‘The Young Minister of State’
Descriptions in the newspapers of the rural funeral of Lord Dannisburgh had the effect of rousing flights of tattlers with a twittering of the disused name of Warwick; our social Gods renewed their combat, and the verdict of the jury was again overhauled1, to be attacked and maintained, the carpers replying to the champions that they held to their view of it: as heads of bull-dogs are expected to do when they have got a grip of one. It is a point of muscular honour with them never to relax their hold. They will tell you why:—they formed that opinion from the first. And but for the swearing of a particular witness, upon whom the plaintiff had been taught to rely, the verdict would have been different—to prove their soundness of judgement. They could speak from private positive information of certain damnatory circumstances, derived2 from authentic3 sources. Visits of a gentleman to the house of a married lady in the absence of the husband? Oh!—The British Lucretia was very properly not legally at home to the masculine world of that day. She plied4 her distaff in pure seclusion5, meditating6 on her absent lord; or else a fair proportion of the masculine world, which had not yet, has not yet, ‘doubled Cape7 Turk,’ approved her condemnation8 to the sack.
There was talk in the feminine world, at Lady Wathin’s assemblies. The elevation9 of her husband had extended and deepened her influence on the levels where it reigned10 before, but without, strange as we may think it now, assisting to her own elevation, much aspired11 for, to the smooth and lively upper pavement of Society, above its tumbled strata12. She was near that distinguished13 surface, not on it. Her circle was practically the same as it was previous to the coveted14 nominal15 rank enabling her to trample16 on those beneath it. And women like that Mrs. Warwick, a woman of no birth, no money, not even honest character, enjoyed the entry undisputed, circulated among the highest:—because people took her rattle18 for wit!—and because also our nobility, Lady Wathin feared, had no due regard for morality. Our aristocracy, brilliant and ancient though it was, merited rebuke19. She grew severe upon aristocratic scandals, whereof were plenty among the frolicsome20 host just overhead, as vexatious as the drawing-room party to the lodger21 in the floor below, who has not received an invitation to partake of the festivities and is required to digest the noise. But if ambition is oversensitive, moral indignation is ever consolatory22, for it plants us on the Judgement Seat. There indeed we may, sitting with the very Highest, forget our personal disappointments in dispensing23 reprobation24 for misconduct, however eminent25 the offenders26.
She was Lady Wathin, and once on an afternoon’s call to see poor Lady Dunstane at her town-house, she had been introduced to Lady Pennon, a patroness of Mrs. Warwick, and had met a snub—an icy check-bow of the aristocratic head from the top of the spinal27 column, and not a word, not a look; the half-turn of a head devoid28 of mouth and eyes! She practised that forbidding checkbow herself to perfection, so the endurance of it was horrible. A noli me tangere, her husband termed it, in his ridiculous equanimity29; and he might term it what he pleased—it was insulting. The solace30 she had was in hearing that hideous31 Radical32 Revolutionary things were openly spoken at Mrs. Warwick’s evenings with her friends:—impudently named ‘the elect of London.’ Pleasing to reflect upon Mrs. Warwick as undermining her supporters, to bring them some day down with a crash! Her ‘elect of London’ were a queer gathering34, by report of them! And Mr. Whitmonby too, no doubt a celebrity35, was the right-hand man at these dinner-parties of Mrs. Warwick. Where will not men go to be flattered by a pretty woman! He had declined repeated, successive invitations to Lady Wathin’s table. But there of course he would not have had ‘the freedom’: that is, she rejoiced in thinking defensively and offensively, a moral wall enclosed her topics. The Hon. Percy Dacier had been brought to her Thursday afternoon by. Mr. Quintin Manx, and he had one day dined with her; and he knew Mrs. Warwick—a little, he said. The opportunity was not lost to convey to him, entirely36 in the interest of sweet Constance Asper, that the moral world entertained a settled view of the very clever woman Mrs. Warwick certainly was. He had asked Diana, on their morning walk to the station, whether she had an enemy: so prone37 are men, educated by the Drama and Fiction in the belief that the garden of civilized38 life must be at the mercy of the old wild devourers, to fancy ‘villain whispers’ an indication of direct animosity. Lady Wathin had no sentiment of the kind.
But she had become acquainted with the other side of the famous Dannisburgh case—the unfortunate plaintiff; and compassion39 as well as morality moved her to put on a speaking air when Mr. Warwick’s name was mentioned. She pictured him to the ladies of her circle as ‘one of our true gentlemen in his deportment and his feelings.’ He was, she would venture to say, her ideal of an English gentleman. ‘But now,’ she added commiseratingly, ‘ruined; ruined in his health and in his prospects40.’ A lady inquired if it was the verdict that had thus affected41 him. Lady Wathin’s answer was reported over moral, or substratum, London: ‘He is the victim of a fatal passion for his wife; and would take her back tomorrow were she to solicit42 his forgiveness.’ Morality had something to say against this active marital43 charity, attributable, it was to be feared, to weakness of character on the part of the husband. Still Mrs. Warwick undoubtedly44 was one of those women (of Satanic construction) who have the art of enslaving the men unhappy enough to cross their path. The nature of the art was hinted, with the delicacy45 of dainty feet which have to tread in mire46 to get to safety. Men, alas47! are snared48 in this way. Instances too numerous for the good repute of the swinish sex, were cited, and the question of how Morality was defensible from their grossness passed without a tactical reply. There is no defence: Those women come like the Cholera49 Morbus—and owing to similar causes. They will prevail until the ideas of men regarding women are purified. Nevertheless the husband who could forgive, even propose to forgive, was deemed by consent generous, however weak. Though she might not have been wholly guilty, she had bitterly offended. And he despatched an emissary to her?—The theme, one may, in their language, ‘fear,’ was relished50 as a sugared acid. It was renewed in the late Autumn of the year, when ANTONIA published her new book, entitled THE YOUNG MINISTER of STATE. The signature of the authoress was now known; and from this resurgence51 of her name in public, suddenly a radiation of tongues from the circle of Lady Wathin declared that the repentant52 Mrs. Warwick had gone back to her husband’s bosom53 and forgiveness! The rumour54 spread in spite of sturdy denials at odd corners, counting the red-hot proposal of Mr. Sullivan Smith to eat his head and boots for breakfast if it was proved correct. It filled a yawn of the Clubs for the afternoon. Soon this wanton rumour was met and stifled55 by another of more morbific density56, heavily charged as that which led the sad Eliza to her pyre.
ANTONIA’s hero was easily identified. THE YOUNG MINISTER of STATE could be he only who was now at all her parties, always meeting her; had been spied walking with her daily in the park near her house, on his march down to Westminster during the session; and who positively57 went to concerts and sat under fiddlers to be near her. It accounted moreover for his treatment of Constance Asper. What effrontery58 of the authoress, to placard herself with him in a book! The likeness59 of the hero to Percy Dacier once established became striking to glaringness—a proof of her ability, and more of her audacity60; still more of her intention to flatter him up to his perdition. By the things written of him, one would imagine the conversations going on behind the scenes. She had the wiles61 of a Cleopatra, not without some of the Nilene’s experiences. A youthful Antony Dacier would be little likely to escape her toils62. And so promising63 a young man! The sigh, the tear for weeping over his destruction, almost fell, such vivid realizing of the prophesy64 appeared in its pathetic pronouncement.
This low rumour, or malaria65, began blowing in the winter, and did not travel fast; for strangely, there was hardly a breath of it in the atmosphere of Dacier, none in Diana’s. It rose from groups not so rapidly and largely mixing, and less quick to kindle66; whose crazy sincereness battened on the smallest morsel67 of fact and collected the fictitious68 by slow absorption. But as guardians69 of morality, often doing good duty in their office, they are persistent70. When Parliament assembled, Mr. Quintin Manx, a punctual member of the House, if nothing else, arrived in town. He was invited to dine with Lady Wathin. After dinner she spoke33 to him of the absent Constance, and heard of her being well, and expressed a great rejoicing at that. Whereupon the burly old shipowner frowned and puffed71. Constance, he said, had plunged72 into these new spangle, candle and high singing services; was all for symbols, harps73, effigies74, what not. Lady Wathin’s countenance75 froze in hearing of it. She led Mr. Quintin to a wall-sofa, and said: ‘Surely the dear child must have had a disappointment, for her to have taken to those foolish displays of religion! It is generally a sign.’
‘Well, ma’ammy lady—I let girls go their ways in such things. I don’t interfere76. But it’s that fellow, or nobody, with her. She has fixed77 her girl’s mind on him, and if she can’t columbine as a bride, she will as a nun78. Young people must be at some harlequinade.’
‘But it is very shocking. And he?’
‘He plays last and loose, warm and cold. I’m ready to settle twenty times a nobleman’s dowry on my niece and she’s a fine girl, a handsome girl, educated up to the brim, fit to queen it in any drawing-room. He holds her by some arts that don’t hold him, it seems. He’s all for politics.’
‘Constance can scarcely be his dupe so far, I should think.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Everything points to one secret of his conduct.’
‘A woman?’
Lady Wathin’s head shook for her sex’s pained affirmative.
Mr. Quintin in the same fashion signified the downright negative. ‘The fellow’s as cold as a fish.’
‘Flattery will do anything. There is, I fear, one.’
‘Widow? wife? maid?’
‘Married, I regret to say.’
‘Well, if he’d get over with it,’ said Quintin, in whose notions the seductiveness of a married woman could be only temporary, for all the reasons pertaining79 to her state. At the same time his view of Percy Dacier was changed in thinking it possible that a woman could divert him from his political and social interests. He looked incredulous.
‘You have heard of a Mrs. Warwick?’ said Lady Wathin.
‘Warwick! I have. I’ve never seen her. At my broker’s in the City yesterday I saw the name on a Memorandum80 of purchase of Shares in a concern promising ten per cent., and not likely to carry the per annum into the plural81. He told me she was a grand kind of woman, past advising.’
‘For what amount’
‘Some thousands, I think it was.’
‘She has no money’: Lady Wathin corrected her emphasis: ‘or ought to have none.’
‘She can’t have got it from him.’
‘Did you notice her Christian82 name?’
‘I don’t recollect83 it, if I did. I thought the woman a donkey.’
‘Would you consider me a busybody were I to try to mitigate84 this woman’s evil influence? I love dear Constance, and should be happy to serve her.’
‘I want my girl married,’ said old Quintin. ‘He’s one of my Parliamentary chiefs, with first-rate prospects; good family, good sober fellow—at least I thought so; by nature, I mean; barring your incantations. He suits me, she liking85 him.’
‘She admires him, I am sure.’
‘She’s dead on end for the fellow!’
Lady Wathin felt herself empowered by Quintin Manx to undertake the release of sweet Constance Asper’s knight86 from the toils of his enchantress. For this purpose she had first an interview with Mr. Warwick, and next she hurried to Lady Dunstane at Copsley. There, after jumbling87 Mr. Warwick’s connubial88 dispositions89 and Mrs. Warwick’s last book, and Mr. Percy Dacier’s engagement to the great heiress in a gossipy hotch-potch, she contrived90 to gather a few items of fact, as that THE YOUNG MINISTER was probably modelled upon Mr. Percy Dacier. Lady Dunstane made no concealment91 of it as soon as she grew sensible of the angling. But she refused her help to any reconciliation92 between Mr. and Mrs. Warwick. She declined to listen to Lady Wathin’s entreaties93. She declined to give her reasons.—These bookworm women, whose pride it is to fancy that they can think for themselves, have a great deal of the heathen in them, as morality discovers when it wears the enlistment94 ribands and applies yo them to win recruits for a service under the direct blessing95 of Providence96.
Lady Wathin left some darts97 behind her, in the form of moral exclamations98; and really intended morally. For though she did not like Mrs. Warwick, she had no wish to wound, other than by stopping her further studies of the Young Minister, and conducting him to the young lady loving him, besides restoring a bereft99 husband to his own. How sadly pale and worn poor Mr. Warwick appeared? The portrayal100 of his withered101 visage to Lady Dunstane had quite failed to gain a show of sympathy. And so it is ever with your book-worm women pretending to be philosophical102! You sound them vainly for a manifestation103 of the commonest human sensibilities, They turn over the leaves of a Latin book on their laps while you are supplicating104 them to assist in a work of charity!
Lady Wathin’s interjectory notes haunted Emma’s ear. Yet she had seen nothing in Tony to let her suppose that there was trouble of her heart below the surface; and her Tony when she came to Copsley shone in the mood of the day of Lord Dannisburgh’s drive down from London with her. She was running on a fresh work; talked of composition as a trifle.
‘I suppose the YOUNG MINISTER is Mr. Percy Dacier?’ said Emma.
‘Between ourselves he is,’ Diana replied, smiling at a secret guessed. ‘You know my model and can judge of the likeness.’
‘You write admiringly of him, Tony.’
‘And I do admire him. So would you, Emmy, if you knew him as well as I do now. He pairs with Mr. Redworth; he also is the friend of women. But he lifts us to rather a higher level of intellectual friendship. When the ice has melted—and it is thick at first—he pours forth105 all his ideas without reserve; and they are deep and noble. Ever since Lord Dannisburgh’s death and our sitting together, we have been warm friends—intimate, I would say, if it could be said of one so self-contained. In that respect, no young man was ever comparable with him. And I am encouraged to flatter myself that he unbends to me more than to others.’
‘He is engaged, or partly, I hear; why does he not marry?’
‘I wish he would!’ Diana said, with a most brilliant candour of aspect.
Emma read in it, that it would complete her happiness, possibly by fortifying106 her sense of security; and that seemed right. Her own meditations107, illumined by the beautiful face in her presence, referred to the security of Mr. Dacier.
‘So, then, life is going smoothly108,’ said Emma.
‘Yes, at a good pace and smoothly: not a torrent—Thames-like, “without o’erflowing full.” It is not Lugano and the Salvatore. Perhaps it is better: as action is better than musing109.’
‘No troubles whatever?’
‘None. Well, except an “adorer” at times. I have to take him as my portion. An impassioned Caledonian has a little bothered me. I met him at Lady Pennon’s, and have been meeting him, as soon as I put foot out of my house, ever since. If I could impress and impound him to marry Mary Paynham, I should be glad. By the way, I have consented to let her try at a portrait of me. No, I have no troubles. I have friends, the choicest of the nation; I have health, a field for labour, fairish success with it; a mind alive, such as it is. I feel like that midsummer morning of our last drive out together, the sun high, clearish, clouded enough to be cool. And still I envy Emmy on her sofa, mastering Latin, biting at Greek. What a wise recommendation that was of Mr. Redworth’s! He works well in the House. He spoke excellently the other night.’
‘He runs over to Ireland this Easter.’
‘He sees for himself, and speaks with authority. He sees and feels. Englishmen mean well, but they require an extremity110 of misery111 to waken their feelings.’
‘It is coming, he says; and absit omen17!’
‘Mr. Dacier says he is the one Englishman who may always be sure of an Irish hearing; and he does not cajole them, you know. But the English defect is really not want of feeling so much as want of foresight112. They will not look ahead. A famine ceasing, a rebellion crushed, they jog on as before, with their Dobbin trot113 and blinker confidence in “Saxon energy.” They should study the Irish: I think it was Mr. Redworth who compared the governing of the Irish to the management of a horse: the rider should not grow restive114 when the steed begins to kick: calmer; firm, calm, persuasive115.’
‘Does Mr. Dacier agree?’
‘Not always. He has the inveterate116 national belief that Celtic blood is childish, and the consequently illogical disregard of its hold of impressions. The Irish—for I have them in my heart, though I have not been among them for long at a time—must love you to serve you, and will hate you if you have done them injury and they have not wiped it out—they with a treble revenge, or you with cordial benefits. I have told him so again and again: ventured to suggest measures.’
‘He listens to you, Tony?’
‘He says I have brains. It ends in a compliment.’
‘You have inspired Mr. Redworth.’
‘If I have, I have lived for some good.’
Altogether her Tony’s conversation proved to Emma that her perusal117 of the model of THE YOUNG MINISTER OF STATE was an artist’s, free, open, and not discoloured by the personal tincture. Her heart plainly was free and undisturbed. She had the same girl’s love of her walks where wildflowers grew; if possible, a keener pleasure. She hummed of her happiness in being at Copsley, singing her Planxty Kelly and The Puritani by turns. She stood on land: she was not on the seas. Emma thought so with good reason.
She stood on land, it was true, but she stood on a cliff of the land, the seas below and about her; and she was enabled to hoodwink her friend because the assured sensation of her firm footing deceived her own soul, even while it took short flights to the troubled waters. Of her firm footing she was exultingly118 proud. She stood high, close to danger, without giddiness. If at intervals119 her soul flew out like lightning from the rift120 (a mere121 shot of involuntary fancy, it seemed to her), the suspicion of instability made her draw on her treasury122 of impressions of the mornings at Lugano—her loftiest, purest, dearest; and these reinforced her. She did not ask herself why she should have to seek them for aid. In other respects her mind was alert and held no sly covers, as the fiction of a perfect ignorant innocence123 combined with common intelligence would have us to suppose that the minds of women can do. She was honest as long as she was not directly questioned, pierced to the innermost and sanctum of the bosom. She could honestly summon bright light to her eyes in wishing the man were married. She did not ask herself why she called it up. The remorseless progressive interrogations of a Jesuit Father in pursuit of the bosom’s verity124 might have transfixed it and shown her to herself even then a tossing vessel125 as to the spirit, far away from that firm land she trod so bravely.
Descending126 from the woody heights upon London, Diana would have said that her only anxiety concerned young Mr. Arthur Rhodes, whose position she considered precarious127, and who had recently taken a drubbing for venturing to show a peep of his head, like an early crocus, in the literary market. Her ANTONIA’S last book had been reviewed obediently to smart taps from the then commanding baton128 of Mr. Tonans, and Mr. Whitmonby’s choice picking of specimens129 down three columns of his paper. A Literary Review (Charles Rainer’s property) had suggested that perhaps ‘the talented authoress might be writing too rapidly’; and another, actuated by the public taste of the period for our ‘vigorous homely130 Saxon’ in one and two syllable131 words, had complained of a ‘tendency to polysyllabic phraseology.’ The remainder, a full majority, had sounded eulogy132 with all their band-instruments, drum, trumpet133, fife, trombone. Her foregoing work had raised her to Fame, which is the Court of a Queen when the lady has beauty and social influence, and critics are her dedicated134 courtiers, gaping135 for the royal mouth to be opened, and reserving the kicks of their independent manhood for infamous136 outsiders, whom they hoist137 in the style and particular service of pitchforks. They had fallen upon a little volume of verse, ‘like a body of barn-door hens on a stranger chick,’ Diana complained; and she chid138 herself angrily for letting it escape her forethought to propitiate139 them on the author’s behalf. Young Rhodes was left with scarce a feather; and what remained to him appeared a preposterous140 ornament141 for the decoration of a shivering and welted poet. He laughed, or tried the mouth of laughter. ANTONIA’s literary conscience was vexed142 at the different treatment she had met and so imperatively143 needed that the reverse of it would have threatened the smooth sailing of her costly144 household. A merry-go-round of creditors145 required a corresponding whirligig of receipts.
She felt mercenary, debased by comparison with the well-scourged verse-mason, Orpheus of the untenanted city, who had done his publishing ingenuously146 for glory: a good instance of the comic-pathetic. She wrote to Emma, begging her to take him in at Copsley for a few days: ‘I told you I had no troubles. I am really troubled about this poor boy. He has very little money and has embarked147 on literature. I cannot induce any of my friends to lend him a hand. Mr. Redworth gruffly insists on his going back to his law-clerk’s office and stool, and Mr. Dacier says that no place is vacant. The reality of Lord Dannisburgh’s death is brought before me by my helplessness. He would have made him an assistant private Secretary, pending148 a Government appointment, rather than let me plead in vain.’
Mr. Rhodes with his travelling bag was packed off to Copsley, to enjoy a change of scene after his run of the gauntlet. He was very heartily149 welcomed by Lady Dunstane, both for her Tony’s sake and his own modest worship of that luminary150, which could permit of being transparent151; but chiefly she welcomed him as the living proof of Tony’s disengagement from anxiety, since he was her one spot of trouble, and could easily be comforted by reading with her, and wandering through the Spring woods along the heights. He had a happy time, midway in air between his accomplished152 hostess and his protecting Goddess. His bruises153 were soon healed. Each day was radiant to him, whether it rained or shone; and by his looks and what he said of himself Lady Dunstane understood that he was in the highest temper of the human creature tuned154 to thrilling accord with nature. It was her generous Tony’s work. She blessed it, and liked the youth the better.
During the stay of Mr. Arthur Rhodes at Copsley, Sir Lukin came on a visit to his wife. He mentioned reports in the scandal-papers: one, that Mr. P. D. would shortly lead to the altar the lovely heiress Miss A., Percy Dacier and Constance Asper:—another, that a reconciliation was to be expected between the beautiful authoress Mrs. W. and her husband. ‘Perhaps it’s the best thing she can do,’ Sir Lukin added.
Lady Dunstane pronounced a woman’s unforgiving: ‘Never.’ The revolt of her own sensations assured her of Tony’s unconquerable repugnance155. In conversation subsequently with Arthur Rhodes, she heard that he knew the son of Mr. Warwick’s attorney, a Mr. Fern; and he had gathered from him some information of Mr. Warwick’s condition of health. It had been alarming; young Fern said it was confirmed heart-disease. His father frequently saw Mr. Warwick, and said he was fretting156 himself to death.
It seemed just a possibility that Tony’s natural compassionateness had wrought157 on her to immolate158 herself and nurse to his end the man who had wrecked159 her life. Lady Dunstane waited for the news. At last she wrote, touching160 the report incidentally. There was no reply. The silence ensuing after such a question responded forcibly.
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overhauled
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| v.彻底检查( overhaul的过去式和过去分词 )；大修；赶上；超越 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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aspired
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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strata
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| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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rebuke
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frolicsome
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| adj.嬉戏的，闹着玩的 | |
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lodger
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consolatory
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dispensing
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reprobation
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eminent
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offenders
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| n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 )；犯规者；罪犯；妨害…的人（或事物） | |
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spinal
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devoid
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equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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33
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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34
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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35
celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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36
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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37
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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38
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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39
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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40
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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41
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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42
solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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43
marital
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| adj.婚姻的，夫妻的 | |
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44
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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45
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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46
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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47
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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48
snared
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| v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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50
relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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51
resurgence
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| n.再起，复活，再现 | |
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52
repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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53
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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54
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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55
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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56
density
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| n.密集，密度，浓度 | |
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57
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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58
effrontery
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| n.厚颜无耻 | |
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59
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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60
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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61
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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62
toils
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| 网 | |
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63
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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64
prophesy
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| v.预言；预示 | |
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65
malaria
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| n.疟疾 | |
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66
kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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67
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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68
fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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69
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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70
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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71
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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72
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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73
harps
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| abbr.harpsichord 拨弦古钢琴n.竖琴( harp的名词复数 ) | |
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74
effigies
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| n.（人的）雕像，模拟像，肖像( effigy的名词复数 ) | |
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75
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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76
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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77
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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78
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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79
pertaining
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| 与…有关系的，附属…的，为…固有的(to) | |
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80
memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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81
plural
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| n.复数；复数形式；adj.复数的 | |
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82
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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83
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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84
mitigate
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| vt.（使）减轻，（使）缓和 | |
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85
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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86
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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87
jumbling
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| 混杂( jumble的现在分词 )； （使）混乱； 使混乱； 使杂乱 | |
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88
connubial
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| adj.婚姻的，夫妇的 | |
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89
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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90
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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91
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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92
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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93
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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94
enlistment
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| n.应征入伍，获得，取得 | |
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95
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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96
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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97
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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98
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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99
bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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100
portrayal
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| n.饰演；描画 | |
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101
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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102
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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103
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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104
supplicating
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| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
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105
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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106
fortifying
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| 筑防御工事于( fortify的现在分词 )； 筑堡于； 增强； 强化（食品） | |
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107
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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108
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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109
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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110
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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111
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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112
foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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113
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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114
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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115
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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116
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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117
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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118
exultingly
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| 兴高采烈地，得意地 | |
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119
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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120
rift
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| n.裂口，隙缝，切口；v.裂开，割开，渗入 | |
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121
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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122
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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123
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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124
verity
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| n.真实性 | |
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125
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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126
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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127
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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128
baton
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| n.乐队用指挥杖 | |
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129
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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130
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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131
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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132
eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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133
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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134
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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135
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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136
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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137
hoist
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| n.升高，起重机，推动；v.升起，升高，举起 | |
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138
chid
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| v.责骂，责备( chide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
propitiate
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| v.慰解，劝解 | |
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140
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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141
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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142
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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143
imperatively
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| adv.命令式地 | |
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144
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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145
creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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146
ingenuously
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| adv.率直地，正直地 | |
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147
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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148
pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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149
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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150
luminary
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| n.名人，天体 | |
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151
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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152
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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153
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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154
tuned
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| adj.调谐的，已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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155
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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156
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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157
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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158
immolate
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| v.牺牲 | |
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159
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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160
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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