But we are forgetting—it is the parlour and not the shop with which we have to do. The room and its furniture may be strangers to us—perhaps one of the inmates—but not the other. The still infirm and aged7, but the thrice-blessed, thrice-happy mother was still spared to bless God for the prosperity, the well-doing, and the unchanging faith and piety8 of her beloved children. Simeon’s wish was fulfilled—his mother was restored to her former station, nay9, raised higher in the scale of society than she had ever been; but meek10 in prosperity as faithful in adversity, there was no change in that widowed heart, save, if possible, yet deeper love and gratitude11 to God. And a beautiful picture might that gentle face have made, bending down with such a smile of caressing12 love on the lovely infant of nearly three years, who had clambered on her knee, and was folding its little round arms about her neck. It was a touching13 contrast of age and infancy14, for Rachel looked much older than she really was, but there was nothing sad in it. The unusual loveliness of the child cannot be passed unnoticed: the snowy skin, the rich golden curls, just touched with that chesnut which takes away all insipidity15 from fairness, might have proclaimed her not a child of Israel; but then there was the large, lustrous16 black eye and its long fringe, the subdued17, soul-speaking beauty of the other features—that was Israel’s, and Israel’s alone! Full of life and joyousness18, her infant prattle19 amused her grandmother, till at the closing, about six in the evening, her son Simeon joined her. We should perhaps have said that an elderly Jewess, remarkably20 clean and tidy in her person, had very often entered the parlour to see, she said, if the dear widow were comfortable or wanted anything, or little Jeanie were troublesome, etc. It was old Esther, who fulfilling all sorts of offices in the family, acting21 companion and nurse to the widow and Jeanie, cleaning silver—in which she was very expert—seeing to the cooking of the dinner, and taking care of the lad’s clothes, delighted herself, and more than satisfied those with whom she lived.
To satisfy our readers’ curiosity, as to how this great change in the widow’s condition had been brought about, we will briefly22 narrate23 its origin. When Reuben’s year of probation24 was over, and he felt he was a Jew in heart and soul and reason, as well as name, he returned to Liverpool, to delight his mother with the change. He was met with love and with rejoicing, no reference was made to the past, and between himself and Simeon not a shadow of estrangement25 remained. The latter had at first hung back, feeling self-reproached that he had wronged his brother; but Reuben’s truly noble nature conquered these feelings, and soon after bound him to him with the ties of gratitude as well as love. Simeon’s talent for modelling in silver was now as marked as his dislike to that trade, which despite of disinclination, he had perseveringly26 followed. Reuben, on the contrary, retained all his father’s instructions in watch-making, and had determined27, when he returned to Liverpool, to set up that business which, from the excellent capital he had amassed28 and laid by, was not difficult to accomplish. He had determined on this plan, feeling as if he thus tacitly acknowledged and followed his lamented29 father’s wishes, and atoned30 to him, even in death, for former disregard. He, of course, wished to associate Simeon in the business; but as the young man’s desires and talents seemed pointed31 otherwise, he placed him for a year with a first-rate silversmith in London. Morris, Simeon’s late master, had given up business, and this in itself was a capital opening for Reuben. He made use of it, and flourished. In less than eighteen months after his return to Liverpool, “Perez Brothers” opened their new shop as silversmiths and watchmakers, and from the careful, economical, and strictly32 honourable33 way in which the business was carried on—the name, too, with the associations of the honest hard-working man of whom these were the sons, adding golden weight—a very few months trial proved that industry, economy, and honesty must carry their own reward.
But why was the widow alone? Was not Reuben married, and should not Sarah have been with her? Gentle reader, Reuben is not yet married; he has now gone to fetch his Sarah, for the term of probation for both is over. The morrow is the thirteenth birthday of the twins; and the widow is expecting the return of Reuben and Sarah and Ruth, as she sits with her darling Jeanie in her little parlour, the evening we meet her again.
Levison’s innocence34 and his sudden death had, of course, been made public, not only in an official way, but through the eagerness of Reuben that not a shadow of shame should ever approach his Sarah. When the first month of mourning had expired, Sarah returned to her situation; her mistress quite forgetting former anger, and ready to declare Sarah had only done just as she ought towards her poor innocent father; that she was a pattern of Jewish daughters, and poured forth35 a volume of praises, all in the joy of getting her back.
Reuben had been anxious for their marriage as soon as he had completed two years from poor Jeanie Wilson’s early death. Sarah fully2 sympathised in his feelings towards Jeanie, and they would often talk of her as a being dear to and cherished by them both. When the two years were completed, the marriage was still delayed, Mrs. Corea entreating36 Sarah to remain with her till she went on the Continent with her daughters, which she intended to do in about six or eight months. She had been too indulgent a mistress, and Miss Leon too sincere a friend, for Sarah to hesitate a moment in postponing37 her own happiness. Besides, the delay, though Reuben did not like it, might be beneficial to him in allowing him time to get settled in his business. Before the period elapsed, Sarah and Reuben too were rejoiced that she was still in London, for Ruth needed her; the wherefore we shall find presently.
“Are they not late, mother?” inquired Simeon, as he joined his mother in her own parlour. “Troublesome loiterers! I wish they would arrive—I want my tea.”
“And is that all you want, Simeon?” said the widow, smiling; “because that may easily be satisfied.”
“No, no; not quite so voracious38 as that comes to. I want the loiterers themselves, though I have seen them later than you have, you know. You won’t find Sarah a whit39 altered; she is just the gentle yet energetic creature she always was, only more animated40, more happy, I think. Then Ruth, darling Ruth—oh, how much I owe to her! I never shall forget her reminding me of my promise to my poor father—her compelling me as it were, to love my brother; and now what is not that brother to me? Mother, is it not strange how completely prejudice has gone?”
“No, my dear son; your heart was too truly and faithfully pious41, too desirous really to love its God, for prejudice long to obtain the ascendant. It comes sometimes in very early youth, when we are apt to think we alone are quite right, but, unless encouraged, cannot long stand the light of strengthening reason and real spiritual love.”
“But does it not seem strange, mother, that I alone of my family, should have been the one selected to receive such extreme kindness from a Christian—one of those whom, in former days, I was more prejudiced against than I dared acknowledge? I was very ill on my way home from London, and as you know, Mr. Morton had me conveyed to his house, instead of leaving me to the care of heartless strangers at the public inn—had a physician to attend me, nursed me as his own son—would read and talk to me, even after he knew I was a Jew, on the spirit of religion, which we both felt. Never shall I forget the impressive tone and manner with which he said, when parting with me, ‘Young man, never forget this important truth—that heart alone in sincerity42 loves God, who can see, in every pious man, a brother, despite of difference of creed43. That difference lies between man and his God: to do good and love one another is man’s duty unto man, and can, under no circumstances and in no places, be evaded44. Learn this lesson, and all the kindness I have shown you is amply rewarded.’ Is it not strange this should have occurred to me?”
“I do not think it strange, my dear son,” replied Mrs. Perez affectionately, though seriously. “I believe so firmly that God’s eye is ever on us, that He so loves us, that He guides every event of our lives as will be most for our eternal good. He saw you sought to love and serve Him—that the very prejudice borne towards others had its origin in the ardent46 love you bore your faith, and His infinite mercy permitted you to receive kindness from a Gentile and a stranger, that this one dark cloud should be removed, and your love for Him be increased in the love you bear your fellow-creatures.”
“May I believe this, mother? It would be such a comfort, such a redoubled excitement to love and worship,” answered Simeon, fixing his large dark eyes beseechingly47 on his mother’s face. “But can I do so without profaneness48, without robbing our gracious God of the sanctity which is so imperatively49 His due?”
“Surely you may, my dear boy. We have the whole word of God to prove and tell us that we are each individually and peculiarly His care—that he demands the heart; for dearer even than a mother’s love for her infant child is His love towards us. How may we give Him our heart, if we never think of Him but as a being too inexpressibly awful to approach? How feel the thanksgiving and gratitude He loves to receive, if we do not perceive His guiding hand, even in the simplest events of our individual lives? How seek Him in sorrow, if we do not think He has power and will to hear and to relieve?—in daily prayer, if we were not each of us especially His own? My boy, if the hairs of our head are numbered, can we doubt the events of our life are guided as will be but for our eternal good, and draw us closer to our God? Think but of one dear to us both: did it not seem, to our imperfect wisdom, that Reuben’s marriage must for ever have divided him from his nation? Yet that very circumstance brought him back. Our Father in mercy permitted him to follow his own will, to be prosperous, to lose even the hated badge of Israel, that his own heart might be his judge. Affliction also, sent from that same gracious hand, deepened the peculiar50 feelings which becoming a parent had already excited. Then the year of research put the final seal on his return to us. His mind could never have believed without calm, unimpassioned, steady examination. He has examined not alone his own faith. Mr. Vaughan, from being the explainer, was forced to become the defender51 of his own creed. He drew back, avowing52, with a candour and charity which proved how truly of God was the spirit of religion within him, spite of the mistaken faith, that Reuben never could become a convert. And we know what true friends they are, notwithstanding Mr. Vaughan’s disappointment. They have strengthened themselves in their own peculiar doctrines53, without in the least shaking each other’s.”
“Yes, yes; you are quite right, mother dear, as you always are,” replied Simeon, putting his arm round her, and affectionately kissing her. “What a blessing54 it has been for me to have such a mother. Why, how now, master Joseph, what has happened? have you lost your wits?”
“If I have, it is for very joy!” exclaimed the boy, springing into the parlour, flinging his cap up to the ceiling, and so stifling55 his mother with kisses, as obliged her to call for mercy. “Mother, mother, how can I tell you the good news? I must scamper56 about before I can give them vent45.”
“Not another jump, not another step, till you have told us,” exclaimed Simeon, laughing heartily57 at the boy’s grotesque58 movements, and catching59 him midway in a jump that would not have disgraced a harlequin. “Now what is it, you overgrown baby? Are you not ashamed not to meet joy like a man?”
“No baby ever felt such joy, Simeon; and though I am a man to-morrow, I am not ashamed to act the madcap to-night. Mother, have I not told you the notice Mr. Morales has always taken of me, and the books he has lent me? Well, my master must have said such kind things of me; for what, what do you think he has offered?—that is, if you will consent; and I know, oh, I know you love me too well to refuse. He will call on you himself to-morrow about it.”
“About what?” reiterated60 Simeon. “My good fellow, it is of no use his calling. You are gone distracted, mad, fit for nothing!”
“What does he offer, my love?” anxiously rejoined the widow.
“To take me home with him, as companion and friend to his own son, a boy just about my age—and such a fellow! He has often come to talk with me about the books we have both read. And Mr. Morales said I shall learn all that Conrad does. That I shall go abroad with them, and receive such an education, that years to come, if I still wish it, I may be fitted to be, what of all others I long to be, the Hazan of our people. Hebrew, the Bible and the Talmud, and Latin, and Greek, and everything that can help me for such an office; besides the lighter61 literature and studies, which will make me an enlightened friend for his son. Oh, mother! Simeon! is it not enough to make me lose my wits? But I must not though, for I shall want them more than ever. You do not speak, my own dear mother; but you will not, oh, I know you will not refuse.”
“Refuse!” repeated the grateful widow, whose voice returned. “No, no; I would deserve to lose all the friends and blessings62 my God has given me, could I be so selfish to refuse, because for a few years, my beloved child, I must part with you. I do not fear for you; you will never forget to love your mother, or to remember and obey her precepts63!”
“Give you joy, brother mine! though, by my honour, I had better not wish you any more joy, for this has well-nigh done for you,” laughingly rejoined Simeon; for he saw that both Joseph and his mother’s eyes were wet with grateful tears, and he did not wish emotion to become pain.
“Yes, one more joy, but one: it is almost sinful to wish more, when so much has been granted me,” replied Joseph, almost sorrowfully. “Would that Ruth, my own Ruth, could but look on me once more; could but have sight restored, that I might think of her as happy, independent, not needing me to supply her sight. Oh, I should not have one wish remaining; but sometimes I think, afflicted64 as she is, and bound so closely as we are, I ought not to leave her.”
“Then don’t think any more silliness, my boy. Reuben and your humble65 servant are much obliged to you for imagining, because we do not happen to be her twin brothers, we cannot be to her what you are—out on your conceit66! Make haste, and be a Hazan, and give her a home, and then you shall have her all to yourself; till then we will take care of her!”
Joseph’s laughing reply was checked by the entrance of Leah, attended by a young man of very prepossessing appearance. It was Maurice Carvalho, the son and heir of a thriving bookseller and fancy stationer, of Liverpool, noted67 for a devoted68 attendance on the pretty young milliner.
“Not arrived yet! why, I feared they would have been here before me, and thought me so unkind,” said Leah, after affectionately greeting her mother. “Are we not late?”
“Dreadfully!” replied Simeon, mischievously69. “Mrs. Valentine said you were at liberty after five; what have you been doing with yourselves?”
“Taking a walk, and went further than we thought,” said Maurice, with affected70 carelessness, while Leah turned away with a blush.
“A walk! whew,” and Simon gave a prolonged whistle; “were you not cold?”
“Cold, you stupid fellow! why it is scarce autumn yet—the evenings are delightful71.”
“Particularly when the subject of conversation is of a remarkably summer warmth; with doves billing and cooing in the trees, and nightingales singing to the rose—there, am I not poetical72? Leah, my girl, you used to like poetry; you ought to like it better now.”
“Better—why?”
“Oh, because—because poetry and love are twin brothers, you know!”
“Simeon!” remonstrated73 Leah; but the pleased expression of young Carvalho’s face and the satisfaction beaming on the widow’s betrayed at once that the bachelor was quite at liberty to talk and amuse himself at their expense; their love was acknowledged to each other, and hallowed by a parent’s blessing and consent.
Joseph had scarcely had time to tell his joyful74 tale to his sister, before a loud shout from Simeon, who had gone to the front to watch, proclaimed the anxiously-desired arrivals. Joseph and Maurice darted75 out, and in less than a minute Reuben and Sarah entered the parlour.
“Mother, dearest mother, she is here—never, never, with God’s blessing, to leave us again!” exclaimed Reuben, as Sarah threw herself alternately in the arms of the widow and Leah, and then again sought the embrace of the former, to hide the gushing76 tears of joy and feeling on her bosom77, without the power of uttering a single word.
“My child, my own darling child! oh, what a blessing it is to look on your dear face again! Still my own Sarah, spite of all the cares and trials you have borne since we parted!” exclaimed the widow, fondly putting back the braids of beautiful hair, to look intently on that sweet gentle face.
“And your blessing, mother, dearest mother; oh, say as you have so often told me, you could wish and ask no dearer, better wife for your Reuben; and such blessing may give my Sarah voice!” He threw his arm round her as he spoke78, and both bent79 reverently80 before the widow, whose voice trembled audibly as she gave the desired blessing, and told how she had prayed and yearned81 that this might be, and Sarah’s voice returned, with a tone so glad, so bird-like in its joy, it needed but few words.
“My Ruth, where is my Ruth? and where are Joseph and Simeon gone?” asked the widow, when one joy was sufficiently82 relieved to permit her thinking of another.
“She will be here almost directly, mother. She was rather tired with the journey, and so I persuaded her to rest quiet at the inn close by, till I sent Simeon and Joseph with a coach for her and our luggage; they will not be long before they return. But tell me, where is my Jeanie? not in bed I hope, though we are late?”
“No; Esther took her away about half an hour ago, to amuse and keep her awake—not very difficult to do, as she is as lively as ever.” Reuben was off in a moment.
“And Esther, dear Reuben, bid her come and see me,” rejoined Sarah; and then clasping her aunt’s hand, “oh, my dear aunt, what have I not felt, since we last met, that I owe you! I thought I was grateful, felt it to the full before; but not till I was tried, not till I learned the value of strong principles, steady conduct, and firm control, did I know all you had done for me. My God, indeed, was with me throughout; but this would not have been, had not your care and your affection taught me how to seek and love Him. Oh, will a life of devotion to our Reuben, and to you, and to his offspring, in part repay your kindness, dearest aunt?”
The widow’s answer we leave our readers to imagine; fearing they should accuse us of again becoming sentimental83. Old Esther speedily made her appearance, and her greeting was second only in affection to the widow’s own.
“Father, dear father, come home, come home!” was the next sweet lisping voice that met the delighted ears of Sarah, and in another moment Reuben appeared with the child in his arms, her little rosy84 fingers twisted in his hair, and her round soft cheek resting against his.
“This is my poor motherless babe, for whom I have bespoken85 your love, your protection, your guiding hand, my Sarah,” he whispered, in a low, earnest voice. “Will you love her for my sake?”
“And for her own and for her mother’s; do not doubt me, Reuben. If she is yours, is she not, then, mine?” she answered, in the same voice. The child looked at her as if half inclined to spring into the caressing, extended arms, but then, with sudden shyness, hid her face on her father’s shoulder.
“Jeanie, darling, what was the word I taught you to say? Look at her and say it, and kiss her as you do me.”
The child still hesitated; but then, as if emboldened86 by Sarah’s sweet voice calling her name, she looked full in her face and lisped out “Mother,” held up her little face to kiss her, and was quite contented87 to be transferred from Reuben’s arms to those of Sarah.
“Ruth, Ruth—I think I hear her coming?” joyfully88 exclaimed Leah, a few minutes afterwards.
“Go to her then, dear—detain her one minute,” hastily whispered Reuben, in a tone and manner that made his sister start. “Do not ask me why now—you will know the moment you see her—only go. I must prepare my mother. I did not think she would have been here so soon.”
Leah obeyed him, her heart beating, she did not know why, and Reuben turned to his mother. Sarah had given little Jeanie to Esther’s care, and was kneeling by her as if to intercept89 her starting up.
“What is it—what is it? Why do you keep my child from me? why send her brothers and sisters to her, instead of letting her come to me? Reuben, Sarah! what new affliction has befallen my angel child?”
“Affliction? None, none!” repeated Sarah and Reuben together. “It is joy, dearest aunt, all joy. Oh, bear but joy as you have borne sorrow, and all will be well.”
“Joy?” she repeated, almost wildly; “what greater joy can there be than to have my children all once again around me? I have heard my Ruth has been ill, but that she was quite well, quite strong again, and have blessed God for that great mercy.”
“But there may be more, my mother, yet more for which to bless Him. Oh, are not all things possible with Him? He who in His wisdom once deprived of sight, can He not restore it?”
“Reuben, Sarah! what can you mean? My child, my Ruth!” but voice and almost power failed, for such a trembling seized her limbs that Reuben was compelled to support her as she sat. It was but for a moment, for the next a light figure had bounded into the room, followed by Simeon and Joseph, Maurice and Leah.
“Mother! mother! mother! They need not tell me where you are. You need not come to your poor blind Ruth. I can see your dear face—see it once again.”
The widow had sprung up from her chair; but ere she had made one step forward her child was in her arms—was fixing those long-closed eyes upon her face as if they would take in every feature with one delighted gaze. One look was sufficient. A deadly faintness, from over-excited feelings, passed over the widow’s heart; but as she felt Ruth’s passionate90 kisses on her lips and cheeks, life returned in a wild burst of thanksgiving, and the widow folded her child closer and yet closer to her heart, and, overpowered by joy as she had never been by sorrow, “she lifted up her voice and wept.”
Reader, our task is done—for need we say it was the benevolent91 exertion92 of Miss Leon, under a merciful Providence93, which procured94 the last most unlooked-for blessing to the widow and her family. She had remarked there was a slight change in the appearance of the child’s eyes, had taken her without delay to the most eminent95 oculist96 of the day, and received his opinion that sight might be restored. The rest, to a character such as hers, was easy; and thus twice was she the means of materially brightening the happiness of the Perez family; for, though we had not space in our last chapter to dilate97 on it, it had been actually through her means the innocence of Levison had been discovered, though she herself was at the time scarcely conscious how. She had mentioned it to everybody she thought likely to be useful in discovering it, had been laughed at for her folly98 in believing such a tale, warned against taking up the guilt99 or innocence of such a person’s character, and, in short, almost every one dissuaded100 her from mentioning the subject; it really would do her harm. But she had persevered101 against even her own hope of effecting good, and was, as we have seen, successful.
Before we quite say farewell, we would ask our readers if we have indeed been happy enough in this simple narration102 to make one solemn and most important truth clear as our own heart would wish—that, however dark may be our horizon, however our prayers and trust may for a while seem unheeded, our eager wishes denied us, our dearest feelings the mere103 means of woe104, yet there is an answering and pitying God above us still, who, when He bids us “commit our ways unto Him, and trust also in Him,” has not alone the power, but the will, the loving-kindness, the infinite mercy, to “bring it to pass.” My friends, that God is still our God; and though the events of our simple tale may have no origin in real life, is there one amongst us who can look back upon his life, and prayers, and thoughts, and yet say that overruling Providence is but fiction, for we feel it, know it not? Oh, if so, it is his own heart, not the love and word of his God, at fault. All may not be blessed so visibly as the widow and her family, but all who wait on and trust in the Lord will have their reward, if not on earth, yet dearer, more gloriously in heaven.
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1 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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2 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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3 egress | |
n.出去;出口 | |
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4 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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5 regularity | |
n.规律性,规则性;匀称,整齐 | |
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6 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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7 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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8 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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9 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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10 meek | |
adj.温顺的,逆来顺受的 | |
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11 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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12 caressing | |
爱抚的,表现爱情的,亲切的 | |
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13 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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14 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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15 insipidity | |
n.枯燥无味,清淡,无精神;无生气状 | |
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16 lustrous | |
adj.有光泽的;光辉的 | |
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17 subdued | |
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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18 joyousness | |
快乐,使人喜悦 | |
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19 prattle | |
n.闲谈;v.(小孩般)天真无邪地说话;发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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20 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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21 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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22 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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23 narrate | |
v.讲,叙述 | |
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24 probation | |
n.缓刑(期),(以观后效的)察看;试用(期) | |
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25 estrangement | |
n.疏远,失和,不和 | |
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26 perseveringly | |
坚定地 | |
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27 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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28 amassed | |
v.积累,积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29 lamented | |
adj.被哀悼的,令人遗憾的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30 atoned | |
v.补偿,赎(罪)( atone的过去式和过去分词 );补偿,弥补,赎回 | |
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31 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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32 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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33 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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34 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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35 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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36 entreating | |
恳求,乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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37 postponing | |
v.延期,推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
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38 voracious | |
adj.狼吞虎咽的,贪婪的 | |
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39 whit | |
n.一点,丝毫 | |
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40 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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41 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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42 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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43 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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44 evaded | |
逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 ); 避开; 回避; 想不出 | |
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45 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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46 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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47 beseechingly | |
adv. 恳求地 | |
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48 profaneness | |
n.渎神,污秽 | |
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49 imperatively | |
adv.命令式地 | |
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50 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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51 defender | |
n.保卫者,拥护者,辩护人 | |
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52 avowing | |
v.公开声明,承认( avow的现在分词 ) | |
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53 doctrines | |
n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 );教义;学说;(政府政策的)正式声明 | |
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54 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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55 stifling | |
a.令人窒息的 | |
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56 scamper | |
v.奔跑,快跑 | |
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57 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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58 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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59 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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60 reiterated | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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62 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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63 precepts | |
n.规诫,戒律,箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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64 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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66 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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67 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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68 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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69 mischievously | |
adv.有害地;淘气地 | |
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70 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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71 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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72 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
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73 remonstrated | |
v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 );告诫 | |
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74 joyful | |
adj.欢乐的,令人欢欣的 | |
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75 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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76 gushing | |
adj.迸出的;涌出的;喷出的;过分热情的v.喷,涌( gush的现在分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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77 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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78 spoke | |
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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79 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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80 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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81 yearned | |
渴望,切盼,向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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83 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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84 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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85 bespoken | |
v.预定( bespeak的过去分词 );订(货);证明;预先请求 | |
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86 emboldened | |
v.鼓励,使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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88 joyfully | |
adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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89 intercept | |
vt.拦截,截住,截击 | |
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90 passionate | |
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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91 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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92 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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93 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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94 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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95 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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96 oculist | |
n.眼科医生 | |
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97 dilate | |
vt.使膨胀,使扩大 | |
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98 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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99 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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100 dissuaded | |
劝(某人)勿做某事,劝阻( dissuade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101 persevered | |
v.坚忍,坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102 narration | |
n.讲述,叙述;故事;记叙体 | |
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103 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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104 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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