She sat through the sermon, making vows7, Jacob-like, that if she ever came through this time of tribulation8 alive she would go softly all the rest of her days. She would live a life of complete renunciation—selfish pleasures, worldly ambitions centering round Mrs. Jarvis, even dreams of Joan of Arc she would put away forever. She would not finish that enthralling9 story she was surreptitiously reading in the Cheemaun Chronicle, the story of Lady Evelina De Lacy and the false Lord Algernon. She would never even wish she had curls like Rosie, but would be glad her hair was straight and plain; and when Mrs. Jarvis came, offering her a fortune and a velvet11 dress and a gold crown, she would turn away, declaring firmly that for her there could be no pleasure in such worldly joys.
The sermon had never seemed so long. Mr. Murray, a good old man, whose discourses12 had steadily13 lengthened14 with his years, preached on and on. Forest Glen nodded and woke up and nodded again, and finally roused itself to stand up for the closing psalm15. As the people slowly and silently filed out of church, still only half-awake, Elizabeth followed her aunt with the feelings of a criminal going to the gallows16. She knew that her secret was safe with John and Charles Stuart. The boys might fill her days with tribulation by teasing, but they would never stoop to tell tales. Nevertheless, Elizabeth did not for a moment consider this as an avenue of escape. The integrity of her soul demanded that she go straight to Mr. MacAllister and confess. And then everyone would know she had disgraced the name of Gordon forever, and what Aunt Margaret would say was a thought to make one shudder17.
As she went blindly down the aisle18, she found herself shoved against Mr. Coulson. He was looking straight ahead of him, very sternly, as though to let her know he realized how wicked and ungenteel she was. But Elizabeth had in memory many blessed occasions upon which her teacher had exonerated19 her in the face of damaging evidence. She had learned to put unbounded confidence in him. He was a person who understood, and there were so very few people in the world who did understand. He possessed20 some wonderful divining power, which Elizabeth felt would make it possible for him even to conceive of a person who could carry a dog into Sunday school and yet not be quite a social outcast.
So she slipped up close to him, so close that she forced him to look down at her. He saw the misery in the little girl's deep eyes, and forgot that she was Miss Gordon's niece. "Are you sick, Lizzie?" he asked. Elizabeth shook her head, speechless. She caught his coat and drew him aside as they came outside the door. He was so big and so strong, his very presence thrilled her with hope.
"Oh, Mr. Coulson," she whispered. "I—I—what'll I do? It was me took Trip into Sunday school!"
"Trip?" Mr. Coulson had already forgotten the little incident in his own troubles. "What about it, you poor little mite21?"
"Will they put me out of Sunday school? Will Mother MacAllister be angry? Susie Martin's Brag22 was going to bite him, and I was afraid."
Mr. Coulson laughed. It struck Elizabeth as almost miraculous23 that anyone who had witnessed that awful scene in Sunday school could ever laugh again. He glanced around and saw that Miss Gordon had already driven off in the little basket phaeton.
"Come along," he said, and taking Elizabeth's hand he led her up to where the MacAllisters were climbing into their buggy. He leaned over and talked in a low tone to Mr. MacAllister and they both laughed, and the latter called, "Hey, hey, Lizzie, come awa', bairn, and jump in!" And Mother MacAllister said, as her arms went around her, "Hoots24, toots, and did the lamb do it to save the little dog?" And Charles Stuart looked at her with undisguised admiration25 in his eyes, and said, "Aw, you goose, what did you go and tell for?" And Elizabeth's soul went straight from the depths right to the highest pinnacle26 of joy and thankfulness.
Then Mother MacAllister said, "Come away, Mr. Coulson, come home and have supper with father now, come away." Mr. Coulson sprang into the seat opposite, and he was no sooner in his place than Mother MacAllister cried out "Why, father, where are the girls? Come away, children. Come, Annie girl,—come, Sarah Emily! Come away, we're waitin' on you!"
Sarah Emily came forward, and with one leap landed herself upon the front seat with Mr. MacAllister and Charles Stuart; Jean climbed in beside Mr. Coulson, but Annie held back. The young man arose hastily. "Perhaps it's too crowded," he said hurriedly; "I'd better not go this time." Now this was a very absurd statement. For it had never been known that a MacAllister vehicle had ever been filled, much less crowded, and its owner turned upon the young man in wrathful amazement27.
"Hoots, man! Ye're haverin'. Sit ye doon there! Annie bairn, jump in. What are ye gawkin' there aboot? Are ye scared o' the master?"
There was no other course but obedience28. Mr. Coulson helped the young lady into the buggy and away they rattled29 up the hill. And Elizabeth, thrilled with joy over her escape, little realized that in saving herself she had done a good deed that day for two people very dear to herself—a deed the results of which lasted through a lifetime.
It all turned out so beautifully. Mother MacAllister, who never in her life was known to do such a wicked thing as go visiting on Sunday, left her guest with Charles Stuart and his father, and went all the way over to The Dale to explain Elizabeth's case to Miss Gordon. And Annie was so radiant, and John was so admiring, that Elizabeth fairly glowed in the family felicity, and the sun went down behind the Long Hill in perfect peace and happiness.
After the excitement of that Sabbath, the days sped somewhat evenly. May budded into June, June blossomed into July, and still the long-looked-for Mrs. Jarvis did not come. Her non-appearance filled Miss Gordon with a sense of keen disappointment, but Elizabeth soon forgot all about her. She had more important things to take her attention.
The 1st of July had come, the first day of the holidays, and Elizabeth went to bed the night before unable to sleep from excitement. Mr. Coulson had bidden them farewell that afternoon. He had resigned and was going to Cheemaun to finish his law studies. Elizabeth and Rosie had cried themselves sick over the good-bys. But it was not grief that was keeping Elizabeth awake. It was the machinations of John and Charles Stuart. On the way home from school she had been made aware by certain nods and winks30 and significant signs between her two tormentors that some wonderful scheme was on their programme for the morrow. Elizabeth knew as well as though they had shouted it from the treetops that they were going fishing. They always ran away from her when they went fishing. She firmly determined31 that, come what might, she would go fishing, too.
Just why the sight of those two disappearing down the lane with rods over their shoulders always filled Elizabeth with such unbearable32 anguish33 was a question even she could not have answered. Such expeditions with the boys were sources of tears and tribulations34. Elizabeth was always meeting with disaster. She was not satisfied unless she was manipulating a rod and line, and she did not know which filled her with the greatest heartrending compunction, the sight of the poor worm writhing35 on the hook or the poor fish. Then she was always being thrown into a panic of terror by the sight of a snake or a frog or a mud-turtle, and when real dangers did not menace, the boys supplied imaginary ones more terrible.
But, for all this, when John and Charles Stuart went abroad Elizabeth must accompany them, and, though her aunt felt that every such expedition removed her niece farther from the genteel ideal, she generally allowed her to go. For there were quieter times at home when the noisy one was away.
Elizabeth knew by experience that the two would be likely to arise at dawn and steal away, and she went to bed that night in the bare white-washed little room, which she and Mary shared, with the determination that she would lie awake until morning and be ready. By persistent36 pinching of her arms and tossing about, much to poor Mary's discomfort37, she managed to keep herself awake for about an hour, but sleep overcame her at last, the dead, dreamless sleep of childhood, and all Elizabeth's joys and sorrows were as naught38 until morning.
But her restless spirit asserted itself early. When she awoke it was scarcely light. The old clock in the study downstairs had just struck three. The room was quite dark, but a faint light from the window, and a strange hum of life from the outdoor world, told her that morning was approaching.
She slipped stealthily from her bed and, trembling with excitement, ran silently down the long, bare hall to her brothers' room. It was a big chamber39 above the dining-room. Its only furniture was two beds; a big old four-poster, where John and Malcolm slept on a lumpy straw mattress40, and a low "bunk41" or box-like structure on casters, where the little boys, Archie and Jamie, lay tossed about in a tangle42 of bare limbs and blankets. Elizabeth brushed back her hair from her sleepy eyes, and peered into the dim room. The green paper blinds were partly raised, and she could discern through the gloom John's black head on the bolster43 beside Malcolm's fair one. The black head was hanging half out of bed and its mouth was wide open. Elizabeth giggled44 softly. She longed to stuff something into that yawning cavity; but she knew that dire45 consequences followed upon tampering46 with John. She tiptoed back to her room. The excitement was lulled47 and she was beginning to feel sleepy. But she suddenly bethought herself that it would be wise to look out and see if Charles Stuart were coming. She remembered with hot indignation how once John had tied a string to his toe, which he let hang out of the window, and how Charles Stuart had come in the gray dawn and pulled the string, and the two had fled away in the dusk, while she slept all unawares. If they had any such plan on foot this time, she would be even with them. She would sit at the window and watch for Charles Stuart. She tiptoed gleefully across the room, and, slipping between the green paper blind and the sash, shoved her head and shoulders out of the open window.
And then her mischievous48 mood fell from her like a garment, and there stole over her a feeling of awe49. Elizabeth had often beheld50 the sunrise, and, being a passionate51 lover of nature, her soul had arisen with the day, radiant and full of joy. But never before had she witnessed the first mysterious birth of the dawn, and the wonder of it held her still. It was so strange and unreal. It was surely night, for the stars still hung above the black treetops, and yet it must be day, for above, below, on every side one great unbroken voice of song was pouring forth52 from the darkness. Or was it dark? It certainly wasn't light. The swamp, away behind old Wully Johnstone's fields, lay in blackness, and there was even a hint of moonlight sifted53 faintly through the gray veil of the sky. But the white line of birches by the stream stood out a soft, cloudy white, the fields were dimly distinguishable, and here and there a tree had taken form from its dark background.
But the wonder of it was the great chant the whole dark earth was raising to heaven. As June had waned54 Elizabeth and John had missed many of their bird companions, who were too busy raising their families to sing much. But now it seemed as though every blade of grass and every leaf on the tree was giving forth a voice. At first no separate note could be distinguished55. It was one great voice, all-penetrating, all-pervading. But gradually the ear discerned the several parts of the wondrous56 anthem57. The foundation of it seemed to come from behind the line of birches that hedged the stream, and here and there in the darkness of tree or bush an individual song arose to melt again into the grand chorus.
Elizabeth knelt by the open window, lost to everything except the mystery of music and light being woven before her. It was creation's morn again, at which the child's wondering eyes were gazing. Again the divine Fiat58 had gone forth, "Let there be light." And, moving in stately march to the grand processional, slowly, majestically59 the light was coming. Softly, almost imperceptibly, the phantom60 world took shape, and grew clearer as the stars grew paler. Here a bush detached itself from its gray background, yonder a tree grew up tall and stately, there the curve of a hillock swelled61 up from a dark valley. And as each growing maple62 or cedar63 or alder-bush took shape, from its depths there awoke a sleepy little murmur64, swelling65 into a rapturous song and melting away again into the great anthem. Away down the dim lane, near the edge of the pond, stood a noble elm, its topmost branch towering into the gray heavens, its lower limbs sweeping66 the earth. As it gradually detached itself from the grayness and came forth beautiful and stately, there arose from its heart the musical accompaniment to its birth—not a sleepy little murmur, such as befitted a sumach or a bramble, but a loud, clarion67 note, one wild shout of joy—and out poured the ecstasy68 of a robin's song. There was a storm of music on all sides now, a splendid fortissimo, keeping pace with the growing light. Elizabeth, suddenly mindful of former sunrises, leaned far out to look towards the east, holding her breath. Over there might be glories that were not lawful69 for men to look upon, much less utter. And, yes, there was a great wonder there, no sun's rays as yet, no daylight even, but behind the black trees of Arrow Hill there shone a luminous70 crystal glow, a light more heart-moving than if the sun had risen in all his pomp of purple and gold. There was an awe, a mystery about this transparent71 clearness, a great promise of unspeakable glories to come. Elizabeth drew a long breath. She was but a child, perfectly72 unconscious and unthinking in all that she said and did, but she had a heart capable of being strongly moved by any hint of the Infinite. She did not guess why, did not even imagine the reason, but the tears came to her eyes with a smarting sting, and with them that feeling of overwhelming joy that was half-pain, the feeling that rushed over her so often when her father read some sublime73 passage from the Scriptures74.
One came to her now from the psalm of the night before:
"Who coverest Thyself with light as with a garment; who stretches out the heavens like a curtain."
God Himself must be just behind that mysterious glow, little Elizabeth said to herself reverently75. That shining crystal was the garment in which He had wrapped Himself, so that people might not see Him. But she saw Him. Yes, He was there, she knew, and in the uplift of the moment there came to her child's heart a vision that never faded, a vision that many years later bore her up on the wings of poesy to fame.
But Elizabeth was woefully earthbound, tied down by the cares and worries that fall to humanity. As she still hung over the window-sill, gazing enraptured76 at the heavens, she was brought sharply down to earth. Up near the willows77 at the gate she dimly descried78 a dark figure hastening along Champlain's Road. It paused at the gate. Instantly Elizabeth was transformed. From the rapt priestess of the dawn she descended79 sharply to the keen-eyed spy. That was Charles Stuart just as sure as sure! And John would be up and off in another five minutes. She jerked herself back into the room so suddenly that her head came in crashing contact with the window-frame. Elizabeth was naturally keenly sensitive to pain, but she scarcely noticed the blow. There was no time to even complain. Though her head was spinning, she began to fling on her clothes in mad haste, feverishly80 watching Mary lest the noise of the crash had awakened82 her. But Mary slept on soundly; and, reassured83, Elizabeth made a frantic84 toilet. She wrenched86 herself into her clothes, pulling on garments upside down, inside out, any way that was most expeditious87. Buttons would not go into button-holes, strings88 refused to tie, pins would not hold. But somehow she managed to get herself dressed, after a fashion. There was no time to think of washing, or combing her hair. She crushed her sunbonnet down over her untidy head, snatched up her shoes and stockings, slipped silently into the hall, and took her place behind a huge wardrobe at the head of the stairs, from which hiding-place she could command a view of John's bedroom door. By this time she was bursting with mischievous glee. Wouldn't John and Charles Stuart be good and mad when they found her following them? She knew exactly how to do it. The only way was to dog their footsteps, keeping safely out of sight until they were too far from home to send her back alone. Of course she would have to endure innuendoes89 all day regarding "Copy cats," but that was nothing to the anguish of being left at home.
As she stood breathless and full of mirth, she was rewarded by the sound of a door creaking, and a stealthy footstep approaching the stair. She crushed back into her hiding-place. She could not help wondering even in the midst of her excitement how John could ever move so quietly. She held her breath as the owner of the soft footfall came into view. And then it returned in a little gasp90 of astonishment91. For it was not John at all, but Annie! Annie at this hour of the morning! Could she be going fishing, too? Elizabeth could not think of any other justifiable92 reason for getting up so early; Annie certainly looked as if she were on a very important mission. She went down the stairs hurriedly and silently, as though she were being pursued. Elizabeth had for an instant an impulse to call softly after her; but that wiser, older self within her arose and forbade. This ancient Elizabeth respected a secret, and said that here was one into which there must be no intrusion. She felt ashamed of herself, as though she had done something dishonorable like listening at a keyhole, as Sarah Emily had once done.
She heard the old door leading on to the side-porch creak stealthily, then pause, and creak again. Perhaps Annie was ill, and she ought to follow her. She softly tiptoed back to her room and peeped from her window. Her sister was stealing down through the orchard93, her light summer dress plainly visible against its dim greenness. She stopped at the bars that led into the pasture field, and as she did, Charles Stuart came vaulting94 over the fence from the lane and strode towards her. And surely everybody must have been touched with a magic wand, and turned into somebody else; because it wasn't Charles Stuart at all, but Mr. Coulson, to whom Elizabeth had bidden such an agonized95 farewell only yesterday! He came straight towards Annie, holding out both his hands, and when he reached the bars he leaned over them and kissed her! And then, though Elizabeth was not quite eleven, she knew that she was looking upon something sacred and beautiful, something that should not be exposed to the eyes of another, and she turned swiftly and, running to the bed, hid her face in the clothes beside Mary.
She knelt there, motionless, wondering, and in a few minutes she heard the stealthy foot upon the stair again and the soft rustle96 of Annie's skirts. She crept into bed and pulled the clothes over her sunbonneted head. She felt she would be doing her sister an irreparable injury if she let her know anyone had witnessed that parting scene.
She lay there, trembling with excitement, until all was still again. She forgot all about the fishing expedition in this new discovery, and lay wideawake wondering why in the world Annie should kiss Mr. Coulson good-by when she had not even gone to school to him, until worn out with wonder and excitement she fell sound asleep. And outside the dawn still marched majestically onward97 towards the day, in time to its glorious accompaniment of song.
When Elizabeth awoke again it was broad daylight. Sarah Emily was already downstairs, setting the breakfast table, stirring the oatmeal porridge, and singing loudly about the many glittering but false young men who had sought her hand, but had been defeated in their machinations by the finest old lady that ever was seen, who lived on yonder little green.
Fortunately Elizabeth escaped inquiry98 by slipping from the bed and arranging her clothes in a more respectable manner before Mary was stirring. Mary was delicate, and the only one allowed to lie abed in the morning, or to refuse porridge if she did not want it, so Elizabeth's early morning adventure was not discovered. To her relief also she found John downstairs apparently99 not going fishing. At breakfast Annie was quieter than usual, but it was characteristic of Elizabeth that she did not by word or sign let her elder sister see that she had the smallest knowledge of the morning's farewell. John was right when he conceded to Lizzie the power of not only keeping secrets,—deathly secrets like a pet toad100 under the bed or rabbits in the barn,—but at the same time looking as if she had nothing to hide.
It was Elizabeth's turn to help Sarah Emily with the dishes, and after breakfast she wearily dragged her feet towards the kitchen. Tom Teeter had come over and was talking to her father as the latter hoed in the vegetable garden, and Tom always had candies in his pockets. Then Malcolm and John were building a new hen-house in the barnyard, and every stroke of the hammer shouted to Elizabeth to come. She took up the dish-towel drearily101 and stood looking wistfully down the sunny path that led into the orchard. She realized now that she was utterly102 worn out with the excitement of her morning adventure. Mary and the little boys were playing in the old wagon103 that stood in the barnyard. She could hear them laughing and shouting. The old pig was grunting104 over his trough, the hens were cackling. She really ought to go and gather the eggs. She felt just then that drying dishes was an insupportable burden. It was always so with Elizabeth. She could toil85 strenuously105 all day, building a playhouse, or engineering a new game, running, leaping, toiling106 all unwearied. But when household duties were laid upon her, except when she worked for Mother MacAllister, she was actually overcome with physical weariness. She leaned against the table and yawned aloud.
But Sarah Emily did not hear. Tom Teeter was standing108 down there between the rows of cabbages, talking to Mr. Gordon upon the "Conscienceless greed and onmitigated rapacity109" of certain emissaries of the opposing political party. To all of which his neighbor was responding with: "Well, well. Deary me, now, Tom."
But Sarah Emily was firmly convinced that Tom was there for other reasons than to talk politics with her master. Sarah Emily was neither fair of face nor graceful110 of form, neither had a suitor ever been seen to approach the Gordon kitchen; nevertheless, she lived in the pleasant delusion111 that all the young men of the countryside were dying for love of her. Tom Teeter's condition she believed to be the most hopeless; and, like all other proud belles112 sure of their power, she flouted113 him; and the innocent young man, when he thought about her at all, wondered why Sarah Emily disliked him so, and took considerable pleasure in teasing her.
So Sarah Emily made frequent excursions to and from the well as he stood in the garden. She sang loudly and pretended she saw no one.
"The 'first that came courting was young farmer Green,
As fine a young gent as ever was seen."
"Oh, Sarah Emily, I'm awfully114 tired," said Elizabeth, when the young woman had at last settled to washing the dishes. "Don't you 'spose you could do them yourself this time. I really ought to go and help Malc and John with the hen-house."
"No, I don't, you lazy trollop," responded Sarah Emily promptly115. "You don't seem to think I ever get tired, an' me with that pinny of yours to iron for Sunday, too!"
Elizabeth was immediately seized with compunction. She caught up the towel and went at her task with feverish81 haste. But her eyes would stray down the orchard path that led to the barn.
It was only this very morning she had witnessed that strange little scene there in the dewy, music-thrilled twilight116. It seemed so unreal now that Elizabeth could almost believe she had dreamed it all. She almost wished she had. For Mr. Coulson was perfection, and Annie was a little better, and it was rather hard to think of her two paragons117 doing anything that people might laugh at. In the Gordon family life there was something improper118 attached to any display of affection, and kissing was positively120 disgraceful. Elizabeth dared not even kiss Jamie, much as she enjoyed it, except when the older boys were at a safe distance. She herself disliked being kissed by grown-up people. Babies and little people were different. She could remember being kissed by her aunt once, on her first arrival, but never since. She and Rosie had sobbed121 for an hour with their heads on the desk when Mr. Coulson made his good-by speech, but they would never have dreamed of doing what Annie did. And surely they loved him far more.
She was recalled to present affairs by Sarah Emily's snatching the plate out of her hand and demanding if she intended to rub it clean off the face of the earth?
Elizabeth took another rather sullenly122. But such a mood never lasted longer than half a minute with her, and she was suddenly struck with the notion that Sarah Emily might furnish some valuable information on the subject that was worrying her. Sarah Emily had such a vast experience with young men.
"Sarah Emily," she said, rather hesitatingly, "did anybody—I mean any young man ever—kiss you?"
Sarah Emily gave an hysterical123 shriek124. She doubled up over the table, almost dipping her face into the dish-pan, and went off into a hurricane of giggles125.
"Oh, oh, you awful, awful bad girl, Lizzie Gordon!" she screamed, whereupon Elizabeth knew she had not been bad at all, but had said something that had mightily126 pleased Sarah Emily.
"But did they though?" she insisted, showing her even white teeth in a sympathetic laugh. "Eh, Sarah Emily?"
She darted128 a withering129 glance at Elizabeth. "Not much, they didn't!" she cried righteously. "Jist let me ketch any o' them—yes, jist any one o' the whole gang up to any such penoeuvres. I'd soon fix 'em!"
"Why?" she asked anxiously. "Ain't it nice, Sarah Emily?"
"No, it ain't!" snapped Sarah Emily emphatically.
Elizabeth was much taken aback. It was surely not possible that Annie could do anything impolite or ungenteel—Annie, the only one in the family whom Aunt Margaret never scolded. She was puzzled and troubled. There was no one to whom she could take the matter for advice. Elizabeth had no close confidant. John was the nearest, but there were so few things John understood. Then one never dared tell Mary anything. Mary did not mean to be a tell-tale, but somehow everything she knew always oozed131 out sooner or later. Yes, this was a puzzle Elizabeth must work out alone.
"Well," she said at last, determined to uphold Annie at all costs, "it's all right in stories, anyhow. I mean when people are going to get married some day. I read about it in that story about Lady Evelina in the Chronicle. Now, if you were going to get married to Tom Teeter, Sarah Emily——"
Sarah Emily exploded in another spasm132 of shrieks133 and giggles. She leaned against the wall, overcome with laughter, wiping her eyes, and declaring that if Lizzie didn't hold still she'd be the death of her.
Elizabeth became impatient. Her older self rose up, protesting that Sarah Emily was very silly, indeed.
"Oh, bother you, Sarah Emily," she cried, "you're a big goose!"
Sarah Emily made a leap towards her. "You jist say that again, Lizzie Gordon, and I'll give you a clout134 over the head that'll make you jump."
Elizabeth dodged135 round to the other side of the table, and promptly said it again—said it many times, dancing derisively136 upon her toes and waving her towel; sang it, too, in the most insulting manner to the tune10 of "My Grandmother Lives, etc."
Then ensued a mad chase around the table, attended with uproar137 and disaster. A plate fell crashing to the floor, the dish-pan was upset, the water splashed in all directions, and the small figure with shrieks of laughter dodged this way and that, followed by the big clumsy one shouting vengeance138.
And then there suddenly fell a great silence as from the heavens. The door had opened, and Miss Gordon was standing in it. Elizabeth stood rigid139 in a pool of dish-water, and instinctively140 felt to find how many buttons of her pinafore were undone141. Sarah Emily promptly turned away and went vigorously to work, presenting a solid wall of indifference142 to her mistress, in the form of a broad pink calico back with a row of black buttons down the middle.
Elizabeth was not so incased in armor. One swift glance of shame and contrition143 she gave towards her aunt, and then hung her head, waiting for the blow to fall. Miss Gordon had never seemed so remote and so chillingly genteel.
"Elizabeth," she said in a despairing tone, "how is it that I can never trust you for even a few minutes out of my sight? You grow more rebellious144 and unmanageable every day. I have given up my home, and slaved and worked for you all, and you alone show me no gratitude145. I can never make a lady of you, I see. How any child belonging to a Gordon could be so entirely146 ungenteel——"
On and on Miss Gordon's quiet, well-bred voice continued, every word falling like a whip upon Elizabeth's sensitive heart. She writhed147 in agony under a sense of her own sinfulness, coupled with a keen sense of injustice148. She had been bad—oh, frightfully wicked—but Aunt Margaret never arraigned149 a culprit for any particular crime without gathering150 up all her past iniquities151 and heaping them upon her in one load of despair.
She listened until she could bear no more, and then, darting152 past her aunt, she tore madly upstairs in a passion of rage and grief. Miss Gordon's genteel voice went steadily on, adding the sin of an evil and uncontrollable temper to Elizabeth's black catalogue. But Elizabeth was out of hearing by this time. She had shut herself, with a sounding bang, into the little bedroom where she and Mary slept, and flung herself upon the mat before the bed. Even in her headlong despair she had refrained from pitching herself upon the bed, which Annie and Jean had arranged so neatly153 under its faded patch-work quilt. Instead she lay prone154 upon the floor and wept bitterly. Anger and a sense of injustice came first, and then bitter repentance155. She loved her aunt, and Sarah Emily, and she had injured both. She was always doing wrong, always causing trouble. Aunt Margaret could not understand her being a Gordon at all. Probably she wasn't one. Yes, that was the solution of the whole matter. She was an adopted child, and not like the rest. She was sure of it now. Hadn't Aunt Margaret hinted it again and again?
Elizabeth always went through this mental process during her many tempests of anguish. But always, through it all, the older self sat waiting, sometimes quite out of sight, but always there. And in the end she brought up a picture of Elizabeth's mother—the bright little mother whom she never forgot and who used to say, "Little Lizzie is more like me than any of my children." That assurance always came to Elizabeth. No, her whole family might forsake156 her, but her mother was always her very own. Her mother could never, never have been so cruel as merely to adopt her. Next, as always, came contrition, and deep self-abasement. She stopped crying and lay still, wondering why it was she could never be good like Annie, or even Jean. Then there was Constance Holworth, the lonely girl in the Sunday-school library book. She never got into a temper. And if she ever did, or even thought the smallest wrong thought, she always went down to the drawing-room and said sweetly, "Dear mamma, please forgive me." Even Elizabeth's imagination could not draw a congruous picture of herself speaking thus to Sarah Emily without some strange result. Besides, they had no drawing-room, and evidently one needed that sort of chamber for the proper atmosphere. Elizabeth wondered drearily what a drawing-room could be. Most likely a room in which one sat and drew pictures all day long. This reminded her of her own drawing materials lying in the bottom drawer, one of her birthday presents from Mrs. Jarvis. She half arose, with the thought that she might get out her paint-box or the old faded doll that Mary and she shared, then sank back despairingly upon the mat again. What was the use trying to solace157 a broken heart with such trifles?
But when she grew up and became a great artist, and drew pictures as big as the Vicar of Wakefield's family group, and all the Gordons came to her drawing-room to wonder and admire,—Sarah Emily and Aunt Margaret the most eager and admiring of all,—then, though she would be very kind to them all, she would never smile. She would always wear a look of heart-broken melancholy158, and when people would ask what made the great Miss Gordon, who was Mrs. Jarvis's adopted daughter, so very, very sad, Mrs. Jarvis would explain that dreadful afflictions in her childhood had blighted159 her whole life. And then Sarah Emily and Aunt Margaret would go away weeping over the havoc160 they had wrought161.
Elizabeth gained so much comfort from these reflections that she came up from the depths of despair sufficiently162 to take note of her surroundings. The window looking out upon the orchard was open, and from the pasture-field there arose a great noise—whistling, shouting, rattling163 of tin pails, and barking. She sprang up and darted to the window. That double racket always proclaimed the approach of Charles Stuart and Trip. Yes, there they were, the former just vaulting over the bars, the latter wriggling164 through them. Charles Stuart had a big tin pail and a small tin cup, and, just as sure as she was a living, breathing person, he and John would be off in two minutes to pick strawberries in Sandy McLachlan's slash165!
Elizabeth went down the stairs three steps at a time. Miss Gordon was sitting by the dining-room window, Annie at her side. Both were sewing, and Annie's cheeks so pink and her eyes so bright that her aunt looked at her curiously166 from time to time. They were interrupted by the bursting open of the door, and like a whirlwind a disheveled little person, wild-eyed and tear-stained, in a dirty, streaked168 pinafore, flung herself into the room.
"Oh, Aunt Margaret! The boys are going pickin' berries. Can't I go, too? Oh, do let me go?"
Miss Gordon looked at the turbulent little figure in silent despair, and Annie ventured gently:
"It would be nice to have strawberries for tea, aunt, and Lizzie could help John."
Miss Gordon sighed. "If I could only trust you, Elizabeth," she said. "But I wonder what new trouble you'll get into?"
"Oh, I promise I won't get into any!" gasped170 Elizabeth in solemn pledge, all unconscious that it was equivalent to a promise from the wind not to blow.
"It's no use promising," said Miss Gordon mournfully. "You know, Elizabeth, I have warned you repeatedly against the wild streak167 in you, and yet in the face of all my admonitions you still persist in acting171 in an unladylike manner. Now, when I was a little girl, I never went anywhere with my brother, your dear papa, except perhaps for a little genteel stroll——"
Elizabeth could bear no more. The last prop119 of endurance gave way at the sight of John and Charles Stuart marching calmly past the window, rattling their tin pails.
"Oh, Aunt Margaret!" she burst out in anguished172 tones, "couldn't you—would you please finish scolding me when I get back. The boys are gone!"
Miss Gordon paused, completely baffled. This strangest child of all this strange family of William's was quite beyond her.
"Go then," she said, with a gesture of despair. "Go. I have nothing more to say."
Elizabeth was tearing down the garden path before she had finished. To be cast off as hopeless was anguish, but it was nothing to the horror of being kept at home to be made genteel. In a moment more, with shrieks of joy, she was flying down the lane, towards two disgusted looking boys reluctantly awaiting her at the edge of the mill-pond.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
guilt
|
|
| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
physically
|
|
| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
fortitude
|
|
| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
vindicate
|
|
| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
vows
|
|
| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
tribulation
|
|
| n.苦难，灾难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
enthralling
|
|
| 迷人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
tune
|
|
| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
discourses
|
|
| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
lengthened
|
|
| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
psalm
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
gallows
|
|
| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
aisle
|
|
| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
exonerated
|
|
| v.使免罪，免除( exonerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
mite
|
|
| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
brag
|
|
| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
miraculous
|
|
| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
hoots
|
|
| 咄，啐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
pinnacle
|
|
| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
obedience
|
|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
rattled
|
|
| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
winks
|
|
| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
unbearable
|
|
| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
tribulations
|
|
| n.苦难( tribulation的名词复数 )；艰难；苦难的缘由；痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
writhing
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
persistent
|
|
| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
discomfort
|
|
| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
naught
|
|
| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
mattress
|
|
| n.床垫，床褥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
bunk
|
|
| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
tangle
|
|
| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
bolster
|
|
| n.枕垫；v.支持，鼓励 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
giggled
|
|
| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
dire
|
|
| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
tampering
|
|
| v.窜改( tamper的现在分词 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
lulled
|
|
| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
mischievous
|
|
| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
beheld
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
sifted
|
|
| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
waned
|
|
| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
wondrous
|
|
| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
anthem
|
|
| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
fiat
|
|
| n.命令，法令，批准；vt.批准，颁布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
majestically
|
|
| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
phantom
|
|
| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
swelled
|
|
| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
maple
|
|
| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
cedar
|
|
| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
swelling
|
|
| n.肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
clarion
|
|
| n.尖音小号声；尖音小号 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
lawful
|
|
| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
luminous
|
|
| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
transparent
|
|
| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
scriptures
|
|
| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
reverently
|
|
| adv.虔诚地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
enraptured
|
|
| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
willows
|
|
| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
descried
|
|
| adj.被注意到的，被发现的，被看到的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
feverishly
|
|
| adv. 兴奋地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
feverish
|
|
| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
reassured
|
|
| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
frantic
|
|
| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
toil
|
|
| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
wrenched
|
|
| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
expeditious
|
|
| adj.迅速的，敏捷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
innuendoes
|
|
| n.影射的话( innuendo的名词复数 )；讽刺的话；含沙射影；暗讽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
gasp
|
|
| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
justifiable
|
|
| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
orchard
|
|
| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
vaulting
|
|
| n.（天花板或屋顶的）拱形结构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
agonized
|
|
| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
rustle
|
|
| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
onward
|
|
| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
toad
|
|
| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
drearily
|
|
| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
wagon
|
|
| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
grunting
|
|
| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
strenuously
|
|
| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
toiling
|
|
| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
rapacity
|
|
| n.贪婪，贪心，劫掠的欲望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
belles
|
|
| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
flouted
|
|
| v.藐视，轻视( flout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
awfully
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
promptly
|
|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
paragons
|
|
| n.模范( paragon的名词复数 )；典型；十全十美的人；完美无缺的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
improper
|
|
| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
prop
|
|
| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
sobbed
|
|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
sullenly
|
|
| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
hysterical
|
|
| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
shriek
|
|
| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
giggles
|
|
| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
mightily
|
|
| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
darted
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
withering
|
|
| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
demeanor
|
|
| n.行为；风度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
oozed
|
|
| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
spasm
|
|
| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
shrieks
|
|
| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
clout
|
|
| n.用手猛击；权力，影响力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
dodged
|
|
| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
derisively
|
|
| adv. 嘲笑地，嘲弄地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
uproar
|
|
| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
vengeance
|
|
| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
instinctively
|
|
| adv.本能地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
undone
|
|
| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
contrition
|
|
| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
rebellious
|
|
| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
writhed
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
injustice
|
|
| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
arraigned
|
|
| v.告发( arraign的过去式和过去分词 )；控告；传讯；指责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
iniquities
|
|
| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
darting
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
neatly
|
|
| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
prone
|
|
| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
repentance
|
|
| n.懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
forsake
|
|
| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
solace
|
|
| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
blighted
|
|
| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
havoc
|
|
| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
rattling
|
|
| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
wriggling
|
|
| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
slash
|
|
| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
streak
|
|
| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
streaked
|
|
| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
anguished
|
|
| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |