TRULY was there something high, generous, and noble in the native composition of our poor old Hepzibah! Or else — and it was quite as probably the case — she had been enriched by poverty, developed by sorrow, elevated by the strong and solitary1 affection of her life, and thus endowed with heroism2, which never could have characterized her in what are called happier circumstances. Through dreary3 years Hepzibah had looked forward — for the most part despairingly, never with any confidence of hope, but always with the feeling that it was her brightest possibility — to the very position in which she now found herself. In her own behalf, she had asked nothing of Providence4 but the opportunity of devoting herself to this brother, whom she had so loved — so admired for what he was, or might have been — and to whom she had kept her faith, alone of all the world, wholly, unfalteringly, at every instant, and throughout life. And here, in his late decline, the lost one had come back out of his long and strange misfortune, and was thrown on her sympathy, as it seemed, not merely for the bread of his physical existence, but for everything that should keep him morally alive. She had responded to the call. She had come forward — our poor, gaunt Hepzibah, in her rusty6 silks, with her rigid7 joints8, and the sad perversity9 of her scowl10 — ready to do her utmost; and with affection enough, if that were all, to do a hundred times as much! There could be few more tearful sights — and Heaven forgive us if a smile insist on mingling11 with our conception of it!— few sights with truer pathos12 in them, than Hepzibah presented on that first afternoon.
How patiently did she endeavor to wrap Clifford up in her great, warm love, and make it all the world to him, so that he should retain no torturing sense of the coldness and dreariness13 without! Her little efforts to amuse him! How pitiful, yet magnanimous, they were!
Remembering his early love of poetry and fiction, she unlocked a bookcase, and took down several books that had been excellent reading in their day. There was a volume of Pope, with the Rape14 of the Lock in it, and another of the Tatler, and an odd one of Dryden’s Miscellanies, all with tarnished15 gilding16 on their covers, and thoughts of tarnished brilliancy inside. They had no success with Clifford. These, and all such writers of society, whose new works glow like the rich texture17 of a just-woven carpet, must be content to relinquish18 their charm, for every reader, after an age or two, and could hardly be supposed to retain any portion of it for a mind that had utterly19 lost its estimate of modes and manners. Hepzibah then took up Rasselas, and began to read of the Happy Valley, with a vague idea that some secret of a contented20 life had there been elaborated, which might at least serve Clifford and herself for this one day. But the Happy Valley had a cloud over it. Hepzibah troubled her auditor21, moreover, by innumerable sins of emphasis, which he seemed to detect, without any reference to the meaning; nor, in fact, did he appear to take much note of the sense of what she read, but evidently felt the tedium22 of the lecture, without harvesting its profit. His sister’s voice, too, naturally harsh, had, in the course of her sorrowful lifetime, contracted a kind of croak23, which, when it once gets into the human throat, is as ineradicable as sin. In both sexes, occasionally, this lifelong croak, accompanying each word of joy or sorrow, is one of the symptoms of a settled melancholy24; and wherever it occurs, the whole history of misfortune is conveyed in its slightest accent. The effect is as if the voice had been dyed black; or — if we must use a more moderate simile25 — this miserable26 croak, running through all the variations of the voice, is like a black silken thread, on which the crystal beads27 of speech are strung, and whence they take their hue28. Such voices have put on mourning for dead hopes; and they ought to die and be buried along with them!
Discerning that Clifford was not gladdened by her efforts, Hepzibah searched about the house for the means of more exhilarating pastime. At one time, her eyes chanced to rest on Alice Pyncheon’s harpsichord30. It was a moment of great peril31; for — despite the traditionary awe32 that had gathered over this instrument of music, and the dirges33 which spiritual fingers were said to play on it — the devoted34 sister had solemn thoughts of thrumming on its chords for Clifford’s benefit, and accompanying the performance with her voice. Poor Clifford! Poor Hepzibah! Poor harpsichord! All three would have been miserable together. By some good agency — possibly, by the unrecognized interposition of the long-buried Alice herself — the threatening calamity35 was averted36.
But the worst of all — the hardest stroke of fate for Hepzibah to endure, and perhaps for Clifford, too was his invincible37 distaste for her appearance. Her features, never the most agreeable, and now harsh with age and grief, and resentment38 against the world for his sake; her dress, and especially her turban; the queer and quaint39 manners, which had unconsciously grown upon her in solitude40 — such being the poor gentlewoman’s outward characteristics, it is no great marvel41, although the mournfullest of pities, that the instinctive42 lover of the Beautiful was fain to turn away his eyes. There was no help for it. It would be the latest impulse to die within him. In his last extremity43, the expiring breath stealing faintly through Clifford’s lips, he would doubtless press Hepzibah’s hand, in fervent44 recognition of all her lavished45 love, and close his eyes — but not so much to die, as to be constrained46 to look no longer on her face! Poor Hepzibah! She took counsel with herself what might be done, and thought of putting ribbons on her turban; but, by the instant rush of several guardian47 angels, was withheld48 from an experiment that could hardly have proved less than fatal to the beloved object of her anxiety.
To be brief, besides Hepzibah’s disadvantages of person, there was an uncouthness49 pervading50 all her deeds; a clumsy something, that could but ill adapt itself for use, and not at all for ornament51. She was a grief to Clifford, and she knew it. In this extremity, the antiquated52 virgin53 turned to Phoebe. No grovelling54 jealousy55 was in her heart. Had it pleased Heaven to crown the heroic fidelity56 of her life by making her personally the medium of Clifford’s happiness, it would have rewarded her for all the past, by a joy with no bright tints57, indeed, but deep and true, and worth a thousand gayer ecstasies58. This could not be. She therefore turned to Phoebe, and resigned the task into the young girl’s hands. The latter took it up cheerfully, as she did everything, but with no sense of a mission to perform, and succeeding all the better for that same simplicity59.
By the involuntary effect of a genial60 temperament61, Phoebe soon grew to be absolutely essential to the daily comfort, if not the daily life, of her two forlorn companions. The grime and sordidness62 of the House of the Seven Gables seemed to have vanished since her appearance there; the gnawing63 tooth of the dry-rot was stayed among the old timbers of its skeleton frame; the dust had ceased to settle down so densely64, from the antique ceilings, upon the floors and furniture of the rooms below — or, at any rate, there was a little housewife, as light-footed as the breeze that sweeps a garden walk, gliding66 hither and thither67 to brush it all away. The shadows of gloomy events that haunted the else lonely and desolate68 apartments; the heavy, breathless scent69 which death had left in more than one of the bedchambers, ever since his visits of long ago — these were less powerful than the purifying influence scattered71 throughout the atmosphere of the household by the presence of one youthful, fresh, and thoroughly72 wholesome73 heart. There was no morbidness75 in Phoebe; if there had been, the old Pyncheon House was the very locality to ripen76 it into incurable77 disease. But now her spirit resembled, in its potency78, a minute quantity of ottar of rose in one of Hepzibah’s huge, iron-bound trunks, diffusing79 its fragrance80 through the various articles of linen81 and wrought-lace, kerchiefs, caps, stockings, folded dresses, gloves, and whatever else was treasured there. As every article in the great trunk was the sweeter for the rose-scent, so did all the thoughts and emotions of Hepzibah and Clifford, sombre as they might seem, acquire a subtle attribute of happiness from Phoebe’s intermixture with them. Her activity of body, intellect, and heart impelled82 her continually to perform the ordinary little toils83 that offered themselves around her, and to think the thought proper for the moment, and to sympathize — now with the twittering gayety of the robins84 in the pear-tree, and now to such a depth as she could with Hepzibah’s dark anxiety, or the vague moan of her brother. This facile adaptation was at once the symptom of perfect health and its best preservative85.
A nature like Phoebe’s has invariably its due influence, but is seldom regarded with due honor. Its spiritual force, however, may be partially86 estimated by the fact of her having found a place for herself, amid circumstances so stern as those which surrounded the mistress of the house; and also by the effect which she produced on a character of so much more mass than her own. For the gaunt, bony frame and limbs of Hepzibah, as compared with the tiny lightsomeness of Phoebe’s figure, were perhaps in some fit proportion with the moral weight and substance, respectively, of the woman and the girl.
To the guest — to Hepzibah’s brother — or Cousin Clifford, as Phoebe now began to call him — she was especially necessary. Not that he could ever be said to converse87 with her, or often manifest, in any other very definite mode, his sense of a charm in her society. But if she were a long while absent he became pettish88 and nervously89 restless, pacing the room to and fro with the uncertainty90 that characterized all his movements; or else would sit broodingly in his great chair, resting his head on his hands, and evincing life only by an electric sparkle of ill-humor, whenever Hepzibah endeavored to arouse him. Phoebe’s presence, and the contiguity91 of her fresh life to his blighted92 one, was usually all that he required. Indeed, such was the native gush93 and play of her spirit, that she was seldom perfectly94 quiet and undemonstrative, any more than a fountain ever ceases to dimple and warble with its flow. She possessed95 the gift of song, and that, too, so naturally, that you would as little think of inquiring whence she had caught it, or what master had taught her, as of asking the same questions about a bird, in whose small strain of music we recognize the voice of the Creator as distinctly as in the loudest accents of his thunder. So long as Phoebe sang, she might stray at her own will about the house. Clifford was content, whether the sweet, airy homeliness96 of her tones came down from the upper chambers70, or along the passageway from the shop, or was sprinkled through the foliage97 of the pear-tree, inward from the garden, with the twinkling sunbeams. He would sit quietly, with a gentle pleasure gleaming over his face, brighter now, and now a little dimmer, as the song happened to float near him, or was more remotely heard. It pleased him best, however, when she sat on a low footstool at his knee.
It is perhaps remarkable98, considering her temperament, that Phoebe oftener chose a strain of pathos than of gayety. But the young and happy are not ill pleased to temper their life with a transparent99 shadow. The deepest pathos of Phoebe’s voice and song, moreover, came sifted100 through the golden texture of a cheery spirit, and was somehow so interfused with the quality thence acquired, that one’s heart felt all the lighter101 for having wept at it. Broad mirth, in the sacred presence of dark misfortune, would have jarred harshly and irreverently with the solemn symphony that rolled its undertone through Hepzibah’s and her brother’s life. Therefore, it was well that Phoebe so often chose sad themes, and not amiss that they ceased to be so sad while she was singing them.
Becoming habituated to her companionship, Clifford readily showed how capable of imbibing102 pleasant tints and gleams of cheerful light from all quarters his nature must originally have been. He grew youthful while she sat by him. A beauty — not precisely103 real, even in its utmost manifestation104, and which a painter would have watched long to seize and fix upon his canvas, and, after all, in vain — beauty, nevertheless, that was not a mere5 dream, would sometimes play upon and illuminate105 his face. It did more than to illuminate; it transfigured him with an expression that could only be interpreted as the glow of an exquisite106 and happy spirit. That gray hair, and those furrows107 — with their record of infinite sorrow so deeply written across his brow, and so compressed, as with a futile108 effort to crowd in all the tale, that the whole inscription109 was made illegible110 — these, for the moment, vanished. An eye at once tender and acute might have beheld111 in the man some shadow of what he was meant to be. Anon, as age came stealing, like a sad twilight112, back over his figure, you would have felt tempted113 to hold an argument with Destiny, and affirm, that either this being should not have been made mortal, or mortal existence should have been tempered to his qualities. There seemed no necessity for his having drawn114 breath at all; the world never wanted him; but, as he had breathed, it ought always to have been the balmiest of summer air. The same perplexity will invariably haunt us with regard to natures that tend to feed exclusively upon the Beautiful, let their earthly fate be as lenient115 as it may.
Phoebe, it is probable, had but a very imperfect comprehension of the character over which she had thrown so beneficent a spell. Nor was it necessary. The fire upon the hearth116 can gladden a whole semicircle of faces round about it, but need not know the individuality of one among them all. Indeed, there was something too fine and delicate in Clifford’s traits to be perfectly appreciated by one whose sphere lay so much in the Actual as Phoebe’s did. For Clifford, however, the reality, and simplicity, and thorough homeliness of the girl’s nature were as powerful a charm as any that she possessed. Beauty, it is true, and beauty almost perfect in its own style, was indispensable. Had Phoebe been coarse in feature, shaped clumsily, of a harsh voice, and uncouthly117 mannered, she might have been rich with all good gifts, beneath this unfortunate exterior118, and still, so long as she wore the guise119 of woman, she would have shocked Clifford, and depressed120 him by her lack of beauty. But nothing more beautiful — nothing prettier, at least — was ever made than Phoebe. And, therefore, to this man — whose whole poor and impalpable enjoyment121 of existence heretofore, and until both his heart and fancy died within him, had been a dream — whose images of women had more and more lost their warmth and substance, and been frozen, like the pictures of secluded122 artists, into the chillest ideality — to him, this little figure of the cheeriest household life was just what he required to bring him back into the breathing world. Persons who have wandered, or been expelled, out of the common track of things, even were it for a better system, desire nothing so much as to be led back. They shiver in their loneliness, be it on a mountain-top or in a dungeon123. Now, Phoebe’s presence made a home about her — that very sphere which the outcast, the prisoner, the potentate124 — the wretch125 beneath mankind, the wretch aside from it, or the wretch above it — instinctively126 pines after — a home! She was real! Holding her hand, you felt something; a tender something; a substance, and a warm one: and so long as you should feel its grasp, soft as it was, you might be certain that your place was good in the whole sympathetic chain of human nature. The world was no longer a delusion127.
By looking a little further in this direction, we might suggest an explanation of an often-suggested mystery. Why are poets so apt to choose their mates, not for any similarity of poetic128 endowment, but for qualities which might make the happiness of the rudest handicraftsman as well as that of the ideal craftsman129 of the spirit? Because, probably, at his highest elevation130, the poet needs no human intercourse131; but he finds it dreary to descend132, and be a stranger.
There was something very beautiful in the relation that grew up between this pair, so closely and constantly linked together, yet with such a waste of gloomy and mysterious years from his birthday to hers. On Clifford’s part it was the feeling of a man naturally endowed with the liveliest sensibility to feminine influence, but who had never quaffed133 the cup of passionate134 love, and knew that it was now too late. He knew it, with the instinctive delicacy135 that had survived his intellectual decay. Thus, his sentiment for Phoebe, without being paternal136, was not less chaste137 than if she had been his daughter. He was a man, it is true, and recognized her as a woman. She was his only representative of womankind. He took unfailing note of every charm that appertained to her sex, and saw the ripeness of her lips, and the virginal development of her bosom138. All her little womanly ways, budding out of her like blossoms on a young fruit-tree, had their effect on him, and sometimes caused his very heart to tingle139 with the keenest thrills of pleasure. At such moments — for the effect was seldom more than momentary140 — the half-torpid man would be full of harmonious141 life, just as a long-silent harp29 is full of sound, when the musician’s fingers sweep across it. But, after all, it seemed rather a perception, or a sympathy, than a sentiment belonging to himself as an individual. He read Phoebe as he would a sweet and simple story; he listened to her as if she were a verse of household poetry, which God, in requital142 of his bleak143 and dismal144 lot, had permitted some angel, that most pitied him, to warble through the house. She was not an actual fact for him, but the interpretation145 of all that he lacked on earth brought warmly home to his conception; so that this mere symbol, or life-like picture, had almost the comfort of reality.
But we strive in vain to put the idea into words. No adequate expression of the beauty and profound pathos with which it impresses us is attainable146. This being, made only for happiness, and heretofore so miserably147 failing to be happy — his tendencies so hideously148 thwarted149, that, some unknown time ago, the delicate springs of his character, never morally or intellectually strong, had given way, and he was now imbecile — this poor, forlorn voyager from the Islands of the Blest, in a frail150 bark, on a tempestuous151 sea, had been flung, by the last mountain-wave of his shipwreck152, into a quiet harbor. There, as he lay more than half lifeless on the strand153, the fragrance of an earthly rose-bud had come to his nostrils154, and, as odors will, had summoned up reminiscences or visions of all the living and breathing beauty amid which he should have had his home. With his native susceptibility of happy influences, he inhales156 the slight, ethereal rapture157 into his soul, and expires!
And how did Phoebe regard Clifford? The girl’s was not one of those natures which are most attracted by what is strange and exceptional in human character. The path which would best have suited her was the well-worn track of ordinary life; the companions in whom she would most have delighted were such as one encounters at every turn. The mystery which enveloped158 Clifford, so far as it affected159 her at all, was an annoyance160, rather than the piquant161 charm which many women might have found in it. Still, her native kindliness162 was brought strongly into play, not by what was darkly picturesque163 in his situation, nor so much, even, by the finer graces of his character, as by the simple appeal of a heart so forlorn as his to one so full of genuine sympathy as hers. She gave him an affectionate regard, because he needed so much love, and seemed to have received so little. With a ready tact164, the result of ever-active and wholesome sensibility, she discerned what was good for him, and did it. Whatever was morbid74 in his mind and experience she ignored; and thereby165 kept their intercourse healthy, by the incautious, but, as it were, heaven-directed freedom of her whole conduct. The sick in mind, and, perhaps, in body, are rendered more darkly and hopelessly so by the manifold reflection of their disease, mirrored back from all quarters in the deportment of those about them; they are compelled to inhale155 the poison of their own breath, in infinite repetition. But Phoebe afforded her poor patient a supply of purer air. She impregnated it, too, not with a wild-flower scent — for wildness was no trait of hers — but with the perfume of garden-roses, pinks, and other blossoms of much sweetness, which nature and man have consented together in making grow from summer to summer, and from century to century. Such a flower was Phoebe in her relation with Clifford, and such the delight that he inhaled166 from her.
Yet, it must be said, her petals167 sometimes drooped168 a little, in consequence of the heavy atmosphere about her. She grew more thoughtful than heretofore. Looking aside at Clifford’s face, and seeing the dim, unsatisfactory elegance169 and the intellect almost quenched170, she would try to inquire what had been his life. Was he always thus? Had this veil been over him from his birth?— this veil, under which far more of his spirit was hidden than revealed, and through which he so imperfectly discerned the actual world — or was its gray texture woven of some dark calamity? Phoebe loved no riddles171, and would have been glad to escape the perplexity of this one. Nevertheless, there was so far a good result of her meditations172 on Clifford’s character, that, when her involuntary conjectures173, together with the tendency of every strange circumstance to tell its own story, had gradually taught her the fact, it had no terrible effect upon her. Let the world have done him what vast wrong it might, she knew Cousin Clifford too well — or fancied so — ever to shudder174 at the touch of his thin, delicate fingers.
Within a few days after the appearance of this remarkable inmate175, the routine of life had established itself with a good deal of uniformity in the old house of our narrative176. In the morning, very shortly after breakfast, it was Clifford’s custom to fall asleep in his chair; nor, unless accidentally disturbed, would he emerge from a dense65 cloud of slumber177 or the thinner mists that flitted to and fro, until well towards noonday. These hours of drowsihead were the season of the old gentlewoman’s attendance on her brother, while Phoebe took charge of the shop; an arrangement which the public speedily understood, and evinced their decided178 preference of the younger shopwoman by the multiplicity of their calls during her administration of affairs. Dinner over, Hepzibah took her knitting-work — a long stocking of gray yarn179, for her brother’s winter wear — and with a sigh, and a scowl of affectionate farewell to Clifford, and a gesture enjoining180 watchfulness181 on Phoebe, went to take her seat behind the counter. It was now the young girl’s turn to be the nurse — the guardian, the playmate — or whatever is the fitter phrase — of the gray-haired man.
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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auditor
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| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
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tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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croak
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| vi.嘎嘎叫，发牢骚 | |
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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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simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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harpsichord
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| n.键琴（钢琴前身） | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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dirges
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| n.挽歌( dirge的名词复数 )；忧伤的歌，哀歌 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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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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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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43
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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44
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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45
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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47
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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48
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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49
uncouthness
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50
pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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51
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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52
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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53
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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54
grovelling
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| adj.卑下的，奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 )；趴 | |
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55
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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56
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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57
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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58
ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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59
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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60
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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61
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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62
sordidness
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| n.肮脏；污秽；卑鄙；可耻 | |
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63
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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64
densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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65
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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66
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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67
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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68
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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69
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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70
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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71
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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72
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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73
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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74
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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75
morbidness
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| （精神的）病态 | |
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76
ripen
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| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
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77
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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78
potency
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| n. 效力，潜能 | |
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79
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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80
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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81
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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82
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
toils
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| 网 | |
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84
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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85
preservative
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| n.防腐剂；防腐料；保护料；预防药 | |
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86
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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87
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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88
pettish
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| adj.易怒的，使性子的 | |
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89
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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90
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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91
contiguity
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| n.邻近，接壤 | |
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92
blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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93
gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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94
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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95
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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96
homeliness
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| n.简朴，朴实；相貌平平 | |
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97
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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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
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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100
sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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101
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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102
imbibing
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|
| v.吸收( imbibe的现在分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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103
precisely
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|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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104
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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105
illuminate
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|
| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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106
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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107
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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108
futile
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|
| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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109
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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110
illegible
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|
| adj.难以辨认的，字迹模糊的 | |
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111
beheld
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|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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112
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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113
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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114
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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115
lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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116
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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117
uncouthly
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118
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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119
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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120
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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121
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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122
secluded
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|
| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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123
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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124
potentate
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| n.统治者；君主 | |
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125
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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126
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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127
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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128
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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129
craftsman
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| n.技工，精于一门工艺的匠人 | |
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130
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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131
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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132
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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133
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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134
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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135
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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136
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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137
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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138
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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139
tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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140
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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141
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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142
requital
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| n.酬劳；报复 | |
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143
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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144
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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145
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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146
attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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147
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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148
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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149
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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150
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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151
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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152
shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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153
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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154
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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155
inhale
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| v.吸入(气体等)，吸(烟) | |
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156
inhales
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| v.吸入( inhale的第三人称单数 ) | |
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157
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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158
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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159
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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160
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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161
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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162
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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163
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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164
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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165
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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166
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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168
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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169
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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170
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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171
riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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172
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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173
conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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174
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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175
inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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176
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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177
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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178
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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179
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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180
enjoining
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| v.命令( enjoin的现在分词 ) | |
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181
watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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