I have sometimes produced a singular and not unpleasing effect, so far as my own mind was concerned, by imagining a train of incidents in which the spirit and mechanism1 of the fa?ry legend should be combined with the characters and manners of familiar life. In the little tale which follows a subdued2 tinge3 of the wild and wonderful is thrown over a sketch4 of New England personages and scenery, yet, it is hoped, without entirely5 obliterating6 the sober hues7 of nature. Rather than a story of events claiming to be real, it may be considered as an allegory such as the writers of the last century would have expressed in the shape of an Eastern tale, but to which I have endeavored to give a more lifelike warmth than could be infused into those fanciful productions.
In the twilight8 of a summer eve a tall dark figure over which long and remote travel had thrown an outlandish aspect was entering a village not in “fa?ry londe,” but within our own familiar boundaries. The staff on which this traveller leaned had been his companion from the spot where it grew in the jungles of Hindostan; the hat that overshadowed his sombre brow, had shielded him from the suns of Spain; but his cheek had been blackened by the red-hot wind of an Arabian desert and had felt the frozen breath of an Arctic region. Long sojourning amid wild and dangerous men, he still wore beneath his vest the ataghan which he had once struck into the throat of a Turkish robber. In every foreign clime he had lost something of his New England characteristics, and perhaps from every people he had unconsciously borrowed a new peculiarity9; so that when the world-wanderer again trod the street of his native village it is no wonder that he passed unrecognized, though exciting the gaze and curiosity of all. Yet, as his arm casually11 touched that of a young woman who was wending her way to an evening lecture, she started and almost uttered a cry.
“Ralph Cranfield!” was the name that she half articulated.
“Can that be my old playmate Faith Egerton?” thought the traveller, looking round at her figure, but without pausing.
Ralph Cranfield from his youth upward had felt himself marked out for a high destiny. He had imbibed12 the idea — we say not whether it were revealed to him by witchcraft13 or in a dream of prophecy, or that his brooding fancy had palmed its own dictates14 upon him as the oracles15 of a sybil, but he had imbibed the idea, and held it firmest among his articles of faith — that three marvellous events of his life were to be confirmed to him by three signs.
The first of these three fatalities16, and perhaps the one on which his youthful imagination had dwelt most fondly, was the discovery of the maid who alone of all the maids on earth could make him happy by her love. He was to roam around the world till he should meet a beautiful woman wearing on her bosom17 a jewel in the shape of a heart — whether of pearl or ruby18 or emerald or carbuncle or a changeful opal, or perhaps a priceless diamond, Ralph Cranfield little cared, so long as it were a heart of one peculiar10 shape. On encountering this lovely stranger he was bound to address her thus: “Maiden, I have brought you a heavy heart. May I rest its weight on you?” And if she were his fated bride — if their kindred souls were destined19 to form a union here below which all eternity20 should only bind21 more closely — she would reply, with her finger on the heart-shaped jewel, “This token which I have worn so long is the assurance that you may.”
And, secondly22, Ralph Cranfield had a firm belief that there was a mighty23 treasure hidden somewhere in the earth of which the burial-place would be revealed to none but him. When his feet should press upon the mysterious spot, there would be a hand before him pointing downward — whether carved of marble or hewn in gigantic dimensions on the side of a rocky precipice24, or perchance a hand of flame in empty air, he could not tell, but at least he would discern a hand, the forefinger25 pointing downward, and beneath it the Latin word “Effode” — “Dig!” And, digging thereabouts, the gold in coin or ingots, the precious stones, or of whatever else the treasure might consist, would be certain to reward his toil26.
The third and last of the miraculous27 events in the life of this high-destined man was to be the attainment28 of extensive influence and sway over his fellow-creatures. Whether he were to be a king and founder29 of a hereditary30 throne, or the victorious31 leader of a people contending for their freedom, or the apostle of a purified and regenerated32 faith, was left for futurity to show. As messengers of the sign by which Ralph Cranfield might recognize the summons, three venerable men were to claim audience of him. The chief among them — a dignified33 and majestic34 person arrayed, it may be supposed, in the flowing garments of an ancient sage35 — would be the bearer of a wand or prophet’s rod. With this wand or rod or staff the venerable sage would trace a certain figure in the air, and then proceed to make known his Heaven-instructed message, which, if obeyed, must lead to glorious results.
With this proud fate before him, in the flush of his imaginative youth Ralph Cranfield had set forth36 to seek the maid, the treasure, and the venerable sage with his gift of extended empire. And had he found them? Alas37! it was not with the aspect of a triumphant38 man who had achieved a nobler destiny than all his fellows, but rather with the gloom of one struggling against peculiar and continual adversity, that he now passed homeward to his mother’s cottage. He had come back, but only for a time, to lay aside the pilgrim’s staff, trusting that his weary manhood would regain39 somewhat of the elasticity40 of youth in the spot where his threefold fate had been foreshown him. There had been few changes in the village, for it was not one of those thriving places where a year’s prosperity makes more than the havoc41 of a century’s decay, but, like a gray hair in a young man’s head, an antiquated42 little town full of old maids and aged43 elms and moss44-grown dwellings45. Few seemed to be the changes here. The drooping47 elms, indeed, had a more majestic spread, the weather-blackened houses were adorned48 with a denser49 thatch50 of verdant51 moss, and doubtless there were a few more gravestones in the burial-ground inscribed52 with names that had once been familiar in the village street; yet, summing up all the mischief53 that ten years had wrought54, it seemed scarcely more than if Ralph Cranfield had gone forth that very morning and dreamed a day-dream till the twilight, and then turned back again. But his heart grew cold because the village did not remember him as he remembered the village.
“Here is the change,” sighed he, striking his hand upon his breast. “Who is this man of thought and care, weary with world-wandering and heavy with disappointed hopes? The youth returns not who went forth so joyously55.”
And now Ralph Cranfield was at his mother’s gate, in front of the small house where the old lady, with slender but sufficient means, had kept herself comfortable during her son’s long absence. Admitting himself within the enclosure, he leaned against a great old tree, trifling56 with his own impatience57 as people often do in those intervals58 when years are summed into a moment. He took a minute survey of the dwelling46 — its windows brightened with the sky-gleam, its doorway59 with the half of a millstone for a step, and the faintly-traced path waving thence to the gate. He made friends again with his childhood’s friend — the old tree against which he leaned — and, glancing his eye down its trunk, beheld60 something that excited a melancholy61 smile. It was a half-obliterated inscription62 — the Latin word “Effode” — which he remembered to have carved in the bark of the tree with a whole day’s toil when he had first begun to muse63 about his exalted64 destiny. It might be accounted a rather singular coincidence that the bark just above the inscription had put forth an excrescence shaped not unlike a hand, with the forefinger pointing obliquely65 at the word of fate. Such, at least, was its appearance in the dusky light.
“Now, a credulous66 man,” said Ralph Cranfield, carelessly, to himself, “might suppose that the treasure which I have sought round the world lies buried, after all, at the very door of my mother’s dwelling. That would be a jest indeed.”
More he thought not about the matter, for now the door was opened and an elderly woman appeared on the threshold, peering into the dusk to discover who it might be that had intruded67 on her premises68 and was standing69 in the shadow of her tree. It was Ralph Cranfield’s mother. Pass we over their greeting, and leave the one to her joy and the other to his rest — if quiet rest he found.
But when morning broke, he arose with a troubled brow, for his sleep and his wakefulness had alike been full of dreams. All the fervor70 was rekindled71 with which he had burned of yore to unravel72 the threefold mystery of his fate. The crowd of his early visions seemed to have awaited him beneath his mother’s roof and thronged73 riotously74 around to welcome his return. In the well-remembered chamber75, on the pillow where his infancy76 had slumbered77, he had passed a wilder night than ever in an Arab tent or when he had reposed78 his head in the ghastly shades of a haunted forest. A shadowy maid had stolen to his bedside and laid her finger on the scintillating79 heart; a hand of flame had glowed amid the darkness, pointing downward to a mystery within the earth; a hoary80 sage had waved his prophetic wand and beckoned81 the dreamer onward82 to a chair of state. The same phantoms83, though fainter in the daylight, still flitted about, the cottage and mingled84 among the crowd of familiar faces that were drawn85 thither86 by the news of Ralph Cranfield’s return to bid him welcome for his mother’s sake. There they found him, a tall, dark, stately man of foreign aspect, courteous87 in demeanor88 and mild of speech, yet with an abstracted eye which seemed often to snatch a glance at the invisible.
Meantime, the widow Cranfield went bustling89 about the house full of joy that she again had somebody to love and be careful of, and for whom she might vex90 and tease herself with the petty troubles of daily life. It was nearly noon when she looked forth from the door and descried91 three personages of note coming along the street through the hot sunshine and the masses of elm-tree shade. At length they reached her gate and undid92 the latch93.
“See, Ralph!” exclaimed she, with maternal94 pride; “here is Squire95 Hawkwood and the two other selectmen coming on purpose to see you. Now, do tell them a good long story about what you have seen in foreign parts.”
The foremost of the three visitors, Squire Hawkwood, was a very pompous96 but excellent old gentleman, the head and prime-mover in all the affairs of the village, and universally acknowledged to be one of the sagest97 men on earth. He wore, according to a fashion even then becoming antiquated, a three-cornered hat, and carried a silver-headed cane98 the use of which seemed to be rather for flourishing in the air than for assisting the progress of his legs. His two companions were elderly and respectable yeomen who, retaining an ante-Revolutionary reverence99 for rank and hereditary wealth, kept a little in the squire’s rear.
As they approached along the pathway Ralph Cranfield sat in an oaken elbow-chair half unconsciously gazing at the three visitors and enveloping100 their homely101 figures in the misty102 romance that pervaded103 his mental world. “Here,” thought he, smiling at the conceit104 — “here come three elderly personages, and the first of the three is a venerable sage with a staff. What if this embassy should bring me the message of my fate?”
While Squire Hawkwood and his colleagues entered, Ralph rose from his seat and advanced a few steps to receive them, and his stately figure and dark countenance105 as he bent106 courteously107 toward his guests had a natural dignity contrasting well with the bustling importance of the squire. The old gentleman, according to invariable custom, gave an elaborate preliminary flourish with his cane in the air, then removed his three-cornered hat in order to wipe his brow, and finally proceeded to make known his errand.
“My colleagues and myself,” began the squire, “are burdened with momentous108 duties, being jointly109 selectmen of this village. Our minds for the space of three days past have been laboriously110 bent on the selection of a suitable person to fill a most important office and take upon himself a charge and rule which, wisely considered, may be ranked no lower than those of kings and potentates111. And whereas you, our native townsman, are of good natural intellect and well cultivated by foreign travel, and that certain vagaries112 and fantasies of your youth are doubtless long ago corrected, — taking all these matters, I say, into due consideration, we are of opinion that Providence113 hath sent you hither at this juncture114 for our very purpose.”
During this harangue115 Cranfield gazed fixedly116 at the speaker, as if he beheld something mysterious and unearthly in his pompous little figure, and as if the squire had worn the flowing robes of an ancient sage instead of a square-skirted coat, flapped waistcoat, velvet117 breeches and silk stockings. Nor was his wonder without sufficient cause, for the flourish of the squire’s staff, marvellous to relate, had described precisely118 the signal in the air which was to ratify119 the message of the prophetic sage whom Cranfield had sought around the world.
“And what,” inquired Ralph Cranfield, with a tremor120 in his voice — “what may this office be which is to equal me with kings and potentates?”
“No less than instructor121 of our village school,” answered Squire Hawkwood, “the office being now vacant by the death of the venerable Master Whitaker after a fifty years’ incumbency122.”
“I will consider of your proposal,” replied Ralph Cranfield, hurriedly, “and will make known my decision within three days.”
After a few more words the village dignitary and his companions took their leave. But to Cranfield’s fancy their images were still present, and became more and more invested with the dim awfulness of figures which had first appeared to him in a dream, and afterward123 had shown themselves in his waking moments, assuming homely aspects among familiar things. His mind dwelt upon the features of the squire till they grew confused with those of the visionary sage and one appeared but the shadow of the other. The same visage, he now thought, had looked forth upon him from the Pyramid of Cheops; the same form had beckoned to him among the colonnades124 of the Alhambra; the same figure had mistily125 revealed itself through the ascending126 steam of the Great Geyser. At every effort of his memory he recognized some trait of the dreamy messenger of destiny in this pompous, bustling, self-important, little-great man of the village. Amid such musings Ralph Cranfield sat all day in the cottage, scarcely hearing and vaguely127 answering his mother’s thousand questions about his travels and adventures. At sunset he roused himself to take a stroll, and, passing the aged elm tree, his eye was again caught by the semblance128 of a hand pointing downward at the half-obliterated inscription.
As Cranfield walked down the street of the village the level sunbeams threw his shadow far before him, and he fancied that, as his shadow walked among distant objects, so had there been a presentiment129 stalking in advance of him throughout his life. And when he drew near each object over which his tall shadow had preceded him, still it proved to be one of the familiar recollections of his infancy and youth. Every crook130 in the pathway was remembered. Even the more transitory characteristics of the scene were the same as in by-gone days. A company of cows were grazing on the grassy131 roadside, and refreshed him with their fragrant132 breath. “It is sweeter,” thought he, “than the perfume which was wafted133 to our ship from the Spice Islands.” The round little figure of a child rolled from a doorway and lay laughing almost beneath Cranfield’s feet. The dark and stately man stooped down, and, lifting the infant, restored him to his mother’s arms. “The children,” said he to himself, and sighed and smiled — “the children are to be my charge.” And while a flow of natural feeling gushed134 like a well-spring in his heart he came to a dwelling which he could nowise forbear to enter. A sweet voice which seemed to come from a deep and tender soul was warbling a plaintive135 little air within. He bent his head and passed through the lowly door. As his foot sounded upon the threshold a young woman advanced from the dusky interior of the house, at first hastily, and then with a more uncertain step, till they met face to face. There was a singular contrast in their two figures — he dark and picturesque136, one who had battled with the world, whom all suns had shone upon and whom all winds had blown on a varied137 course; she neat, comely138 and quiet — quiet even in her agitation139 — as if all her emotions had been subdued to the peaceful tenor140 of her life. Yet their faces, all unlike as they were, had an expression that seemed not so alien — a glow of kindred feeling flashing upward anew from half-extinguished embers.
“You are welcome home,” said Faith Egerton.
But Cranfield did not immediately answer, for his eye had, been caught by an ornament141 in the shape of a heart which Faith wore as a brooch upon her bosom. The material was the ordinary white quartz142, and he recollected143 having himself shaped it out of one of those Indian arrowheads which are so often found in the ancient haunts of the red men. It was precisely on the pattern of that worn by the visionary maid. When Cranfield departed on his shadowy search, he had bestowed144 this brooch, in a gold setting, as a parting gift to Faith Egerton.
“So, Faith, you have kept the heart?” said he, at length.
“Yes,” said she, blushing deeply; then, more gayly, “And what else have you brought me from beyond the sea?”
“Faith,” replied Ralph Cranfield, uttering the fated words by an uncontrollable impulse, “I have brought you nothing but a heavy heart. May I rest its weight on you?”
“This token which I have worn so long,” said Faith, laying her tremulous finger on the heart, “is the assurance that you may.”
“Faith, Faith!” cried Cranfield, clasping her in his arms; “you have interpreted my wild and weary dream!”
Yes, the wild dreamer was awake at last. To find the mysterious treasure he was to till the earth around his mother’s dwelling and reap its products; instead of warlike command or regal or religious sway, he was to rule over the village children; and now the visionary maid had faded from his fancy, and in her place he saw the playmate of his childhood.
Would all who cherish such wild wishes but look around them, they would oftenest find their sphere of duty, of prosperity and happiness, within those precincts and in that station where Providence itself has cast their lot. Happy they who read the riddle145 without a weary world-search or a lifetime spent in vain!
The End
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1
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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5
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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obliterating
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| v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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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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imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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13
witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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oracles
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| 神示所( oracle的名词复数 )； 神谕； 圣贤； 哲人 | |
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fatalities
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| n.恶性事故( fatality的名词复数 )；死亡；致命性；命运 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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attainment
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| n.达到，到达；［常pl.］成就，造诣 | |
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Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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regenerated
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| v.新生，再生( regenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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forth
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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denser
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| adj. 不易看透的, 密集的, 浓厚的, 愚钝的 | |
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thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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52
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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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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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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60
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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61
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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62
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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63
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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64
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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65
obliquely
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| adv.斜； 倾斜； 间接； 不光明正大 | |
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66
credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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67
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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68
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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69
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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70
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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71
rekindled
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| v.使再燃( rekindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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73
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
riotously
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| adv.骚动地，暴乱地 | |
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75
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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76
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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77
slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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78
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
scintillating
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| adj．才气横溢的,闪闪发光的; 闪烁的 | |
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80
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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81
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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83
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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84
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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85
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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86
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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87
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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88
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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89
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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90
vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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91
descried
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| adj.被注意到的，被发现的，被看到的 | |
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92
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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93
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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94
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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95
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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96
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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97
sagest
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| adj.贤明的，貌似聪明的( sage的最高级 ) | |
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98
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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99
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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100
enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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101
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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102
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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103
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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105
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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106
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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107
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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108
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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109
jointly
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| ad.联合地，共同地 | |
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110
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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111
potentates
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| n.君主，统治者( potentate的名词复数 )；有权势的人 | |
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112
vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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113
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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114
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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115
harangue
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| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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116
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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117
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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118
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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119
ratify
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| v.批准，认可，追认 | |
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120
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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121
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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122
incumbency
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| n.职责，义务 | |
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123
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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124
colonnades
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| n.石柱廊( colonnade的名词复数 ) | |
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125
mistily
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| adv.有雾地，朦胧地，不清楚地 | |
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126
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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127
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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128
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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129
presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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130
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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131
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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132
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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133
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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135
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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136
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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137
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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138
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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139
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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140
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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141
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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142
quartz
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| n.石英 | |
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143
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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144
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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