THE spirit of dissension in Musgrove Cottage penetrated1 to the very kitchen. Old Betty sided with Alfred, and combated in her place the creed3 of the parlour: “Why, according to Miss, the young sparrows are bound never to fly out of the nest; or else have the Bible flung at ’em. She do go on about God’s will: seems to me ’tis His will the world should be peopled by body and beast — which they are both His creatures — and, by the same toaken, if they don’t marry they does wus. Certainly whilst a young man bides5 at home, it behoves him to be dutiful; but that ain’t to say he is to bide4 at home for ever. Master Alfred’s time is come to leave we, and be master in a house of his own, as his father done before him, which he forgets that now; he is grown to man’s estate, and got his mother’s money, and no more bound to our master than I be.” She said, too, that “parting blights6 more quarrels than it breeds:” and she constantly invited Peggy to speak up, and gainsay7 her. But Peggy was a young woman with white eyelashes, and given to looking down, and not to speaking up: she was always watching Mr. Hardie in company, like a cat cream; and hovering9 about him when alone. Betty went so far as to accuse her of colloguing with him against Alfred, and of “setting her cap at master,” which accusation10 elicited11 no direct reply, but stinging innuendoes12 hours after.
Now, if one looks into the thing, the elements of discord13 had attacked Albion Villa15 quite as powerfully as Musgrove Cottage; but had hitherto failed signally: the mutual16 affection of the Dodds was so complete, and no unprincipled person among them to split the good.
And, now that the wedding drew near, there was but one joyful19 heart within the walls, though the others were too kind and unselfish to throw cold water. Mrs. Dodd’s own wedding had ended in a piteous separation, and now to part with her darling child and launch her on the uncertain waves of matrimony! She heaved many a sigh when alone: but as there were no bounds to her maternal20 love, so there were no exceptions to her politeness: over her aching heart she forced on a wedding face, subdued21, but hopeful, for her daughter, as she would for any other young lady about to be married beneath her roof.
It wanted but six days, when one morning after breakfast the bereaved22 wife, and mother about to be deserted23, addressed her son and Viceroy thus: “Edward, we must borrow fifty pounds.”
“Fifty pounds! what for? who wants that?”
“Why, I want it,” said Mrs. Dodd stoutly24.
“Oh, if you want it — what to do, please?”
“Why, to buy her wedding clothes, dear.”
“I thought what her ‘I’ would come to,” said Julia reproachfully.
Edward shook his head, and said, “He who goes a borrowing goes a sorrowing.’
“But she is not a he,” objected Mrs. Dodd with the subtlety25 of a schoolman: “and who ever heard of a young lady being married without some things to be married in?”
“Well, I’ve heard Nudity is not the cheese on public occasions: but why not go dressed like a lady as she always does, only with white gloves; and be married without any bother and nonsense.”
“You talk like a boy,” said Mrs. Dodd. “I could not bear it. My poor child!” and she cast a look of tenderest pity on the proposed victim. “Well, suppose we make the poor child the judge,” suggested Edward. He then put it to Julia whether, under the circumstances, she would wish them to run in debt, buying her finery to wear for a day. “It was not fair to ask her,” said Mrs. Dodd with a sigh.
Julia blushed and hesitated, and said she would be candid26; and then stopped.
“Ugh!” ejaculated Edward. “This is a bad beginning. Girl’s candour! Now for a masterpiece of duplicity.”
Julia inquired how he dared; and Mrs. Dodd said warmly that Julia was not like other people, she could be candid; had actually done it, more than once, within her recollection. The young lady justified27 the exception as follows: “If I was going to be married to myself, or to some gentleman I did not care for, I would not spend a shilling. But I am going to marry him; and so — oh, Edward, think of them saying, ‘What has he married? a dowdy28: why she hadn’t new things on to go to church with him: no bonnet29, no wreath, no new white dress!’ To mortify30 him the very first day of our ——” The sentence remained unfinished, but two lovely eyes filled to the very brim without running over, and completed the sense, and did the Viceroy’s business, though a brother. “Why you dear little goose,” said he: “of course, I don’t mean that. I have as good as got the things we must buy; and those are a new bonnet ——”
“Ah!”
“A wreath of orange blossoms ——”
“Oh you good boy!”
“Four pair of gloves: two white — one is safe to break — two dark; very dark: invisible green, or visible black; last the honeymoon31. All the rest you must find in the house.”
“What, fit her out with a parcel of old things? so cruel, so unreasonable32, dear Edward?”
“Old things! Why, where is all your gorgeous attire33 from Oriental climes? I see the splendiferous articles arrive, and then they vanish for ever.”
“Now, shawls and Indian muslins! pray what use are they to a bride?”
“Why, what looks nicer than a white muslin dress?”
“Married in muslin? The very idea makes me shiver.”
“Well, clap her on another petticoat.”
“How can you be so childish? Muslin is not the the thing.”
“No more is running in debt.”
He then suggested that a white shawl or two should be cut into a bridal dress. At this both ladies’ fair throats opened on him with ridicule34: cut fifty guinea shawls into ten-pound dresses; that was male economy! was it? Total, a wedding was a wedding: new things always had had to be bought for a wedding, and always would in secula seculorum.
“New things? Yes,” said the pertinacious35 wretch36; “but they need not be new-bought things. You ladies go and confound the world’s eyes with your own in the drollest way: If Gorgeous Attire has lain long in your drawers, you fancy the world will detect on its glossy37 surface how long you had it, and gloated over it, and made it stale to your eye, before you could bring your mind to wear it. That is your delusion38, that and the itch2 for going out shopping; oh, I’m down on you. Mamma dear, you open that gigantic wardrobe of yours; and I’ll oil my hair, white-wash my mug (a little moan from Mrs. D.) and do the counterjumping business to the life; hand the things down to you, unrol ’em, grin, charge you 100 per cent over value, note them down in a penny memorandum-book, sing out ‘Caesh! Caesh!’ &c. &c.: and so we shall get all Julia wants, and go through the ritual of shopping without the substantial disgrace of running in debt.”
Mrs. Dodd smiled admiringly, as ladies generally do at the sauciness39 of a young male; but proposed an amendment40. She would open her wardrobe, and look out all the contents for Edward’s inspection41; and, if the mere42 sight of them did not convince him they were inappropriate to a bride, why then she would coincide with his views, and resign her own.
“All right!” said he. “That will take a jolly time, I know; so I’ll go to my governor first for the bonnet and wreath.”
Mrs. Dodd drew in at this last slang word; she had heard young gentlemen apply it to their fathers. Edward, she felt sure, would not so sully that sacred relation; still the word was obnoxious43 for its past offences; and she froze at it: “I have not the honour to know who the personage is you so describe,” said she formally. Edward replied very carelessly that it was an upholsterer at the north end of the town.
“Ah, a tradesman you patronise.”
“Humph! Well, yes, that is the word, mamma, haw! haw! I have been making the bloke a lot of oak candlesticks, and human heads with sparkling eyes, for walking-sticks, &c. And now I’ll go and draw my — protege’s — blunt.” The lady’s hands were uplifted towards pitying Heaven with one impulse. The young workman grinned: “Soyons de notre siecle,” said he, and departed whistling in the tenor44 clef. He had the mellowest45 whistle.
After a few minutes well spent in deploring46 the fall of her Oxonian, and gently denouncing his motto, and his century, its ways, and above all its words, Mrs. Dodd took Julia to her bedroom, and unlocked drawers and doors in her wardrobe; and straightway Sarah, who was hurriedly flogging the chairs with a duster, relaxed, and began to work on a cheval-glass as slowly as if she was drawing Nelson’s lions at a thousand pounds the tail. Mrs. Dodd opened a drawer and took out three pieces of worked Indian muslin, a little discoloured by hoarding47: “There, that must be bleached48 and make you some wrappers for the honeymoon, if the weather is at all fine; and petticoats to match;” next an envelope consisting of two foolscap sheets tacked14: this, carefully undone49 upon the bed revealed a Brussels lace flounce and a veil: “It was my own,” said Mrs. Dodd softly. “I saved it for you; see here is your name written on it seventeen years ago. I thought ‘this dear little toddler will have wings some day, and then she will leave me.’ But now I am almost afraid to let you wear it; it might bring you misfortune: suppose after years of wedded50 love you should be bereaved of ——” Mrs. Dodd choked, and Julia’s arms were round her neck in a moment.
“I’ll risk it,” cried she impetuously. “If it but makes me as beloved as you are, I’ll wear it, come weal come woe51! And then I shall feel it over me at the altar like my guardian52 angel’s wings, my own sweet, darling mamma. Oh what an idiot, what a wretch I am, to leave you at all.”
This unfortunate, unexpected burst, interrupted business sadly. Mrs. Dodd sank down directly on the bed and wept; Julia cried over her, and Sarah plumped herself down in a chair and blubbered. But wedding flowers are generally well watered in the private apartments.
Patient Mrs. Dodd soon recovered herself: “This is childish of me. When I think that there are mothers who see their children go from the house corpses53, not brides, I ought to be ashamed of myself. Come! a l’oeuvre. Ah, here is something.” And she produced a white China crape shawl. “Oh, how sweet,” said Julia; “why have you never worn it?”
“Dear me, child, what use would things be to those I love, if I went and wore them?”
The next article she laid her hand on was a roll of white poplin, and drew an exclamation54 from Mrs. Dodd herself: “If I had not forgotten this, and it is the very thing. Your dear papa bought me this in London, and I remonstrated55 with him well for buying me such a delicate thing, only once wear. I kissed it and put it away, and forgot it. They say if you keep a thing seven years. It is just seven years since he gave it to me. Really, the dear boy is a witch: this is your wedding dress, my precious precious.” She unrolled a few yards on the bed to show it; and asked the gloating Sarah with a great appearance of consideration whether they were not detaining her from her occupations?
“Oh no, mum. This glass have got so dull; I’m just polishing of it a bit. I shan’t be a minute now, mum.”
From silver tissue paper, Mrs. Dodd evolved a dress (unmade) of white crape embroidered56 in true lover’s-knots of violet silk, and ears of wheat in gold. Then there was a scream at the glass, and Sarah seen in it with ten claws in the air very wide apart: she had slily turned the mirror and was devouring57 the reflexion of the finery, and this last Indian fabric58 overpowered her. Her exclamation was instantly followed by much polishing; but Mrs. Dodd replied to it after the manner of her sex: “Well it is lovely,” said she to Julia: “but where is the one with beetle59 wings? Oh here.”
“Real beetles’ wings, mamma?” inquired Julia.
“Yes, love.”
“So they are, and how wicked! and what a lovely green! I will never wear them: they are prismatic: now, if ever I am to be a Christian60, I had better begin: everything has a beginning. Oh vanity of women, you stick at nothing. A thousand innocent lives stolen to make one dress!” And she put one hand before her eyes, and with the other ordered the dress back into the wardrobe with genuine agitation61.
“My dear, what expressions! And you need not wear it; indeed neither of them is fit for that purpose. But you must have a pretty thing or two about you. I have hoarded62 these a good many years; now it is your turn to have them by you. And let me see; you want a travelling cloak: but the dear boy will not let us; so choose a warm shawl.”
A rich but modest one was soon found, and Julia tried it on, arching her supple63 neck, and looking down over her shoulder to see the effect behind, in which attitude oh for an immortal64 brush to paint her, or anything half as bright, supple, graceful65, and every inch a woman. At this moment Mrs. Dodd threw a lovely blue Indian shawl on the bed, galvanising Sarah so that up went her hands again, and the door opened softly and a handsome head in a paper cap peeped on the scene, inquiring with mock timidity “May ‘The British Workman’ come in?”
He was invited warmly; Julia whipped his cap off, and tore it in two, reddening, and Mrs. Dodd, intending to compliment his foresight66, showed him the bed laden67 with the treasures they had disinterred from vanity’s mahogany tomb.
“Well, mother,” said he, “you were right, and I was wrong: they are inappropriate enough, the whole lot.”
The ladies looked at one another, and Sarah permitted herself a species of snort.
“Do we want Sarah?” he asked quietly. She retired68 bridling69.
“Inappropriate?” exclaimed Mrs. Dodd. “There is nothing here unfit for a bride’s trousseau.”
“Good Heavens! Would you trick her out like a Princess?”
“We must. We are too poor to dress her like a lady.”
“Cinderella; at your service,” observed Julia complacently70, and pirouetted before him in her new shawl.
Ideas rejected peremptorily71 at the time often rankle72, and bear fruit by-and-bye. Mrs. Dodd took up the blue shawl, and said she would make Julia a peignoir of it; and the border, being narrowish, would do for the bottom. “That was a good notion, of yours, darling,” said she, bestowing74 a sweet smile on Edward. He grunted75. Then she took out a bundle of lace: “Oh, for pity’s sake, no more,” cried the “British Workman.”
“Now, dearest, you have interfered76 once in feminine affairs, and we submitted. But, if you say another word, I will trim her poplin with Honiton two feet deep.”
“Quarter! quarter!” cried Edward. “I’m dumb; grant me but this; have nothing made up for her out of the house: you know there is no dressmaker in Barkington can cut like you: and then that will put some limit to our inconsistency.” Mrs. Dodd agreed; but she must have a woman in to sew.
Edward grunted at this, and said: “I wish I could turn you these gowns with my lathe77; what a deal of time and bother it would save. However, if you want any stuffing, come to me; I’ll lend you lots of shavings; make the silk rustle78. Oh, here is my governor’s contribution.” And he produced L. 7, 10s.
“Now, look there,” said Julia sorrowfully, “it is money. And I thought you were going to bring me the very bonnet yourself. Then I should have valued it.”
“Oh yes,” replied the young gentleman ironically; “can I choose a bonnet to satisfy such swells79 as you and mamma? I’ll tell you what I’ll do; I’ll go with you and look as wise as Solomon, all the time you are choosing it”
“A capital plan,” said Julia.
Edward then shook his fist at the finery: and retired to work again for his governor: “Flowers,” he observed, “are indispensable, at a wedding breakfast; I hear too it is considered the right cheese to add something in the shape of grub.” Exit whistling in the tenor clef; and keeping their hearts up, like a man.
So now there were two workshops in Albion Villa. Ned’s study, as he called it, and the drawing-room. In the former shavings flew, and settled at their ease, and the whirr of the lathe slept not; the latter was all patterns, tapes, hooks and eyes, whalebone, cuttings of muslin, poplin and paper; clouds of lining-muslin, snakes of piping; skeins, shreds80; and the floor literally81 sown with pins, escaped from the fingers of the fair, those taper82 fingers so typical of the minds of their owners: or they have softness, suppleness83, nimbleness, adroitness85, and “a plentiful86 lack” of tenacity87.
The days passed in hard work, and the evenings in wooing, never sweeter than when it has been so earned: and at last came the wedding eve. Dr. Sampson, who was to give the bride away, arrived just before dinner-time: the party, including Alfred, sat down to a charming little dinner; they ate beetles’ wings, and drank Indian muslin fifteen years in the wood. For the lathe and the chisel88 proved insufficient89, and Julia having really denied herself, as an aspirant90 to Christianity, that assassin’s robe, Mrs. Dodd sold it under the rose to a fat old dowager — for whom nothing was too fine — and so kept up appearances.
Julia and Alfred were profoundly happy at bottom; yet their union was attended with too many drawbacks for boisterous91 gaiety, and Alfred, up to this time, had shown a seriousness and sobriety of bliss92, that won Mrs. Dodd’s gratitude93: it was the demeanour of a delicate mind; it became his own position, at odds17 with his own flesh and blood for Julia’s sake; it became him as the son-inlaw of a poor woman so lately bereaved of her husband, and reduced to poverty by one bearing the name of Hardie.
But now Dr. Sampson introduced a gayer element. He had seen a great deal of Life; i.e., of death and trouble. This had not hardened him, but, encountering a sturdy, valiant94, self-protecting nature, had made him terribly tough and elastic95; it was now his way never to go forward or backward a single step after sorrow. He seldom mentioned a dead friend or relation; and, if others forced the dreary96 topic on him, they could never hold him to it; he was away directly to something pleasant or useful, like a grasshopper97 skipping off a grave into the green grass. He had felt keenly about David while there was anything to be done: but now his poor friend was in a madhouse, thanks to the lancet: and there was an end of him. Thinking about him would do him no good. The present only is irresistible98; past and future ills the mind can bar out by a resolute99 effort. The bride will very likely die of her first child! Well then, forget that just now. Her father is in an asylum100! Well then, don’t remember him at the wrong time: there sit female beauty and virtue101 ready to wed18 manly102 wit and comeliness103, seated opposite; see their sweet stolen glances; a few hours only between them and wedded rapture104: and I’m here to give the lovely virgin105 away: fill the bumper106 high! dum vivimus vivamus. In this glorious spirit he rattled107 on, and soon drew the young people out, and silvery peals108 of laughter rang round the genial109 board.
This jarred on Mrs. Dodd. She bore it in silence some time; but with the grief it revived and sharpened by contrast, and the polite effort to hide her distress110, found herself becoming hysterical111: then she made the usual signal to Julia, and beat an early retreat. She left Julia in the drawing-room, and went and locked herself in her own room. “Oh, how can they be so cruel as to laugh and giggle112 in my David’s house!” She wept sadly, and for the first time felt herself quite lonely in the world: for what companionship between the gay and the sad hearted? Poor thing, she lived to reproach herself even with this, the nearest approach she ever made to selfishness.
Ere long she crept into Julia’s room and humbly113 busied herself packing her trunks for the wedding tour. The tears fell fast on her white hands.
She would not have been left alone a minute if Julia’s mind had not been occupied just then with an affectionate and amiable114 anxiety: she earnestly desired to reconcile her Alfred and his sister before the wedding; and she sat in the drawing-room thinking whether it could be done, and how.
At last she sat down blushing, and wrote a little note, and rang the bell for Sarah, and sent it courageously115 into the dining-room.
Sarah very prudently116 listened at the keyhole before entering, for she said to herself, “If they are talking free, I shan’t go in till it’s over.”
The persons so generously suspected were discussing a parchment Alfred had produced, and wanted signed: “You are our trustee, my boy,” said he to Edward: “so just write your name here, and mine comes here, and the witness’s there: the Doctor and Sarah will do. Send for a pen.”
“Let’s read it first, please.”
“Read it! What for?”
“Catch me signing a paper without reading it, my boy.”
“What, can’t you trust me? “ inquired Alfred, hurt.
“Oh yes. And can’t you trust me?”
“There’s a question: why I have appointed you my Trusty in the Deed; he, he.”
“Well then trust me without my signing, and I’ll trust you without reading.”
Sampson laughed at this retort, and Alfred reddened; he did not want the Deed read. But while he hesitated, Sarah came in with Julia’s note, asking him to come to her for a minute. This sweet summons made him indifferent to prosaic117 things. “Well, read away,” said he: “one comfort, you will be no wiser.”
“What, is it in Latin?” asked Edward with a wry118 face.
“No such luck. Deeds used to be in Latin; but Latin could not be made obscure enough. So now Dark Deeds are written in an unknown tongue called ‘Lawyerish,’ where the sense is ‘as one grain of wheat in two bushels of chaff,’ pick it out if you can.
“Whatever man has done man may do,” said Dr. Sampson stoutly. “You have rid it, and yet understood it: so why mayn’t we, ye monster o’ conceit119?”
“Read it?” said Alfred. “I never read it: would not read it for a great deal of money. The moment I saw what a senseless rigmarole it was, I flung it down and insisted on the battological author furnishing me with an English translation. He complied: the crib occupies just twenty lines; the original three folio pages, as you see. That crib, gentlemen,” added he severely121, “is now in my waistcoat pocket; and you shall never see it — for your impudence122. No, seat yourself by that pool of parchment (sedet eternumque sedebit, &c.) and fish for Lawyer Crawford’s ideas, rari nantes in gurgite vasto.” And with this he flew up-stairs on the wings of love. Julia met him in the middle of the room all in a flutter: “It is to ask you a favour. I am unhappy — about one thing.”
She then leaned one hand softly on his shoulder, and curving her lovely supple neck looked round into his face and watched it as she preferred her petition: “It is about Jane and you. I cannot bear to part you two in this way: only think six days you have not spoken, and I am the cause.”
“Not the only cause, love.”
“I don’t know, darling. But it is very cruel. I have got my dear mother and Edward; you have nobody — but Me. Alfred,” said she with gentle impetuosity, “now is your time; your papa is away.”
“Oh, is he?” said Alfred carelessly.
“Yes. Sarah says Betty says he is gone to Uncle Thomas. So I know you won’t refuse me, my own Alfred: it is to go to your sister this minute and make it up.”
“What, and leave you?” objected Alfred ruefully.
“No, no; you are with the gentlemen, you know: you are not here, in reality, till tea. Make them an excuse: say the truth; say it is Me; and come back to me with good news.”
He consented on these terms.
Then she armed him with advice: “You go to make peace; it is our last chance; now remember, you must be very generous, very sweet-tempered. Guard against your impetuosity. Do take warning by me; see how impetuous I am. And then, you know, after all, she is only a lady, and a great creature like you ought not to be ruffled123 by anything so small as a lady’s tongue: the idea! And, dearest, don’t go trusting to your logic120, but do descend124 to the arts of persuasion125, because they are far more convincing somehow: please try them.”
“Why, kissing and coaxing127, and — don’t ask me.”
“Will you bestow73 a specimen128 of those arts on me if I succeed?”
“Try me,” said she: and looked him earnestly in the face; but lowered her long lashes8 slowly and shyly, as she realised to what her Impetuosity was pledging itself.
Alfred got his hat and ran to Musgrove Cottage.
A man stepped out of the shadow of a hedge opposite Albion Villa, and followed him, keeping in shadow as much as possible.
The door of Musgrove Cottage was opened to him by old Betty with a joyful start! “Mr. Alfred, I declare! Come in; there’s only me and Miss. Master is in Yorkshire, and that there crocodile, Peggy, she is turned away — for sauce — and a good riddance of bad rubbish: Miss is in the parlour.”
She ushered129 him triumphantly130 in. Jane was seated reading: she dropped her book, and ran and kissed him with a cry of joy. So warm a reception surprised him agreeably, and simplified his task. He told her he was come to try and make it up with her before the wedding: “We lose your presence, dear Jenny,” said he, “and that is a great grief to us, valuing you as we do: don’t refuse us your good wishes tomorrow.”
“Dearest Alfred,” said she, “can you think it? I pray for you day and night. And I have begun to blame myself for being so sure you were in the wrong and poor papa faultless. What you sent me half in jest, I take in earnest ‘Judge not that ye be not judged.’”
“Why, Jenny,” said Alfred, “how red your eyes are.”
At this observation the young saint laid her head on her brother’s shoulder and had a good cry like any other girl. When she recovered a little she told him, yes, she had been very unhappy: that he had always been a dear good brother to her, and the only one she had; and that it cut her to the heart not to be at his wedding; it seemed so unkind.
Alfred set her on his knee — she had more soul than body — and kissed her and comforted her: and, in this happy revival131 of natural affection, his heart opened, he was off his guard, and told her all: gave her the several proofs their father had got the L. 14,000. Jane, arrested by the skill and logical clearness with which he marshalled the proofs, listened in silence; and presently a keen shudder132 ran through her frame, and reminded him he was setting a daughter against her father.
“There,” said he, “I always said I would never tell you, and now I’ve done it. Well, at least you will see with what consideration, and unheard-of leniency133, the Dodds for our sake are treating Mr. Richard Hardie. Just compare their conduct to him with his to them. And which is most to his advantage? that I should marry Julia, and give Mrs. Dodd the life interest in my ten thousand pounds, to balance his dishonesty, or for him to be indicted134 as a thief? Ned Dodd told us plainly he would have set the police on him, had any other but his son been the informant”
“Did he say that? Oh, Alfred, this is a miserable135 world.”
“I can’t see that: it is the jolliest world in the world: everything is bright and lovely, and everybody is happy except a few sick people, and a few peevish136 ones that run to meet trouble. To-morrow I marry my sweet Julia; Richard Hardie will find we two don’t molest137 him, nor trouble our heads about him. He will get used to us; and one fine day we shall say to him, ‘Now, we know all about the L. 14,000: just leave it by will to dear Jenny, and let my friend Dodd marry her, and you can enjoy it unmolested for your lifetime.’ He will consent: and you will marry Ned, and then you’ll find the world has been wickedly slandered138 by dishonest men and dismal139 dogs.”
In this strain he continued till he made her blush a good deal and smile a little; a sad smile.
But at last she said, “If I was sure all this is true, I think I should go — with a heavy heart — to your wedding. If I don’t, the best part of me will be there, my prayers, and my warm, warm wishes for you both. Kiss her for me, and tell her so; and that I hope we shall meet round His throne soon, if we cannot meet at His altar tomorrow.”
Brother and sister then kissed one another affectionately; and Alfred ran back like the wind to Albion Cottage. Julia was not in the drawing-room, and some coolish tea was. After waiting half an hour he got impatient, and sent Sarah to say he had a message for her. Sarah went upstairs to Mrs. Dodd’s room, and was instantly absorbed. After waiting again for a long time, Alfred persuaded Edward to try his luck. Edward went up to Mrs. Dodd’s room, and was absorbed.
The wedding dress was being solemnly tried on. A clean linen140 sheet was on the floor, and the bride stood on it, receiving the last touches of the milliner’s art. With this and her white poplin and lace veil she seemed framed in white, and her cheeks bloomed so, and her eyes beamed, with excitement and innocent vanity, that altogether she was supernaturally lovely.
Once enter the room enchanted141 by this snow-chad rose, and —Vestigia nulla retrorsum.
However, Edward escaped at last and told Alfred what was on foot, and drew a picture of the Bride with white above and white below.
“Oh, let me see her,” implored142 the lover.
Edward must ask mamma about that. He did, and mamma said “Certainly not; the last person in the world that shall see her in her wedding dress.” But she should come down to him in half an hour. It seemed a very long half-hour. However, by way of compensation, he was alone when she did come. “Good news?” she asked eagerly.
“Capital: we are the best of friends. Why she is half inclined to come.”
“Then — oh how good you are: oh, how I love you.”
And she flung a tender arm round his neck, like a young goddess making love; and her sweet face came so near his, he had only to stoop a little, and their lips met in a long blissful kiss.
That kiss was an era in her life. Innocence143 itself, she had put up her delicious lips to her lover in pure, though earnest affection; but the male fire with which his met them, made her blush as well as thrill, and she drew back a little, ashamed and half scared, and nestled on his shoulder, hiding a face that grew redder and redder.
He bent144 his graceful head, and murmured down to her, “Are you afraid of me, sweetest?”
“Oh no, no! Yes, a little. I don’t know. I was afraid I had made too free with my Treasure; you don’t quite belong to me yet, you know.”
“Oh yes, I do; and, what is more, you belong to me. Don’t you, sweet rebel?”
“Ah, that I do, heart and soul, my own, own, own.”
A few more soft delicious murmurs145, and then Julia was summoned to more rites146 of vanity, and the lovers parted with tender reluctance147 for those few hours.
Alfred went home to his lodgings148. He had not been there above ten minutes, when he came out hastily, and walked quickly to the “White Lion,” the principal inn in Barkington. He went into the stable-yard, and said a few words to the ostler: then returned to his lodgings.
The man followed him at a distance from Albion Terrace; watched him home; dogged him to the “White Lion;” and, by-and-bye, entered the yard and offered the ostler a glass of ale at the tap.
At Albion Villa they were working on Julia’s dresses till past midnight: and then Mrs. Dodd insisted on her going to bed. She obeyed; but when the house was all quiet, came stealing out to her mother, and begged to sleep with her: the sad mother strained her in a tearful embrace: and so they passed the night; clinging to one another more as the parting drew near.
Edward arranged the wedding breakfast for after the ceremony; and sent the ladies up a cup of coffee, and a bit of toast apiece. They could hardly find appetite even for this; or indeed time; there was so much still to do.
At ten o’clock Julia was still in the height of dressing150, delayed by contretemps upon contretemps. Sarah and her sister did her hair up too loose, and, being a glorious mass, it threatened all to come down and, meantime, a hair-pin quietly but persistently151 bored her cream-white poll.
“Oh, run for mamma!” she cried.
Mamma came half dressed, had the hair all down again, and did it up with adroit84 and loving hand, and put on the orange wreath, kissed her admiringly, and retired to her own toilet; and the girls began to lace the bride’s body.
Bump came Edward’s foot against the door, making them all shriek152.
“Now I don’t want to hurry you; but Dr. Sampson is come.” The handmaids, flustered153, tried to go faster; and, when the work was done, Julia took her little handglass and inspected her back: “Oh,” she screamed, “I am crooked154. There, go for mamma!”
Mamma soon came, and the poor bride held out imploring155 hands, “I’m all awry156; I’m as crooked as a ram’s horn.”
“La, miss,” said Sarah, “it’s only behind; nobody will notice it.”
“How can they help it? Mamma! am I deformed157?”
Mrs. Dodd smiled superior and bade her be calm: “It is the lacing, dear. No, Sarah, it is no use your pulling it; all the pulling in the world will not straighten it. I thought so: you have missed the second top hole.”
Julia’s little foot began to beat a tattoo158 on the floor: “There is not a soul in the house but you can do the simplest thing. Eyes and no eyes! Fingers and no fingers! I never did.”
“Hush, love, we all do our best.”
“Oh, I am sure of that; poor things.”
“Nobody can lace you if you fidget about love,” objected Mrs. Dodd.
(Bump)! “Now I don’t want to hurry any man’s cattle: but the bridesmaids are come.”
“Oh dear, I shall never be ready in time,” said Julia; and the tattoo recommenced.
“Plenty of time, love,” said Mrs. Dodd, quietly lacing: “not half-past ten yet. Sarah, go and see if the bridegroom has arrived.”
Sarah returned with the reassuring159 tidings that the bridegroom had not yet arrived; though the carriages had.
“Oh, thank Heaven, he is not come,” said Julia. “If I keep him waiting today, he might say —‘Oho!’”
Under dread160 of a comment so significant she was ready at last, and said majestically161 he might come now whenever he liked.
Meantime, down stairs an uneasiness of the opposite kind was growing. Ten minutes past the appointed time, and the bridegroom not there. So while Julia, now full dressed, and easy in her mind, was directing Sarah’s sister to lay out her plain travelling dress, bonnet and gloves on the bed, Mrs. Dodd was summoned downstairs. She came down with Julia’s white gloves in her hand, and a needle and thread, the button sewed on by trade’s fair hand having flown at the first strain. Edward met her on the stairs: “What had we better do, mother?” said he, sotto voce: “there must be some mistake. Can you remember? Wasn’t he to call for me on the way to the church?”
“I really do not know,” said Mrs. Dodd. “Is he at the church, do you think?”
“No, no, either he was to call for me here, or I for him. I’ll go to the church, though: it is only a step.”
He ran off, and in a little more than five minutes came into the drawing-room.
“No, he is not there. I must go to his lodgings. Confound him, he has got reading Aristotle, I suppose.”
This passed before the whole party, Julia excepted.
Sampson looked at his watch, and said he could conduct the ladies to the church while Edward went for Alfred. “Division of labour,” said he gallantly162, “and mine the delightful163 half.”
Mrs. Dodd demurred164 to the plan. She was for waiting quietly in one place.
“Well, but” said Edward, “we may overdo165 that; here it is a quarter-past eleven, and you know they can’t be married after twelve. No, I really think you had better all go with the doctor. I dare say we shall be there as soon as you will.”
This was agreed on after some discussion. Edward, however, to provide against all contingencies166, begged Sampson not to wait for him should Alfred reach the church by some other road: “I’m only groomsman, you know,” said he. He ran off at a racing167 pace. The bride was then summoned, admired, and handed into one carriage with her two bridesmaids, Miss Bosanquet and Miss Darton. Sampson and Mrs. Dodd went in the other; and by half-past eleven they were all safe in the church.
A good many people, high and low, were about the door and in the pews, waiting to see the beautiful Miss Dodd married to the son of a personage once so popular as Mr. Hardie: it had even transpired168 that Mr. Hardie disapproved169 the match. They had been waiting a long time, and were beginning to wonder what was the matter, when, at last the bride’s party walked up the aisle170 with a bright April sun shining on them through the broad old windows. The bride’s rare beauty, and stag-like carriage of her head, imperial in its loveliness and orange wreath, drew a hum of admiration171.
The party stood a minute or two at the east end of the church, and then the clergyman came out and invited them into the vestry.
Their reappearance was eagerly expected; in silence at first, but presently in loud and multitudinous whispers.
At this moment a young lady, with almost perfect features and sylph-like figure, modestly dressed in dove-coloured silk, but with a new chip bonnet and white gloves, entered a pew near the west door, and said a little prayer; then proceeded up the aisle, and exchanged a word with the clerk, then into the vestry.
“Cheep! cheep! cheep!” went fifty female tongues, and the arrival of the bridegroom’s sister became public news.
The bride welcomed her in the vestry with a sweet guttural of surprise and delight, and they kissed one another like little tigers.
“Oh, my darling Jane, how kind of you! have I got you back to make my happiness complete?”
Now none of her own party had thought it wise to tell Julia there was any hitch172: but Miss Hardie blurted173 out naturally enough, “But where’s Alfred?”
“I don’t know, dear,” said Julia innocently. “Are not he and Edward in another part of the church? I thought we were waiting till twelve o’clock, perhaps. Mamma dear, you know everything; I suppose this is all right?”
Then, looking round at her friends’ faces, she saw in a moment that it was all wrong. Sampson’s, in particular, was burning with manly indignation, and even her mother’s discomposed, and trying to smile.
When the innocent saw this, she suspected her beloved was treating her cavalierly, and her poor little mouth began to work, and she had much ado not to whimper.
Mrs. Dodd, to encourage her, told her not to be put out: it had been arranged all along that Edward should go for him: “Unfortunately we had an impression it was the other way: but now Edward is gone to his lodgings.”
“No, mamma,” said Julia; “Alfred was to call for Edward; because our house was on the way.”
“Are you sure, my child?” asked Mrs. Dodd very gravely.
“Oh yes, mamma,” said Julia, beginning to tremble; “at a quarter before eleven: I heard them settle it.”
The matter was terribly serious now; indeed, it began to look hopeless. Weather overclouded: rain-drops falling; and hard upon twelve o’clock.
They all looked at one another in despair.
Suddenly there was a loud, long buzzing heard outside, and the house of God turned into a gossiping fair. “Talk of money changers,” said Satan that day, “give me the exchangers of small talk.”
“Thank Heaven they are come,” said Mrs. Dodd. But, having thus relieved her mind, she drew herself up and prepared a freezing reception for the defaulter.
A whisper reached their excited ears: “It is young Mr. Dodd” and next moment Edward came into the vestry — alone: the sight of him was enough; his brow wet with perspiration174, his face black and white with bitter wrath175.
“Come home, my people,” he said sternly: “there will be no wedding here today!”
The bridesmaids cackled questions at him; he turned his back on them.
Mrs. Dodd knew her son’s face too well to waste inquiries176. “Give me my child!” she cried, in such a burst of mother’s anguish177 long restrained, that even the insult to the bride was forgotten for one moment, till she was seen tottering178 into her mother’s arms and cringing179 and trying to hide bodily in her: “Oh, throw a shawl over me,” she moaned; “hide all this.”
Well, they all did what they could. Jane hung round her neck and sobbed180, and said, “I’ve a sister now, and no brother.” The bridesmaids cried. The young curate ran and got the fly to the vestry-door: “Get into it,” he said, “and you will at least escape the curious crowd.”
“God bless you, Mr. Hurd,” said Edward, half choked. He hurried the insulted bride and her mother in; Julia huddled181 and shrank into a corner under Mrs. Dodd’s shawl: Mrs. Dodd had all the blinds down in a moment; and they went home as from a funeral.
Ay, and a funeral it was; for the sweetest girl in England buried her hopes, her laugh, her May of youth, in that church that day.
When she got to Albion Villa, she cast a wild look all around for fear she should be seen in her wedding clothes, and darted182 moaning into the house.
Sarah met her in the hall, smirking183; and saying, “Wish you j ——”
The poor bride screamed fearfully at the mocking words, and cut the conventional phrase in two as with a razor; then fled to her own room and tore off her wreath, her veil, her pearls, and had already strewed184 the room, when Mrs. Dodd, with a foot quickened by affection, burst in and caught her half fainting, and laid her weary as old age, and cold as a stone, upon her mother’s bosom185, and rocked her as in the days of happy childhood never to return, and bedewed the pale face with her own tears.
Sampson took the bridesmaids each to her residence, on purpose to leave Edward free. He came home, washed his face, and, sick at heart, but more master of himself, knocked timidly at Julia’s door.
“Come in, my son,” said a broken voice.
He crept in, and saw a sorry sight. The travelling dress and bonnet were waiting still on the bed; the bridal wreath and veil lay on the floor; and so did half the necklace, and the rest of the pearls all about the floor; and Julia, with all her hair loose and hanging below her waist, lay faintly quivering in her mother’s arms.
Edward stood and looked, and groaned186.
Mrs. Dodd whispered to him over Julia: “Not a tear! not a tear!”
“Dead, or false?” moaned the girl: “dead, or false? Oh that I could believe he was false; no, no, he is dead, dead.”
Mrs. Dodd whispered again over her girl.
“Tell her something: give us tears — the world for one tear!”
“What shall I say?” gasped187 Edward.
“Tell her the truth, and trust to God, whose child she is.” Edward knelt on the floor and took her hand —
“My poor little Ju,” he said, in a voice broken with pity and emotion, “would you rather have him dead, or false to you?”
“‘Why false, a thousand times. It’s Edward. Bless your sweet face, my own, own brother; tell me he is false, and not come to deadly harm.”
“You shall judge for yourself,” he groaned. “I went to his lodgings. He had left the town. The woman told me a letter came for him last night. A letter in-a female hand. The scoundrel came in from us; got this letter; packed up his things directly; paid his lodging149; and went off in a two-horse fly at eight o’clock in the morning.”
收听单词发音 |
1
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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itch
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| n.痒，渴望，疥癣；vi.发痒，渴望 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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bides
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| v.等待，停留( bide的第三人称单数 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待；面临 | |
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blights
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| 使凋萎( blight的第三人称单数 )； 使颓丧； 损害； 妨害 | |
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gainsay
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| v.否认，反驳 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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innuendoes
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| n.影射的话( innuendo的名词复数 )；讽刺的话；含沙射影；暗讽 | |
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discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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dowdy
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| adj.不整洁的；过旧的 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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mortify
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| v.克制，禁欲，使受辱 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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pertinacious
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| adj.顽固的 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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sauciness
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| n.傲慢，鲁莽 | |
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amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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41
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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42
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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45
mellowest
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| 成熟的( mellow的最高级 )； （水果）熟透的； （颜色或声音）柔和的； 高兴的 | |
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deploring
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的现在分词 ) | |
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47
hoarding
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| n.贮藏；积蓄；临时围墙；囤积v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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48
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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50
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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52
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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53
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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54
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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55
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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56
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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57
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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58
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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60
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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62
hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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64
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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66
foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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67
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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68
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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69
bridling
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的现在分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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71
peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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72
rankle
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| v.（怨恨，失望等）难以释怀 | |
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73
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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74
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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75
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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76
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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77
lathe
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| n.车床，陶器，镟床 | |
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78
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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79
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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80
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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81
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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82
taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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83
suppleness
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| 柔软； 灵活； 易弯曲； 顺从 | |
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84
adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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85
adroitness
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86
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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87
tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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88
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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89
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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90
aspirant
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| n.热望者；adj.渴望的 | |
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91
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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92
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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93
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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94
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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95
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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96
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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97
grasshopper
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| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
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98
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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99
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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100
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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101
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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102
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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103
comeliness
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| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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104
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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105
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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106
bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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107
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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108
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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109
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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110
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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111
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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112
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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113
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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114
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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115
courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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116
prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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117
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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118
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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119
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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120
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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121
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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122
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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123
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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124
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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125
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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126
enumerate
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| v.列举，计算，枚举，数 | |
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127
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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128
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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129
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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131
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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132
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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133
leniency
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| n.宽大（不严厉） | |
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134
indicted
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| 控告，起诉( indict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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136
peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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137
molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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138
slandered
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| 造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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140
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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141
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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142
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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143
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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144
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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145
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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146
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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147
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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148
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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149
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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150
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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151
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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152
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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153
flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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154
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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155
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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156
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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157
deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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158
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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159
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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160
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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161
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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162
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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163
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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164
demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165
overdo
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| vt.把...做得过头，演得过火 | |
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166
contingencies
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| n.偶然发生的事故，意外事故( contingency的名词复数 )；以备万一 | |
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167
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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168
transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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169
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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170
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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171
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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172
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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173
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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174
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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175
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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176
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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177
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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178
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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179
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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180
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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181
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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182
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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183
smirking
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| v.傻笑( smirk的现在分词 ) | |
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184
strewed
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| v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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185
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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186
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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187
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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