On this morning there was another watcher for the dawn besides Father Salvierderra. It was Alessandro, who had been restlessly wandering about since midnight, and had finally seated himself under the willow8-trees by the brook9, at the spot where he had seen Ramona the evening before. He recollected11 this custom of the sunrise hymn when he and his band were at the Senora's the last year, and he had chanced then to learn that the Father slept in the southeast room. From the spot where he sat, he could see the south window of this room. He could also see the low eastern horizon, at which a faint luminous12 line already showed. The sky was like amber13; a few stars still shone faintly in the zenith. There was not a sound. It was one of those rare moments in which one can without difficulty realize the noiseless spinning of the earth through space. Alessandro knew nothing of this; he could not have been made to believe that the earth was moving. He thought the sun was coming up apace, and the earth was standing still,—a belief just as grand, just as thrilling, so far as all that goes, as the other: men worshipped the sun long before they found out that it stood still. Not the most reverent14 astronomer15, with the mathematics of the heavens at his tongue's end, could have had more delight in the wondrous16 phenomenon of the dawn, than did this simple-minded, unlearned man.
His eyes wandered from the horizon line of slowly increasing light, to the windows of the house, yet dark and still. “Which window is hers? Will she open it when the song begins?” he thought. “Is it on this side of the house? Who can she be? She was not here last year. Saw the saints ever so beautiful a creature!”
At last came the full red ray across the meadow. Alessandro sprang to his feet. In the next second Father Salvierderra flung up his south window, and leaning out, his cowl thrown off, his thin gray locks streaming back, began in a feeble but not unmelodious voice to sing,—
“O beautiful Queen,
Princess of Heaven.”
Before he had finished the second line, a half-dozen voices had joined in,—the Senora, from her room at the west end of the veranda17, beyond the flowers; Felipe, from the adjoining room; Ramona, from hers, the next; and Margarita and other of the maids already astir in the wings of the house. As the volume of melody swelled18, the canaries waked, and the finches and the linnets in the veranda roof. The tiles of this roof were laid on bundles of tule reeds, in which the linnets delighted to build their nests. The roof was alive with them,—scores and scores, nay19 hundreds, tame as chickens; their tiny shrill20 twitter was like the tuning21 of myriads22 of violins.
“Singers at dawn
From the heavens above
People all regions;
Gladly we too sing,”
continued the hymn, the birds corroborating23 the stanza24. Then men's voices joined in,—Juan and Luigo, and a dozen more, walking slowly up from the sheepfolds. The hymn was a favorite one, known to all.
“Come, O sinners,
Come, and we will sing
Tender hymns
To our refuge,”
was the chorus, repeated after each of the five verses of the hymn.
Alessandro also knew the hymn well. His father, Chief Pablo, had been the leader of the choir25 at the San Luis Rey Mission in the last years of its splendor26, and had brought away with him much of the old choir music. Some of the books had been written by his own hand, on parchment. He not only sang well, but was a good player on the violin. There was not at any of the Missions so fine a band of performers on stringed instruments as at San Luis Rey. Father Peyri was passionately27 fond of music, and spared no pains in training all the neophytes under his charge who showed any special talent in that direction. Chief Pablo, after the breaking up of the Mission, had settled at Temecula, with a small band of his Indians, and endeavored, so far as was in his power, to keep up the old religious services. The music in the little chapel28 of the Temecula Indians was a surprise to all who heard it.
Alessandro had inherited his father's love and talent for music, and knew all the old Mission music by heart. This hymn to the
“Beautiful Queen,
Princess of Heaven,”
was one of his special favorites; and as he heard verse after verse rising, he could not forbear striking in.
At the first notes of this rich new voice, Ramona's voice ceased in surprise; and, throwing up her window, she leaned out, eagerly looking in all directions to see who it could be. Alessandro saw her, and sang no more.
“What could it have been? Did I dream it?” thought Ramona, drew in her head, and began to sing again.
With the next stanza of the chorus, the same rich barytone notes. They seemed to float in under all the rest, and bear them along, as a great wave bears a boat. Ramona had never heard such a voice. Felipe had a good tenor29, and she liked to sing with him, or to hear him; but this—this was from another world, this sound. Ramona felt every note of it penetrating30 her consciousness with a subtle thrill almost like pain. When the hymn ended, she listened eagerly, hoping Father Salvierderra would strike up a second hymn, as he often did; but he did not this morning; there was too much to be done; everybody was in a hurry to be at work: windows shut, doors opened; the sounds of voices from all directions, ordering, questioning, answering, began to be heard. The sun rose and let a flood of work-a-day light on the whole place.
Margarita ran and unlocked the chapel door, putting up a heartfelt thanksgiving to Saint Francis and the Senorita, as she saw the snowy altar-cloth in its place, looking, from that distance at least, as good as new.
The Indians and the shepherds, and laborers33 of all sorts, were coming towards the chapel. The Senora, with her best black silk handkerchief bound tight around her forehead, the ends hanging down each side of her face, making her look like an Assyrian priestess, was descending34 the veranda steps, Felipe at her side; and Father Salvierderra had already entered the chapel before Ramona appeared, or Alessandro stirred from his vantage-post of observation at the willows35.
When Ramona came out from the door she bore in her hands a high silver urn36 filled with ferns. She had been for many days gathering37 and hoarding38 these. They were hard to find, growing only in one place in a rocky canon, several miles away.
As she stepped from the veranda to the ground, Alessandro walked slowly up the garden-walk, facing her. She met his eyes, and, without knowing why, thought, “That must be the Indian who sang.” As she turned to the right and entered the chapel, Alessandro followed her hurriedly, and knelt on the stones close to the chapel door. He would be near when she came out. As he looked in at the door, he saw her glide39 up the aisle40, place the ferns on the reading-desk, and then kneel down by Felipe in front of the altar. Felipe turned towards her, smiling slightly, with a look as of secret intelligence.
“Ah, Senor Felipe has married. She is his wife,” thought Alessandro, and a strange pain seized him. He did not analyze41 it; hardly knew what it meant. He was only twenty-one. He had not thought much about women. He was a distant, cold boy, his own people of the Temecula village said. It had come, they believed, of learning to read, which was always bad. Chief Pablo had not done his son any good by trying to make him like white men. If the Fathers could have stayed, and the life at the Mission have gone on, why, Alessandro could have had work to do for the Fathers, as his father had before him. Pablo had been Father Peyri's right-hand man at the Mission; had kept all the accounts about the cattle; paid the wages; handled thousands of dollars of gold every month. But that was “in the time of the king;” it was very different now. The Americans would not let an Indian do anything but plough and sow and herd31 cattle. A man need not read and write, to do that.
Even Pablo sometimes doubted whether he had done wisely in teaching Alessandro all he knew himself. Pablo was, for one of his race, wise and far-seeing. He perceived the danger threatening his people on all sides. Father Peyri, before he left the country, had said to him: “Pablo, your people will be driven like sheep to the slaughter42, unless you keep them together. Knit firm bonds between them; band them into pueblos43; make them work; and above all, keep peace with the whites. It is your only chance.”
Most strenuously44 Pablo had striven to obey Father Peyri's directions. He had set his people the example of constant industry, working steadily45 in his fields and caring well for his herds32. He had built a chapel in his little village, and kept up forms of religious service there. Whenever there were troubles with the whites, or rumors46 of them, he went from house to house, urging, persuading, commanding his people to keep the peace. At one time when there was an insurrection of some of the Indian tribes farther south, and for a few days it looked as if there would be a general Indian war, he removed the greater part of his band, men, women, and children driving their flocks and herds with them, to Los Angeles, and camped there for several days, that they might be identified with the whites in case hostilities47 became serious.
But his labors48 did not receive the reward that they deserved. With every day that the intercourse49 between his people and the whites increased, he saw the whites gaining, his people surely losing ground, and his anxieties deepened. The Mexican owner of the Temecula valley, a friend of Father Peyri's, and a good friend also of Pablo's, had returned to Mexico in disgust with the state of affairs in California, and was reported to be lying at the point of death. This man's promise to Pablo, that he and his people should always live in the valley undisturbed, was all the title Pablo had to the village lands. In the days when the promise was given, it was all that was necessary. The lines marking off the Indians' lands were surveyed, and put on the map of the estate. No Mexican proprietor50 ever broke faith with an Indian family or village, thus placed on his lands.
But Pablo had heard rumors, which greatly disquieted51 him, that such pledges and surveyed lines as these were corning to be held as of no value, not binding52 on purchasers of grants. He was intelligent enough to see that if this were so, he and his people were ruined. All these perplexities and fears he confided53 to Alessandro; long anxious hours the father and son spent together, walking back and forth54 in the village, or sitting in front of their little adobe55 house, discussing what could be done. There was always the same ending to the discussion,—a long sigh, and, “We must wait, we can do nothing.”
No wonder Alessandro seemed, to the more ignorant and thoughtless young men and women of his village, a cold and distant lad. He was made old before his time. He was carrying in his heart burdens of which they knew nothing. So long as the wheat fields came up well, and there was no drought, and the horses and sheep had good pasture, in plenty, on the hills, the Temecula people could be merry, go day by day to their easy work, play games at sunset, and sleep sound all night. But Alessandro and his father looked beyond. And this was the one great reason why Alessandro had not yet thought about women, in way of love; this, and also the fact that even the little education he had received was sufficient to raise a slight barrier, of which he was unconsciously aware, between him and the maidens57 of the village. If a quick, warm fancy for any one of them ever stirred in his veins58, he found himself soon, he knew not how, cured of it. For a dance, or a game, or a friendly chat, for the trips into the mountains after acorns59, or to the marshes60 for grasses and reeds, he was their good comrade, and they were his; but never had the desire to take one of them for his wife, entered into Alessandro's mind. The vista61 of the future, for him, was filled full by thoughts which left no room for love's dreaming; one purpose and one fear filled it,—the purpose to be his father's worthy62 successor, for Pablo was old now, and very feeble; the fear, that exile and ruin were in store for them all.
It was of these things he had been thinking as be walked alone, in advance of his men, on the previous night, when he first saw Ramona kneeling at the brook. Between that moment and the present, it seemed to Alessandro that some strange miracle must have happened to him. The purposes and the fears had alike gone. A face replaced them; a vague wonder, pain, joy, he knew not what, filled him so to overflowing63 that he was bewildered. If he had been what the world calls a civilized64 man, he would have known instantly and would have been capable of weighing, analyzing65, and reflecting on his sensations at leisure. But he was not a civilized man; he had to bring to bear on his present situation only simple, primitive66, uneducated instincts and impulses. If Ramona had been a maiden56 of his own people or race, he would have drawn67 near to her as quickly as iron to the magnet. But now, if he had gone so far as to even think of her in such a way, she would have been, to his view, as far removed from him as was the morning star beneath whose radiance he had that morning watched, hoping for sight of her at her window. He did not, however, go so far as to thus think of her. Even that would have been impossible. He only knelt on the stones outside the chapel door, mechanically repeating the prayers with the rest, waiting for her to reappear. He had no doubt, now, that she was Senor Felipe's wife; all the same he wished to kneel there till she came out, that he might see her face again. His vista of purpose, fear, hope, had narrowed now down to that,—just one more sight of her. Ever so civilized, he could hardly have worshipped a woman better. The mass seemed to him endlessly long. Until near the last, he forgot to sing; then, in the closing of the final hymn, he suddenly remembered, and the clear deep-toned voice pealed68 out, as before, like the undertone of a great sea-wave, sweeping69 along.
Ramona heard the first note, and felt again the same thrill. She was as much a musician born as Alessandro himself. As she rose from her knees, she whispered to Felipe: “Felipe, do find out which one of the Indians it is has that superb voice. I never heard anything like it.”
“Oh, that is Alessandro,” replied Felipe, “old Pablo's son. He is a splendid fellow. Don't you recollect10 his singing two years ago?”
“I was not here,” replied Ramona; “you forget.”
“Ah, yes, so you were away; I had forgotten,” said Felipe. “Well, he was here. They made him captain of the shearing71-band, though he was only twenty, and he managed the men splendidly. They saved nearly all their money to carry home, and I never knew them do such a thing before. Father Salvierderra was here, which might have had something to do with it; but I think it was quite as much Alessandro. He plays the violin beautifully. I hope he has brought it along. He plays the old San Luis Rey music. His father was band-master there.”
Felipe nodded. “We'll have him up on the veranda tonight,” he said.
While this whispered colloquy73 was going on, the chapel had emptied, the Indians and Mexicans all hurrying out to set about the day's work. Alessandro lingered at the doorway74 as long as he dared, till he was sharply called by Juan Canito, looking back: “What are you gaping75 at there, you Alessandro! Hurry, now, and get your men to work. After waiting till near midsummer for this shearing, we'll make as quick work of it as we can. Have you got your best shearers here?”
“Ay, that I have,” answered Alessandro; “not a man of them but can shear70 his hundred in a day, There is not such a band as ours in all San Diego County; and we don't turn out the sheep all bleeding, either; you'll see scarce a scratch on their sides.”
“Humph.” retorted Juan Can. “'Tis a poor shearer76, indeed, that draws blood to speak of. I've sheared77 many a thousand sheep in my day, and never a red stain on the shears78. But the Mexicans have always been famed for good shearers.”
Juan's invidious emphasis on the word “Mexicans” did not escape Alessandro. “And we Indians also,” he answered, good-naturedly, betraying no annoyance79; “but as for these Americans, I saw one at work the other day, that man Lomax, who settled near Temecula, and upon my faith, Juan Can, I thought it was a slaughter-pen, and not a shearing. The poor beasts limped off with the blood running.”
Juan did not see his way clear at the moment to any fitting rejoinder to this easy assumption, on Alessandro's part, of the equal superiority of Indians and Mexicans in the sheep-shearing art; so, much vexed80, with another “Humph!” he walked away; walked away so fast, that he lost the sight of a smile on Alessandro's face, which would have vexed him still further.
At the sheep-shearing sheds and pens all was stir and bustle81. The shearing shed was a huge caricature of a summerhouse,—a long, narrow structure, sixty feet long by twenty or thirty wide, all roof and pillars; no walls; the supports, slender rough posts, as far apart as was safe, for the upholding of the roof, which was of rough planks82 loosely laid from beam to beam. On three sides of this were the sheep-pens filled with sheep and lambs.
A few rods away stood the booths in which the shearers' food was to be cooked and the shearers fed. These were mere83 temporary affairs, roofed only by willow boughs84 with the leaves left on. Near these, the Indians had already arranged their camp; a hut or two of green boughs had been built, but for the most part they would sleep rolled up in their blankets, on the ground. There was a brisk wind, and the gay colored wings of the windmill blew furiously round and round, pumping out into the tank below a stream of water so swift and strong, that as the men crowded around, wetting and sharpening their knives, they got well spattered, and had much merriment, pushing and elbowing each other into the spray.
A high four-posted frame stood close to the shed; in this, swung from the four corners, hung one of the great sacking bags in which the fleeces were to be packed. A big pile of bags lay on the ground at the foot of the posts. Juan Can eyed them with a chuckle85. “We'll fill more than those before night, Senor Felipe,” he said. He was in his element, Juan Can, at shearing times. Then came his reward for the somewhat monotonous86 and stupid year's work. The world held no better feast for his eyes than the sight of a long row of big bales of fleece, tied, stamped with the Moreno brand, ready to be drawn away to the mills. “Now, there is something substantial,” he thought; “no chance of wool going amiss in market!”
If a year's crop were good, Juan's happiness was assured for the next six months. If it proved poor, he turned devout immediately, and spent the next six months calling on the saints for better luck, and redoubling his exertions87 with the sheep.
On one of the posts of the shed short projecting slats were nailed, like half-rounds of a ladder. Lightly as a rope-walker Felipe ran up these, to the roof, and took his stand there, ready to take the fleeces and pack them in the bag as fast as they should be tossed up from below. Luigo, with a big leathern wallet fastened in front of him, filled with five-cent pieces, took his stand in the centre of the shed. The thirty shearers, running into the nearest pen, dragged each his sheep into the shed, in a twinkling of an eye had the creature between his knees, helpless, immovable, and the sharp sound of the shears set in. The sheep-shearing had begun. No rest now. Not a second's silence from the bleating88, baa-ing, opening and shutting, clicking, sharpening of shears, flying of fleeces through the air to the roof, pressing and stamping them down in the bales; not a second's intermission, except the hour of rest at noon, from sunrise till sunset, till the whole eight thousand of the Senora Moreno's sheep were shorn. It was a dramatic spectacle. As soon as a sheep was shorn, the shearer ran with the fleece in his hand to Luigo, threw it down on a table, received his five-cent piece, dropped it in his pocket, ran to the pen, dragged out another sheep, and in less than five minutes was back again with a second fleece. The shorn sheep, released, bounded off into another pen, where, light in the head no doubt from being three to five pounds lighter89 on their legs, they trotted90 round bewilderedly for a moment, then flung up their heels and capered91 for joy.
It was warm work. The dust from the fleeces and the trampling92 feet filled the air. As the sun rose higher in the sky the sweat poured off the men's faces; and Felipe, standing without shelter on the roof, found out very soon that he had by no means yet got back his full strength since the fever. Long before noon, except for sheer pride, and for the recollection of Juan Canito's speech, he would have come down and yielded his place to the old man. But he was resolved not to give up, and he worked on, though his face was purple and his head throbbing93. After the bag of fleeces is half full, the packer stands in it, jumping with his full weight on the wool, as he throws in the fleeces, to compress them as much as possible. When Felipe began to do this, he found that he had indeed overrated his strength. As the first cloud of the sickening dust came up, enveloping94 his head, choking his breath, he turned suddenly dizzy, and calling faintly, “Juan, I am ill,” sank helpless down in the wool. He had fainted. At Juan Canito's scream of dismay, a great hubbub95 and outcry arose; all saw instantly what had happened. Felipe's head was hanging limp over the edge of the bag, Juan in vain endeavoring to get sufficient foothold by his side to lift him. One after another the men rushed up the ladder, until they were all standing, a helpless, excited crowd, on the roof, one proposing one thing, one another. Only Luigo had had the presence of mind to run to the house for help. The Senora was away from home. She had gone with Father Salvierderra to a friend's house, a half-day's journey off. But Ramona was there. Snatching all she could think of in way of restoratives, she came flying back with Luigo, followed by every servant of the establishment, all talking, groaning96, gesticulating, suggesting, wringing97 their hands,—as disheartening a Babel as ever made bad matters worse.
Reaching the shed, Ramona looked up to the roof bewildered. “Where is he?” she cried. The next instant she saw his head, held in Juan Canito's arms, just above the edge of the wool-bag. She groaned98, “Oh, how will he ever be lifted out!”
“I will lift him, Senora,” cried Alessandro, coming to the front, “I am very strong. Do not be afraid; I will bring him safe down.” And swinging himself down the ladder, he ran swiftly to the camp, and returned, bringing in his hands blankets. Springing quickly to the roof again, he knotted the blankets firmly together, and tying them at the middle around his waist, threw the ends to his men, telling them to hold him firm. He spoke99 in the Indian tongue as he was hurriedly doing this, and Ramona did not at first understand his plan. But when she saw the Indians move a little back from the edge of the roof, holding the blankets firm grasped, while Alessandro stepped out on one of the narrow cross-beams from which the bag swung, she saw what he meant to do. She held her breath. Felipe was a slender man; Alessandro was much heavier, and many inches taller. Still, could any man carry such a burden safely on that narrow beam! Ramona looked away, and shut her eyes, through the silence which followed. It was only a few moments; but it seemed an eternity100 before a glad murmur101 of voices told her that it was done, and looking up, she saw Felipe lying on the roof, unconscious, his face white, his eyes shut. At this sight, all the servants broke out afresh, weeping and wailing102, “He is dead! He is dead!”
Ramona stood motionless, her eyes fixed103 on Felipe's face. She, too, believed him dead; but her thought was of the Senora.
“He is not dead,” cried Juan Canito, who had thrust his hand under Felipe's shirt. “He is not dead. It is only a faint.”
At this the first tears rolled down Ramona's face. She looked piteously at the ladder up and down which she had seen Alessandro run as if it were an easy indoor staircase. “If I could only get up there!” she said, looking from one to another. “I think I can;” and she put one foot on the lower round.
“Holy Virgin!” cried Juan Can, seeing her movement. “Senorita! Senorita! do not attempt it. It is not too easy for a man. You will break your neck. He is fast coming to his senses.”
Alessandro caught the words. Spite of all the confusion and terror of the scene, his heart heard the word, “Senorita.” Ramona was not the wife of Felipe, or of any man. Yet Alessandro recollected that he had addressed her as Senora, and she did not seem surprised. Coming to the front of the group he said, bending forward, “Senorita!” There must have been something in the tone which made Ramona start. The simple word could not have done it. “Senorita,” said Alessandro, “it will be nothing to bring Senor Felipe down the ladder. He is, in my arms, no more than one of the lambs yonder. I will bring him down as soon as he is recovered. He is better here till then. He will very soon be himself again. It was only the heat.” Seeing that the expression of anxious distress104 did not grow less on Ramona's face, he continued, in a tone still more earnest, “Will not the Senorita trust me to bring him safe down?”
Ramona smiled faintly through her tears. “Yes,” she said, “I will trust you. You are Alessandro, are you not?”
“Yes, Senorita,” he answered, greatly surprised, “I am Alessandro.”
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1
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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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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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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7
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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8
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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10
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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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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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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astronomer
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| n.天文学家 | |
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wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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shrill
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tuning
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| n.调谐，调整，调音v.调音( tune的现在分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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myriads
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corroborating
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stanza
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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28
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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29
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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31
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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32
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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33
laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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34
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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36
urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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37
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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38
hoarding
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| n.贮藏；积蓄；临时围墙；囤积v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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39
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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40
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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41
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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42
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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43
pueblos
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| n.印第安人村庄( pueblo的名词复数 ) | |
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44
strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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45
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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46
rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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47
hostilities
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| n.战争；敌意(hostility的复数)；敌对状态；战事 | |
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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49
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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51
disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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53
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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54
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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adobe
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| n.泥砖，土坯，美国Adobe公司 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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58
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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acorns
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| n.橡子，栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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63
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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analyzing
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| v.分析；分析( analyze的现在分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析n.分析 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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shear
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| n.修剪，剪下的东西，羊的一岁；vt.剪掉，割，剥夺；vi.修剪，切割，剥夺，穿越 | |
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71
shearing
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| n.剪羊毛，剪取的羊毛v.剪羊毛( shear的现在分词 )；切断；剪切 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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73
colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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shearer
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| n.剪羊毛的人；剪切机 | |
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77
sheared
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| v.剪羊毛( shear的过去式和过去分词 )；切断；剪切 | |
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78
shears
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| n.大剪刀 | |
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79
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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81
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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82
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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83
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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84
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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85
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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86
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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87
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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88
bleating
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的现在分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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89
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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91
capered
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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93
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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94
enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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95
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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96
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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97
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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98
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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99
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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100
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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101
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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102
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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103
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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104
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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