”
Then his face darkened, as if the shadow of a cavern186 or a dungeon had come over it; there was no more light in its expression than might have come through the iron grates of a prison window-still lessening187, too, as if he were sinking farther into the depths. Phoebe (being of that quickness and activity of temperament188 that she seldom long refrained from taking a part, and generally a good one, in what was going forward) now felt herself moved to address the stranger.
“Here is a new kind of rose, which I found this morning in the garden,” said she, choosing a small crimson189 one from among the flowers in the vase. “There will be but five or six on the bush this season. This is the most perfect of them all; not a speck13 of blight190 or mildew191 in it. And how sweet it is!— sweet like no other rose! One can never forget that scent!”
“Ah!— let me see!— let me hold it!” cried the guest, eagerly seizing the flower, which, by the spell peculiar to remembered odors, brought innumerable associations along with the fragrance that it exhaled192. “Thank you! This has done me good. I remember how I used to prize this flower — long ago, I suppose, very long ago!— or was it only yesterday? It makes me feel young again! Am I young? Either this remembrance is singularly distinct, or this consciousness strangely dim! But how kind of the fair young girl! Thank you! Thank you!”
The favorable excitement derived193 from this little crimson rose afforded Clifford the brightest moment which he enjoyed at the breakfast-table. It might have lasted longer, but that his eyes happened, soon afterwards, to rest on the face of the old Puritan, who, out of his dingy194 frame and lustreless195 canvas, was looking down on the scene like a ghost, and a most ill-tempered and ungenial one. The guest made an impatient gesture of the hand, and addressed Hepzibah with what might easily be recognized as the licensed196 irritability of a petted member of the family.
“Hepzibah!— Hepzibah!” cried he with no little force and distinctness, “why do you keep that odious197 picture on the wall? Yes, yes!— that is precisely your taste! I have told you, a thousand times, that it was the evil genius of the house!— my evil genius particularly! Take it down, at once!”
“Dear Clifford,” said Hepzibah sadly, “you know it cannot be!”
“Then, at all events,” continued he, still speaking with some energy,“pray cover it with a crimson curtain, broad enough to hang in folds, and with a golden border and tassels198. I cannot bear it! It must not stare me in the face!”
“Yes, dear Clifford, the picture shall be covered,” said Hepzibah soothingly199. “There is a crimson curtain in a trunk above stairs — a little faded and moth-eaten, I’m afraid — but Phoebe and I will do wonders with it.”
“This very day, remember” said he; and then added, in a low, self-communing voice, “Why should we live in this dismal200 house at all? Why not go to the South of France?— to Italy?— Paris, Naples, Venice, Rome? Hepzibah will say we have not the means. A droll201 idea that!”
He smiled to himself, and threw a glance of fine sarcastic202 meaning towards Hepzibah.
But the several moods of feeling, faintly as they were marked, through which he had passed, occurring in so brief an interval125 of time, had evidently wearied the stranger. He was probably accustomed to a sad monotony of life, not so much flowing in a stream, however sluggish, as stagnating203 in a pool around his feet. A slumberous205 veil diffused206 itself over his countenance, and had an effect, morally speaking, on its naturally delicate and elegant outline, like that which a brooding mist, with no sunshine in it, throws over the features of a landscape. He appeared to become grosser — almost cloddish. If aught of interest or beauty — even ruined beauty — had heretofore been visible in this man, the beholder might now begin to doubt it, and to accuse his own imagination of deluding207 him with whatever grace had flickered208 over that visage, and whatever exquisite lustre had gleamed in those filmy eyes.
Before he had quite sunken away, however, the sharp and peevish209 tinkle210 of the shop-bell made itself audible. Striking most disagreeably on Clifford’s auditory organs and the characteristic sensibility of his nerves, it caused him to start upright out of his chair.
“Good heavens, Hepzibah! what horrible disturbance211 have we now in the house?” cried he, wreaking212 his resentful impatience — as a matter of course, and a custom of old — on the one person in the world that loved him.” I have never heard such a hateful clamor! Why do you permit it? In the name of all dissonance, what can it be?”
It was very remarkable into what prominent relief — even as if a dim picture should leap suddenly from its canvas — Clifford’s character was thrown by this apparently213 trifling214 annoyance215. The secret was, that an individual of his temper can always be pricked216 more acutely through his sense of the beautiful and harmonious217 than through his heart. It is even possible — for similar cases have often happened — that if Clifford, in his foregoing life, had enjoyed the means of cultivating his taste to its utmost perfectibility, that subtile attribute might, before this period, have completely eaten out or filed away his affections. Shall we venture to pronounce, therefore, that his long and black calamity may not have had a redeeming218 drop of mercy at the bottom?
“Dear Clifford, I wish I could keep the sound from your ears,” said Hepzibah, patiently, but reddening with a painful suffusion219 of shame. “It is very disagreeable even to me. But, do you know, Clifford, I have something to tell you? This ugly noise — pray run, Phoebe, and see who is there!— this naughty little tinkle is nothing but our shop-bell!”
“Shop-bell!” repeated Clifford, with a bewildered stare.
“Yes, our shop-bell,” said Hepzibah, a certain natural dignity, mingled with deep emotion, now asserting itself in her manner. “For you must know, dearest Clifford, that we are very poor. And there was no other resource, but either to accept assistance from a hand that I would push aside (and so would you!) were it to offer bread when we were dying for it — no help, save from him, or else to earn our subsistence with my own hands! Alone, I might have been content to starve. But you were to be given back to me! Do you think, then, dear Clifford,” added she, with a wretched smile, “that I have brought an irretrievable disgrace on the old house, by opening a little shop in the front gable? Our great-great-grandfather did the same, when there was far less need! Are you ashamed of me?”
“Shame! Disgrace! Do you speak these words to me, Hepzibah?” said Clifford — not angrily, however; for when a man’s spirit has been thoroughly220 crushed, he may be peevish at small offences, but never resentful of great ones. So he spoke221 with only a grieved emotion. “It was not kind to say so, Hepzibah! What shame can befall me now?”
And then the unnerved man — he that had been born for enjoyment, but had met a doom110 so very wretched — burst into a woman’s passion of tears. It was but of brief continuance, however; soon leaving him in a quiescent222, and, to judge by his countenance, not an uncomfortable state. From this mood, too, he partially223 rallied for an instant, and looked at Hepzibah with a smile, the keen, half-derisory purport224 of which was a puzzle to her.
“Are we so very poor, Hepzibah?” said he.
Finally, his chair being deep and softly cushioned, Clifford fell asleep. Hearing the more regular rise and fall of his breath (which, however, even then, instead of being strong and full, had a feeble kind of tremor, corresponding with the lack of vigor in his character)— hearing these tokens of settled slumber204, Hepzibah seized the opportunity to peruse225 his face more attentively226 than she had yet dared to do. Her heart melted away in tears; her profoundest spirit sent forth a moaning voice, low, gentle, but inexpressibly sad. In this depth of grief and pity she felt that there was no irreverence227 in gazing at his altered, aged, faded, ruined face. But no sooner was she a little relieved than her conscience smote228 her for gazing curiously229 at him, now that he was so changed; and, turning hastily away, Hepzibah let down the curtain over the sunny window, and left Clifford to slumber there.
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conjugal
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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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contiguity
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| n.邻近，接壤 | |
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olfactory
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| adj.嗅觉的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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6
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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7
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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8
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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9
concoction
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| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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10
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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11
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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12
savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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13
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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14
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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15
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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16
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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17
vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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18
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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19
assenting
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| 同意，赞成( assent的现在分词 ) | |
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20
eddied
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| 起漩涡，旋转( eddy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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22
inchoate
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| adj.才开始的，初期的 | |
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23
fumy
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| 冒烟的，多蒸汽的 | |
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24
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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25
nibble
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|
| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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26
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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27
rotation
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| n.旋转；循环，轮流 | |
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28
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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29
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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30
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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31
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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32
broil
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| v.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂；n.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂 | |
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33
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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34
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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35
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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36
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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37
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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38
gastric
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| adj.胃的 | |
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39
conscientious
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|
| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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40
piquancy
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|
| n.辛辣，辣味，痛快 | |
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41
intercourse
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|
| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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42
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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43
vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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44
broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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45
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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46
shrine
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|
| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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47
barbarian
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|
| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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48
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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49
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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50
tutelary
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|
| adj.保护的；守护的 | |
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51
hue
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|
| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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52
rustic
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|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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53
glistening
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|
| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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54
propitiatory
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|
| adj.劝解的；抚慰的；谋求好感的；哄人息怒的 | |
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55
diffusing
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| （使光）模糊，漫射，漫散( diffuse的现在分词 )； （使）扩散； （使）弥漫； （使）传播 | |
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56
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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57
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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58
scowl
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|
| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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59
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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61
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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62
bower
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|
| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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63
tremor
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|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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64
agitation
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|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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65
manifestations
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|
| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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66
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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67
ecstasy
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|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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68
inevitable
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|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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69
bosom
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|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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70
appalled
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|
| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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71
dungeon
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|
| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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72
spectral
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|
| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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73
imprisoned
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|
| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
enfranchised
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|
| v.给予选举权( enfranchise的过去式和过去分词 )；（从奴隶制中）解放 | |
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75
gush
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|
| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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76
recurring
|
|
| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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77
pettishness
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78
irritability
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|
| n.易怒 | |
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79
starched
|
|
| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
mutual
|
|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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81
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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82
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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83
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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84
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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85
suspense
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|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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86
vaguely
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|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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87
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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88
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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89
countenance
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|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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90
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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91
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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92
gushing
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|
| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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93
vividly
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|
| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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94
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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95
kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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96
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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97
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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98
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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99
abortive
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| adj.不成功的，发育不全的 | |
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100
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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101
recollected
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|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
soothes
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| v.安慰( soothe的第三人称单数 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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103
sluggish
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|
| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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104
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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105
stereotyped
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| adj.(指形象、思想、人物等)模式化的 | |
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106
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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107
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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108
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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110
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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111
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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112
torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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113
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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114
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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115
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
pristine
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| adj.原来的，古时的，原始的，纯净的，无垢的 | |
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117
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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118
beholder
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| n.观看者，旁观者 | |
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119
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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120
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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121
transcended
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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122
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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123
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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124
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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125
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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126
innately
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| adv.天赋地；内在地，固有地 | |
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127
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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128
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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129
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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130
disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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131
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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132
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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133
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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134
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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135
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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136
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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137
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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138
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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139
subduing
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| 征服( subdue的现在分词 )； 克制； 制服； 色变暗 | |
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140
obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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141
auditor
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| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
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142
asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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143
voracity
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| n.贪食，贪婪 | |
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144
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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145
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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146
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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147
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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148
quaffed
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| v.痛饮( quaff的过去式和过去分词 )；畅饮；大口大口将…喝干；一饮而尽 | |
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149
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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150
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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151
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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152
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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153
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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154
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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156
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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157
prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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158
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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159
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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160
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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161
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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162
infliction
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| n.（强加于人身的）痛苦，刑罚 | |
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163
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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164
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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165
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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166
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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167
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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168
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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169
maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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170
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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171
uncouthness
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172
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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173
scowls
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| 不悦之色，怒容( scowl的名词复数 ) | |
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174
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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175
diminution
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| n.减少；变小 | |
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176
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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177
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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178
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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180
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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181
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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182
dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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183
vexing
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| adj.使人烦恼的，使人恼火的v.使烦恼( vex的现在分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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184
durable
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| adj.持久的，耐久的 | |
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185
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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186
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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187
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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188
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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189
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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190
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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191
mildew
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| n.发霉；v.（使）发霉 | |
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192
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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193
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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194
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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195
lustreless
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| adj.无光泽的，无光彩的，平淡乏味的 | |
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196
licensed
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| adj.得到许可的v.许可，颁发执照(license的过去式和过去分词) | |
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197
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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198
tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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199
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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200
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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201
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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202
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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203
stagnating
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| v.停滞，不流动，不发展( stagnate的现在分词 ) | |
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204
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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205
slumberous
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| a.昏昏欲睡的 | |
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206
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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207
deluding
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的现在分词 ) | |
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208
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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209
peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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210
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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211
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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212
wreaking
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| 诉诸（武力），施行（暴力），发（脾气）( wreak的现在分词 ) | |
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213
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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214
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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215
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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216
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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217
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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218
redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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219
suffusion
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| n.充满 | |
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220
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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221
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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222
quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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223
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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224
purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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225
peruse
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| v.细读，精读 | |
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226
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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227
irreverence
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| n.不尊敬 | |
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228
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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229
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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