But she too, like Arthur, had her refuge from painful reflections in determined15 application to her daily work. The path she had chosen for herself was no flowery one, and, though never daunted16 in her onward17 progress, she not unfrequently came to obstacles against which she had to struggle with unutterable sadness, or pity, or disgust in her heart. To begin with, wherever she went among the destitute18 poor, she was almost always met with the most open feelings of distrust and suspicion. She found at the very entrance to her work how terribly deep and wide was the gulf19 set between the class to which she belonged by birth and these poor wretches20 whom her heart was set on benefiting. Too often her kind words met with surly and ungracious replies, and sometimes her benefits were repaid with the basest indifference or even ingratitude21. This subject was the occasion of numerous long and earnest conversations between her and Mr. Heatherley. One such took place on the day after Arthur’s introduction to the “It always does me good to hear you talk, Mr. Heatherley,” she said, as she sat in the arm chair by the table, and the clergyman on an ottoman in front of the window. “I have seldom felt so dreadfully exhausted23 as when you met me, but now I could almost go over my morning’s work again, though it has not been very pleasant. You never seem tired. There is always a healthy freshness in your words which does one good.”
Mr. Heatherley reddened slightly, and laughed, a low but clear and genial24 laugh.
“I am heartily25 glad my conversation has such tonic26 properties,” he replied. “Let us hope I lose none of it when I am in the pulpit. But you say your morning’s work has not been pleasant, Miss Norman. Where have you been today?”
“To some of the worst places you permit me to venture into. But I spoke27 more particularly of some people I have never mentioned to. you before. To tell you the truth I was very doubtful of what I had done for them, and wished to see the result. I find that I was not mistaken in my fear.”
“Indeed? What do you refer to?”
“It is a family, named Crick, living in a cellar kitchen in an unspeakably foul28 alley29. When I first visited them I found the man lying asleep on the floor, and his wife with three little children sitting about the room in a state of absolute idleness. Not a particle of furniture of any kind was to be seen in the place. The woman told me that none of them had tasted food for several days, that they had long ago sold all their furniture and spare clothing to keep themselves alive, and that her husband had just found work of some kind but was unable to begin because he had not a decent coat to appear in. I did not much like the appearance of the people at the time, for the man seemed a great strong fellow who ought long ago to have found some sort of occupation, and I felt sure that the cellar smelt30 strongly of spirits. But I could not refuse to do something for them, if only to see what effect my efforts would have, and to earn experience. So I gave the woman a few shillings to buy food, and then went with her to a shop close by and bought her a few articles of the cheapest furniture I could find, and also a suit of clothes which she said would fit her husband. She seemed extremely thankful, and when I went away I promised to call again in a very few days. Well, I went again, and this time only found the three children at home. They said their. father had not been at home since I was last there, and that their mother was out looking for work. I noticed, however, that one or two of the articles of furniture had disappeared, and I had many misgivings31 with regard to the state of affairs. This morning I called again, and once more found the whole family at home, but. this time the woman was asleep on the floor, the man was sitting in a state of. drunkenness on the cellar steps, and the children were quarreling for a jug32 of beer which the eldest33 of them was just drinking out of as I entered. All the furniture had once more disappeared, and the man was wearing the same clothes I had first seen him in. It was impossible for me to do any more, for they seemed hopeless people, so I went away with a heavy heart.”
“I have known only too many such cases,” said Mr. Heatherley. “As you say, Miss Norman, you acquire experience from them; but I should advise you to be very careful not to waste your money where there appears but slight hope of its doing good. After all, we have but very little power, except where the recipients34 of our charity come half way to meet us. Happily there are many such instances, and, as a rule, it is not very difficult to discern between honest distress6 and a true anxiety to take advantage of help.”
“But the other poor wretches? Must we then let them perish in their dreadful life? Have we no means of raising them?”
“We individually have, I am afraid, none. The most we can do is to lose no opportunity of lending our aid in all reforms for the good of the poor generally. The spread of education will do a very great deal, it is to be hoped. But at the best, we cannot hope for perfection in this life.”
“It is only when you speak so, Mr. Heatherley, that you are discouraging,” said Helen, with a smile. “You then make me feel that, spite of all your activity and hopefulness, you in reality despair of the world. It is not this poor earth of ours on which your highest hopes are fixed35, after all, and in looking forward to that shadowy future world I cannot but think that you must at times lose interest in the present.”
The clergyman looked at Helen with a slight surprise. It was the first time since their first meeting that she had alluded36 to religion, even in the most distant manner.
“You are right, in a certain sense, Miss Norman,” he replied. “I can never hope for the perfection of this world, but that does not, I trust, in the least dishearten me in my work here. The certainty of a future life of perfection is rather an inestimable incitement37 to me. How much more glorious to know that I am doing my best to prepare souls for eternal bliss38, than to be actuated by a mere5 desire to lessen39 pain for a few fleeting40 years. I know you will forgive me the comparison, Miss Norman.”
“Most certainly,” replied Helen, smiling. “Will you permit me, in return, to ask you a question relative to your religious beliefs, Mr. Heatherley? Pray do not have any hesitation41 in refusing if you think me impertinent.”
“I shall have the utmost pleasure in answering any question, Miss Norman,” replied the clergyman, who heard Helen enter upon these subjects with a pleasure he could scarcely conceal42.
“It is this then. Do you believe in the doctrine43 of eternal punishment?”
“What means an all-powerful and an all-merciful God may, in His wisdom, adopt for the purification of all souls and rendering44 them worthy45 of everlasting46 life, I am unable to say, Miss Norman; but that all souls will ultimately be likened in purity to their Creator and live for ever in His presence, I firmly believe. So you see that the doctrine of eternal punishment has no place in my creed47.”
“You relieve me,” replied Helen. “Shall I confess it? I always feel a little uncomfortable in the presence of those who I know are possessed48 with this idea of the damnation of their fellow-creatures.”
“Had you,” asked Mr. Heatherley, “any other object in asking the question besides the desire of relief?”
“Merely that I might more thoroughly49 understand the spirit in which you labour among the depraved and the wicked. Under such circumstances as these, why weary yourself in efforts to bring about an end which is already predetermined?”
“How do I know, Miss Norman, that I, humble50 creature as I am, may not be an indispensable instrument in the hand of the Almighty51? I work in obedience52 to the spirit which most distinctly pervades53 the revealed will of God, to do good to others, even as I would that others should do unto me. But I fear you do not comprehend my religion. It is not a matter of calculation and reasoning to me, but an unmistakable conviction. I follow an impulse which irresistibly54 actuates me, an impulse which I feel to be the will of my Creator. I do so because I cannot do otherwise.”
“And I am afraid, Mr. Heatherley,” replied Helen, “that it is just as impossible for you to understand the hopes and fears which actuate us who look to no other home but this present one. You can have no idea of the intense desire to be doing which possesses one who is firmly convinced that, if this life and its opportunities are neglected there will be no other chance. If you regard each one of these wretched beings as an immortal55 soul, and work to render them worthy of immortality56, I for my part regard them as lives which are burning away like a candle, being extinguished for ever, losing day by day the million glorious possibilities which humanity sees before it, perishing without having ever known one noble thought, one worthy impulse, one hour of human happiness. Is not that a prospect57 capable of exciting sympathy, the deepest that can be born of human heart? Are there not here motives59 — frightfully urgent motives, for action? But I grant that you have the advantage over me in sources of consolation60 when you feel your weakness. It is dreadful to me to see that I can do so little! Can you not advise me, Mr. Heatherley, some better way of winning the confidence of these poor? That is what I want, their confidence. They will not trust me. My speech, my dress, perhaps, revolts them. They think that I do not belong to their class, and, though they take my money, it is with suspicion of my motives. I have made my dress as plain as it possibly can be, to be respectable. If I could, I would even speak in their uncouth61 tongue. There is always that horrible difference of caste between us. Can it ever be removed? Will they ever learn to look upon me as a human being like themselves?”
Mr. Heatherley’s eyes had remained fixed on the girl’s face as she spoke, and they involuntarily expressed admiration62 as all her lineaments glowed with a richer beauty begotten63 of enthusiasm. When he replied, it was after hesitation, and in a low voice.
“You ask me, in effect, Miss Norman,” he said, “to do what you have forbidden me to do — to impress you with the truth of my religion. I fear there is much reason in what you say. I fear you find your superior position a sad obstacle. It is necessarily so. There is but one thing — the influence of Christianity — sufficiently65 strong to remove this obstacle; and of that you are unable to avail yourself. I grieve profoundly that it should be so.”
The emphasis with which he pronounced these last words impressed Helen. She looked into his face, and, meeting the full gaze of his earnest eyes, averted66 her head again.
“I cannot think you are right, Mr. Heatherley,” she replied, after a moment’s pause. “Have these people so utterly67 lost the reasoning powers of human beings as to be unable to see that all men are necessarily born equal, though wealth may make them different as far as attainments68 and outward appearance go? Are they so degraded as to consider themselves hopelessly inferior? Have they not sufficient insight to discern kindred hearts even in those whom the world exalts69?”
“Possibly what you imagine to be an overwhelming sense of their own superiority,” replied Mr. Heatherley, “is rather a proud and obstinate70 assertion of their equality. We must blame the dreadful social errors which have so long forced them to live the life of beasts, even whilst they felt and knew themselves to be men. No; they have not sufficient powers of insight to distinguish one wealthy person from another. It is their hereditary71 belief that the rich are their enemies, and how can we expect them to be suddenly converted from it? They will much rather attribute any extravagant72 motive58 to your charity than surrender the traditions of their lives by attributing it to true benevolence73.”
“And do you seriously believe, Mr. Heatherley, that your religion materially assists you in gaining their confidence?”
“I do, Miss Norman. When I speak to them of God and their Saviour74, when I tell them that one great Being has created all men alike, and that one Christ came down to earth to die for all; when I point to the future life, and tell them that there we shall all live again in the sight of our Father, no one of us superior or inferior to the rest, then indeed they see that I am only a man such as themselves, and they are willing to trust me. As well try to make their minds comprehend a metaphysical problem, as to put before them the fact of the equality and brotherhood75 of men as you understand it, Miss Norman, and expect it will aid you to win their confidence.”
Helen rose to depart, and held out her hand to the clergyman.
“I thank you for your frankness with me, Mr. Heatherley,” she said. “It shows that you rate my independence at its true value. What you have said will afford me matter for thought.”
“If your reflection led you to see the truth of what I have said, Miss Norman,” returned the clergyman, as he took her hand, “and to enter into the spirit of the faith which is my support, it would be the richest blessing76 of my life that God had made me the instrument to so great an end.”
Helen thought, on her way home, that the more thoroughly she came to know Mr. Heatherley, the further removed from him did she feel in all the most essential of the principles by which her life was guided. If possible, she respected him more than ever after every conversation she held with him, as she came more fully22 to recognise his consistency77, his sincerity, his powers of sympathy. But, great as were the latter powers, she felt that they were insufficient78 when applied79 to her own philosophy, and felt that in the nature of things it must be so. Mr. Heatherley did not even understand her motives, much less truly sympathise with them. All the more, however, did she respect his tolerance80, and wonder at it. This, indeed, was the one feature of his character which greatly influenced her.
In listening to him, she herself became more tolerant. Hitherto she had taught herself to look upon the Christian64 religion as a gigantic mistake, every sign of which must be swept away from the earth as soon as possible. For individual Christians81 her good sense had already made her entertain the widest charity; but for the faith they professed82 she had been unable to preserve the slightest. Fresh from the study of ecclesiastical history, with all its hideous83 barbarities, its ghastly beliefs, its brutal84 condemnations of what is noblest in man, it was but natural that her young and enthusiastic mind should look upon Christianity as an enemy to be combated with and destroyed, of no possible use to the world, but rather of unutterable harm. But experience of life since she had been in London, and, above all, conversation with Mr. Heatherley, had greatly modified her opinions. Though her reason still forbade her as strongly as ever to relinquish85 her intellectual freedom for the bondage86 of dogmas, she was beginning to understand that Christianity has its reason for existence, and to doubt whether, even if it were possible, it would be wise to suddenly exterminate87 it.
After all, was there not a very close analogy between the mental condition of these denizens88 of the slums and alleys89 and that of the men of earlier ages, who found religion absolutely necessary for them, and so created it if they had not it ready to hand? Was not every child naturally impressed with religious beliefs, and was it not very possible that the history of the world was but a steady growth to maturity90, corresponding to the growth of the individual mind? Theories such as these she had already met with in her reading, but had scarcely considered them with sufficient impartiality91; and now they came upon her with the vivid reality of experience.
Helen was an example of that most enspiriting rule in the moral order of the world, that no one can endeavour to do good to others without at the same time actually benefiting himself.
When Helen reached home that afternoon she was rather surprised to see a cab standing92 before the door, from which the driver, aided by one of the servants, was lifting two large trunks into the hall. She knew of but one person who was expected to arrive about this time, and that was Mrs. Cumberbatch, Mr. Gresham’s aunt. And on glancing at the first trunk that was set down in the house, she saw that it was labelled with that lady’s name.
At this moment she was accosted93 by the housekeeper94, who appeared in somewhat of a flurry.
“How very unfortunate, Miss Norman! I’m so glad you’ve just come. Mr. Gresham told me that this lady would be here tomorrow afternoon, and here she has come quite unexpected. There’s been no fire lighted in her room yet, and hardly any preparations made, and, what’s more, Mr. Gresham went out about an hour ago, and I dare say won’t be back till dinner. Whatever shall we do?”
“I suppose I must see Mrs. Cumberbatch,” whispered Helen in reply. “Where is she?”
“I have taken her into the drawing-room for the present, ma’am.”
“Very well, I will go to her. See that her room is put into some kind of order immediately. She will want to go to it at once. There must have been some mistake.”
So saying, she passed into the drawing-room.
Sitting in an arm-chair, with a small travelling-bag upon her lap, was a middle-aged95 lady of no very striking appearance. She was short in stature96, rather prim97 in countenance98, and wore ringlets of greyish hair on each side of her face. She was dressed with scrupulous99 neatness, in garments which betokened100 widowhood. She rose as Helen entered, and listened with close lips and a peculiar101 smile, half gracious, half supercilious102, whilst the latter apologised for Mr. Gresham’s absence.
“You didn’t expect me today, perhaps — h’m?” asked Mrs. Cumberbatch, in a subdued103 voice.
The assertion she first uttered was pronounced in a tone which seemed to take the point for granted, and the interrogatory “h’m?” came out with a sudden, unexpected start, which almost made the listener jump.
“Mr. Gresham was under the impression that you said Tuesday,” returned Helen. “He must have made a mistake.”
“No,” said the lady. “He was quite right. I merely altered my mind.”
The matter-of-course way in which she said this struck Helen as curious. Mrs. Cumberbatch spoke with her lips very close together, despite which Helen fancied that she had few, if any, teeth. She did not behave in the least like a stranger, but spoke and looked rather as if she had just come on a visit from the next street.
A servant knocked and entered.
“If you please, mum, the cabman says he has not been paid.”
“I quite forgot,” said Mrs. Cumberbatch, smiling calmly at Helen. “And I positively104 have no change. My dear, might I trouble you to lend me a couple of shillings.”
Helen gave the servant the desired sum, still marvelling105 much at the stranger’s matter-of-fact manner.
“You are Miss Norman, — h’m?” asked the lady, and, on receiving an affirmative reply, proceeded to examine Helen’s face so closely, so much with the air of a mistress inspecting a new servant, that the latter’s eyes dropped, and she began to feel uncomfortable.
“Scarcely what I expected to see,” proceeded Mrs. Cumberbatch, as if to herself. “Mr. Gresham — he is my nephew, you know, but I have never seen him, and so I speak of him as a friend merely — Mr. Gresham has told me that you are much engaged in philanthropic works, h’m?”
“I should not venture to give my efforts so dignified106 a name.”
“But still you don’t mind others doing so? In connection with what religious community do you work, may I ask?”
There was a touch of natural maliciousness107 in the first sentence. Helen began to wish that the duty of receiving the lady had fallen upon anyone rather than herself. She replied to the latter question that she worked in connection with no community of any kind.
“Indeed? I was in hopes you might have belonged to my own form of faith. I attend the meetings of the new branch of the Semi–United Presbyterio–Episcopal Church. Did you ever attend our services?”
“Never,” replied Helen, shortly.
“You know, of course, the nearest of our meeting-houses, h’m?”
“I think I never heard of the sect108 before.”
“Sect!” repeated Mrs. Cumberbatch, with a smiling condescension109. “So I have heard people speak of us before. Some even call our faith a schism110. But, of course, you know, we are the only true Church? After all I am not surprised that you are unacquainted with us. We do not care much to make converts. We alone are the elect, and if it pleases our Master to turn to us one of those who are going the broad way we accept the offering gladly. Otherwise, we can acquiesce111 in the Lord’s will.”
Helen could not restrain a smile at the cheerfulness with which Mrs. Cumberbatch acquiesced112 in the damnation of that not inconsiderable portion of mankind which did not belong to the new branch of the Semi–United Presbyterio–Episcopal Church. The latter answered the smile with one of her own. At this moment the servant reentered and presented the change out of the two-shilling piece in coppers113 to Helen.
“Thank you,” interposed Mrs. Cumberbatch, holding out her hand and taking the coppers coolly. She took out a purse from her pocket and deposited them in it with still the same self-approving smile upon her face.
“I think I may now take you to your room, Mrs. Cumberbatch,” said Helen, rising. “As we did not expect you today it was not quite ready, but I think it will be in order now.”
The lady accordingly followed, smiling graciously, with compressed lips, at the servant as she left the room. Helen departed to her usual occupations, and the two did not meet again till dinner-time.
When Helen entered the dining-room at that hour she found Mrs. Cumberbatch discoursing114 with her nephew as if she had known him from childhood, and when the little, black-robed woman with her grey ringlets assumed her seat at the end of the table opposite to Mr. Gresham it seemed as though she had always sat there. The same evening Mr. Gresham delivered over to her the management of his house. Henceforth she would be supreme115 in all matters of domestic arrangement. Mrs. Cumberbatch appeared pleased with the commission.
At seven o’clock Helen took the train, as usual, to the City. It was not a very long walk to the chapel116, where she held her class, and on arriving there she found two or three of her pupils already waiting round the door. Helen produced the key and admitted them.
At this hour the interior of the chapel was already dark, so that the gas in the school-room had first to be lit. It was a moderate-sized room, fitted with benches, a few small desks, and a large desk for the teacher. Texts of Scripture117 ran round the walls in illuminated118 text, but the white plaster showed no other kind of ornament119. Throughout the building prevailed a fresh, upholsterish smell, indicative of general newness. Indeed the chapel had scarcely been built three months, and parts of it were still unfinished.
Helen took her seat at the large desk and began to look over a few copy-books, making marks here and there with a blue lead-pencil. Whilst she was thus occupied girls continued to come into the room, each one upon entering hanging up her hat and cloak on pegs120 provided for that purpose and assuming her usual place upon the benches. Very shortly some ten or a dozen had collected, and sat rustling121 the leaves of books and whispering together quietly. Most of them appeared to be between sixteen and seventeen years old, and nearly all — as was to be expected when the class was purely122 voluntary — had faces indicating a certain degree of cheerful intelligence. Without exception they were dressed with extreme neatness. A glance at the hats hanging on the wall showed that they were not all above the temptation of a little cheap finery, but scarcely any wore ornaments123 on the dress, beyond a small blue or purple tie. The appearance of their hands sufficiently proved the manner in which their days were spent, the coarse stumpy fingers engrained with ineradicable dirt bespeaking124 toil125 of no delicate description. All their fingers bore the impression of the eternal needle, and not a few, on sitting down, had, by force of habit, taken a thimble from their pockets and slipped it on before beginning to spell.
Suddenly a clock in a different part of the chapel struck eight, and as the sounds died away in repeated echoes through the empty building, every girl drew herself up and sat with her book on her lap waiting for the commencement of the lesson. Helen began by calling over the roll. Two only were found to be absent.
“I have been thinking since last lesson,” she then said, whilst the girls all regarded her with fixed attention, “that it would be wise to divide you into two classes. Some of you know the alphabet quite well, and are even able to read a little, whilst some do not yet even know the letters thoroughly. I wish you to understand that those who will be put in the lower class are not put there because I think them any worse than the others. In time, no doubt, they will make just as good scholars, but at present, through no fault of their own, they would keep the more advanced back if they continued in the same class with them. But for two classes it is clear that two teachers will be required, so I have asked Mr. Heatherley to endeavour to find someone to assist me. No doubt he will succeed before Saturday evening. To-night I must give one hour to each class, asking the class that I am unable to attend to at the time to go on studying by themselves.”
As she concluded, Helen perceived a look of disappointment going round among the girls, and one or two whispers exchanged.
“Have you any objection to make to these arrangements?” she asked, with the good-natured smile which had already endeared her to her pupils.
There was silence for a moment, but at length one of the girls sitting on the front bench ventured to speak.
“We know it’s best whatever you say, ma’am,” she said, “but we don’t like to have any one else teach us but you.”
Several voices made themselves heard confirming this remark.
“I’m sure I ought to be very proud of your confidence in me, replied Helen, With a glad light in her eyes; “but you see that it will be clearly impossible for me to take two classes at once. Suppose I say that I will take the classes by turns, the first class one evening and the second the next. Do you think that will do, Mary Walker?”
“That seems the only way, ma’am,” replied the girl who had first spoken, and the rest also murmured their assent126.
“Very well. Now I will call out the names of those who will form the first class.”
When the two classes had arranged themselves upon the forms, Helen proceeded to give a lesson to those who did not yet know their letters, leaving the more advanced to study in silence. It was not easy work, but the earnest desire of the poor girls to do their best made it far from disagreeable. But how slow they were! With what immense difficulty they succeeded in comprehending the difference between n and m, between b and p! Helen’s quiet patience seemed inexhaustible. To the dullest she would repeat the same thing over twenty times, and the twentieth with no less of gentleness in her tone than had marked her first explanation. When at length nine o’clock struck, she turned with a sigh of relief to the first class. Here there were one or two who could read at the rate of five words in as many minutes, but these were the exceptions; most, though they knew their letters well enough, puzzled in a hopeless manner over the simplest word of two syllables127. There was something dreadful in the sight of these faces bent128 with a determined, almost a desperate, energy over tasks which every well-educated child of five or six years old would think nothing of. The efforts it cost them were painful in the extreme, they suffered with a physical suffering. But as soon as any one looked up into the teacher’s countenance, the courage which had just been on the point of giving way before apparently129 insurmountable difficulties came back again. Helen’s smile was a perpetual incitement to the most stupid.
At ten the classes broke up. For several minutes Helen was engaged in answering questions relative to the work for next lesson, and then by degrees the schoolroom emptied itself. She watched the girls as they took down their hats and cloaks, and made internal comments upon their characters.
She had not noticed that for several minutes Mr. Heatherley had been standing in the doorway130 of the room, and by his side a girl of perhaps the same age as Helen, rather pretty in face, whose appearance rendered it probable that she was the daughter of a well-to-do working man. As soon as she perceived the two she advanced towards them, and Mr. Heatherley introduced his companion as Miss Venning.
“You desire to help me in my evening classes?” said Helen, as she shook hands with the girl, who was very timid in manner.
“I should not have ventured to think of teaching,” replied the latter, a modest blush upon her comely131 features. “It is Mr. Heatherley who has persuaded me to offer myself. But I am really afraid that I have not ability enough.”
“That’s all nonsense, Lucy,” said Mr. Heatherley, good-naturedly. “You don’t mean to pretend that you can’t read and write?”
The girl held down her head in silence, still blushing.
“I thought your impudence132 wouldn’t go quite so far,” said the clergyman. “Well, nothing more whatever is wanted, except a little patience. And that I know you have.”
“Oh, please not to think I am unwilling133 to do what I can,” said Lucy Venning, looking from the clergyman to Helen. “I really shall be very glad to help, if I am thought capable, very glad indeed.”
“I have no doubt whatever that you will be capable, Miss Venning,” replied Helen. “Patience is the principal thing needed. These poor girls are sadly ignorant, and want slow and careful teaching. Can you begin on Saturday?”
“Oh yes,” said Lucy.
“Very well. I shall be sincerely glad to see you here. And now I must be off; it is getting late.”
“Let me see,” interposed Mr. Heatherley. “You pass Miss Venning’s door, if I’m not mistaken. You must let me see you safe to the station as usual, Miss Norman.”
And so they turned out the lights and left the chapel.
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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mere
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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distressed
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guardian
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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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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determined
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daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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19
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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21
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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22
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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23
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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24
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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27
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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28
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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29
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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30
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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31
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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32
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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33
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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34
recipients
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| adj.接受的；受领的；容纳的；愿意接受的n.收件人；接受者；受领者；接受器 | |
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35
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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36
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
incitement
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| 激励； 刺激； 煽动； 激励物 | |
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38
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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39
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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40
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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41
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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42
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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43
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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44
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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45
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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46
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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47
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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48
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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49
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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50
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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51
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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52
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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53
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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56
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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57
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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58
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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59
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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60
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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61
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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62
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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63
begotten
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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64
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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65
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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66
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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67
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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68
attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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69
exalts
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| 赞扬( exalt的第三人称单数 )； 歌颂； 提升； 提拔 | |
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70
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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71
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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72
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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73
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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74
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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75
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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76
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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77
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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78
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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79
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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80
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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81
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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82
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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83
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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84
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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85
relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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86
bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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87
exterminate
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| v.扑灭，消灭，根绝 | |
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88
denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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89
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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90
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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91
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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92
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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93
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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94
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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95
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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96
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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97
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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98
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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99
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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100
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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102
supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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103
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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104
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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105
marvelling
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
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106
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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107
maliciousness
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| [法] 恶意 | |
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108
sect
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| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
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109
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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110
schism
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| n.分派，派系，分裂 | |
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111
acquiesce
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| vi.默许，顺从，同意 | |
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112
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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114
discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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115
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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116
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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117
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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118
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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119
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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120
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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121
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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122
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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123
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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124
bespeaking
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| v.预定( bespeak的现在分词 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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125
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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126
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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127
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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128
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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129
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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130
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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131
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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132
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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133
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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