In Which Some Light Is Thrown on the Title of This Work.
HOW delicious after a long absence to wake on a sunny morning and find ourselves at home! Ferdinand could scarcely credit that he was really again at Armine. He started up in his bed, and rubbed his eyes and stared at the unaccustomed, yet familiar sights, and for a moment Malta and the Royal Fusiliers, Bath and his betrothed1, were all a dream; and then he remembered the visit of his dear mother to this very room on the eve of his first departure. He had returned; in safety had he returned, and in happiness, to accomplish all her hopes and to reward her for all her solicitude2. Never felt anyone more content than Ferdinand Armine, more content and more grateful.
He rose and opened the casement3; a rich and exhilarating perfume filled the chamber4; he looked with a feeling of delight and pride over the broad and beautiful park; the tall trees rising and flinging their taller shadows over the bright and dewy turf, and the last mists clearing away from the distant woods and blending with the spotless sky. Everything was sweet and still, save, indeed, the carol of the birds, or the tinkle5 of some restless bellwether6. It was a rich autumnal morn. And yet with all the excitement of his new views in life, and the blissful consciousness of the happiness of those he loved, he could not but feel that a great change had come over his spirit since the days he was wont8 to ramble9 in this old haunt of his boyhood. His innocence10 was gone. Life was no longer that deep unbroken trance of duty and of love from which he had been roused to so much care; and if not remorse11, at least to so much compunction. He had no secrets then. Existence was not then a subterfuge12, but a calm and candid13 state of serene14 enjoyment15. Feelings then were not compromised for interests; and then it was the excellent that was studied, not the expedient16. ‘Yet such I suppose is life,’ murmured Ferdinand; ‘we moralise when it is too late; nor is there anything more silly than to regret. One event makes another: what we anticipate seldom occurs; what we least expected generally happens; and time can only prove which is most for our advantage. And surely I am the last person who should look grave. Our ancient house rises from its ruins; the beings I love most in the world are not only happy, but indebted to me for their happiness; and I, I myself, with every gift of fortune suddenly thrown at my feet, what more can I desire? Am I not satisfied? Why do I even ask the question? I am sure I know not. It rises like a devil in my thoughts, and spoils everything. The girl is young, noble, and fair, and loves me. And her? I love her, at least I suppose I love her. I love her at any rate as much as I love, or ever did love, woman. There is no great sacrifice, then, on my part; there should be none; there is none; unless indeed it be that a man does not like to give up without a struggle all his chance of romance and rapture17.
‘I know not how it is, but there are moments I almost wish that I had no father and no mother; ay! not a single friend or relative in the world, and that Armine were sunk into the very centre of the earth. If I stood alone in the world methinks I might find the place that suits me; now everything seems ordained18 for me, as it were, beforehand. My spirit has had no play. Something whispers me that, with all its flush prosperity, this is neither wise nor well. God knows I am not heartless, and would be grateful; and yet if life can afford me no deeper sympathy than I have yet experienced, I cannot but hold it, even with all its sweet reflections, as little better than a dull delusion19.’
While Ferdinand was thus moralising at the casement, Glastonbury appeared beneath; and his appearance dissipated this gathering20 gloom. ‘Let us breakfast together,’ proposed Ferdinand. ‘I have breakfasted these two hours,’ replied the hermit21 of the gate. ‘I hope that on the first night of your return to Armine you have proved auspicious22 dreams.’
‘My bed and I are old companions,’ said Ferdinand, ‘and we agreed very well. I tell you what, my dear Glastonbury, we will have a stroll together this morning and talk over our plans of last night. Go into the library and look over my sketch-books: you will find them on my pistol-case, and I will be with you anon.’
In due time the friends commenced their ramble. Ferdinand soon became excited by Glastonbury’s various suggestions for the completion of the castle; and as for the old man himself, between his architectural creation and the restoration of the family to which he had been so long devoted23, he was in a rapture of enthusiasm, which afforded an amusing contrast to his usual meek24 and subdued25 demeanour.
‘Your grandfather was a great man,’ said Glastonbury, who in old days seldom ventured to mention the name of the famous Sir Ferdinand: ‘there is no doubt he was a very great man. He had great ideas. How he would glory in our present prospects27! ’Tis strange what a strong confidence I have ever had in the destiny of your house. I felt sure that Providence28 would not desert us. There is no doubt we must have a portcullis.’
‘Decidedly, a portcullis,’ said Ferdinand; ‘you shall make all the drawings yourself, my dear Glastonbury, and supervise everything. We will not have a single anachronism. It shall be perfect.’
‘Perfect,’ echoed Glastonbury; ‘really perfect. It shall be a perfect Gothic castle. I have such treasures for the work. All the labours of my life have tended to this object. I have all the emblazonings of your house since the Conquest. There shall be three hundred shields in the hall. I will paint them myself. Oh! there is no place in the world like Armine!’
‘Nothing,’ said Ferdinand; ‘I have seen a great deal, but after all there is nothing like Armine.’
‘Had we been born to this splendour,’ said Glastonbury, ‘we should have thought little of it. We have been mildly and wisely chastened. I cannot sufficiently29 admire the wisdom of Providence, which has tempered, by such a wise dispensation, the too-eager blood of your race.’
‘I should be sorry to pull down the old place,’ said Ferdinand.
‘It must not be,’ said Glastonbury; ‘we have lived there happily, though humbly30.’
‘I would we could move it to another part of the park, like the house of Loretto,’ said Ferdinand with a smile.
‘We can cover it with ivy,’ observed Glastonbury, looking somewhat grave.
The morning stole away in these agreeable plans and prospects. At length the friends parted, agreeing to meet again at dinner. Glastonbury repaired to his tower, and Ferdinand, taking his gun, sauntered into the surrounding wilderness31.
But he felt no inclination32 for sport. The conversation with Glastonbury had raised a thousand thoughts over which he longed to brood. His life had been a scene of such constant excitement since his return to England, that he had enjoyed little opportunity of indulging in calm self-communion; and now that he was at Armine, and alone, the contrast between his past and his present situation struck him so forcibly that he could not refrain from falling into a reverie upon his fortunes. It was wonderful, all wonderful, very, very wonderful. There seemed indeed, as Glastonbury affirmed, a providential dispensation in the whole transaction. The fall of his family, the heroic, and, as it now appeared, prescient firmness with which his father had clung, in all their deprivations33, to his unproductive patrimony34, his own education, the extinction35 of his mother’s house, his very follies36, once to him a cause of so much unhappiness, but which it now seemed were all the time compelling him, as it were, to his prosperity; all these and a thousand other traits and circumstances flitted over his mind, and were each in turn the subject of his manifold meditation37. Willing was he to credit that destiny had reserved for him the character of restorer; that duty indeed he had accepted, and yet——
He looked around him as if to see what devil was whispering in his ear. He was alone. No one was there or near. Around him rose the silent bowers39, and scarcely the voice of a bird or the hum of an insect disturbed the deep tranquillity40. But a cloud seemed to rest on the fair and pensive41 brow of Ferdinand Armine. He threw himself on the turf, leaning his head on one hand, and with the other plucking the wild flowers, which he as hastily, almost as fretfully, flung away.
‘Conceal it as I will,’ he exclaimed, ‘I am a victim; disguise them as I may, all the considerations are worldly. There is, there must be, something better in this world than power and wealth and rank; and surely there must be felicity more rapturous even than securing the happiness of a parent. Ah! dreams in which I have so oft and so fondly indulged, are ye, indeed, after all, but fantastical and airy visions? Is love indeed a delusion, or am I marked out from men alone to be exempted42 from its delicious bondage43? It must be a delusion. All laugh at it, all jest about it, all agree in stigmatising it the vanity of vanities. And does my experience contradict this harsh but common fame? Alas44! what have I seen or known to give the lie to this ill report? No one, nothing. Some women I have met more beautiful, assuredly, than Kate, and many, many less fair; and some have crossed my path with a wild and brilliant grace, that has for a moment dazzled my sight, and perhaps for a moment lured45 me from my way. But these shooting stars have but glittered transiently in my heaven, and only made me, by their evanescent brilliancy, more sensible of its gloom. Let me believe then, oh! let me of all men then believe, that the forms that inspire the sculptor46 and the painter have no models in nature; that that combination of beauty and grace, of fascinating intelligence and fond devotion, over which men brood in the soft hours of their young loneliness, is but the promise of a better world, and not the charm of this one.
‘But, what terror in that truth! what despair! what madness! Yes! at this moment of severest scrutiny48, how profoundly I feel that life without love is worse than death! How vain and void, how flat and fruitless, appear all those splendid accidents of existence for which men struggle, without this essential and pervading49 charm! What a world without a sun! Yes! without this transcendent sympathy, riches and rank, and even power and fame, seem to me at best but jewels set in a coronet of lead!
‘And who knows whether that extraordinary being, of whose magnificent yet ruinous career this castle is in truth a fitting emblem—I say, who knows whether the secret of his wild and restless course is not hidden in this same sad lack of love? Perhaps while the world, the silly, superficial world, marvelled50 and moralised at his wanton life, and poured forth51 its anathemas52 against his heartless selfishness, perchance he all the time was sighing for some soft bosom53 whereon to pour his overwhelming passion, even as I am!
‘O Nature! why art thou beautiful? My heart requires not, imagination cannot paint, a sweeter or a fairer scene than these surrounding bowers. This azazure vault54 of heaven, this golden sunshine, this deep and blending shade, these rare and fragrant55 shrubs56, yon grove57 of green and tallest pines, and the bright gliding58 of this swan-crowned lake; my soul is charmed with all this beauty and this sweetness; I feel no disappointment here; my mind does not here outrun reality; here there is no cause to mourn over ungratified hopes and fanciful desires. Is it then my destiny that I am to be baffled only in the dearest desires of my heart?’
At this moment the loud and agitated59 barking of his dogs at some little distance roused Ferdinand from his reverie. He called them to him, and soon one of them obeyed his summons, but instantly returned to his companion with such significant gestures, panting and yelping60, that Ferdinand supposed that Basto was caught, perhaps, in some trap: so, taking up his gun, he proceeded to the dog’s rescue.
To his surprise, as he was about to emerge from a berceau on to a plot of turf, in the centre of which grew a large cedar61, he beheld62 a lady in a riding-habit standing63 before the tree, and evidently admiring its beautiful proportions.
[Illustration: page094.jpg]
Her countenance64 was raised and motionless. It seemed to him that it was more radiant than the sunshine. He gazed with rapture on the dazzling brilliancy of her complexion65, the delicate regularity66 of her features, and the large violet-tinted eyes, fringed with the longest and the darkest lashes67 that he had ever beheld. From her position her hat had fallen back, revealing her lofty and pellucid68 brow, and the dark and lustrous69 locks that were braided over her temples. The whole countenance combined that brilliant health and that classic beauty which we associate with the idea of some nymph tripping over the dew-bespangled meads of Ida, or glancing amid the hallowed groves70 of Greece. Although the lady could scarcely have seen eighteen summers, her stature71 was above the common height; but language cannot describe the startling symmetry of her superb figure.
There is no love but love at first sight. This is the transcendent and surpassing offspring of sheer and unpolluted sympathy. All other is the illegitimate result of observation, of reflection, of compromise, of comparison, of expediency72. The passions that endure flash like the lightning: they scorch73 the soul, but it is warmed for ever. Miserable74 man whose love rises by degrees upon the frigid75 morning of his mind! Some hours indeed of warmth and lustre76 may perchance fall to his lot; some moments of meridian77 splendour, in which he basks78 in what he deems eternal sunshine. But then how often overcast79 by the clouds of care, how often dusked by the blight80 of misery81 and misfortune! And certain as the gradual rise of such affection is its gradual decline and melancholy82 setting. Then, in the chill, dim twilight83 of his soul, he execrates84 custom; because he has madly expected that feelings could be habitual85 that were not homogeneous, and because he has been guided by the observation of sense, and not by the inspiration of sympathy.
Amid the gloom and travail86 of existence suddenly to behold87 a beautiful being, and as instantaneously to feel an overwhelming conviction that with that fair form for ever our destiny must be entwined; that there is no more joy but in her joy, no sorrow but when she grieves; that in her sigh of love, in her smile of fondness, hereafter all is bliss7; to feel our flaunty88 ambition fade away like a shrivelled gourd89 before her vision; to feel fame a juggle90 and posterity91 a lie; and to be prepared at once, for this great object, to forfeit92 and fling away all former hopes, ties, schemes, views; to violate in her favour every duty of society; this is a lover, and this is love! Magnificent, sublime93, divine sentiment! An immortal94 flame burns in the breast of that man who adores and is adored. He is an ethereal being. The accidents of earth touch him not. Revolutions of empire, changes of creed95, mutations of opinion, are to him but the clouds and meteors of a stormy sky. The schemes and struggles of mankind are, in his thinking, but the anxieties of pigmies and the fantastical achievements of apes. Nothing can subdue26 him. He laughs alike at loss of fortune, loss of friends, loss of character. The deeds and thoughts of men are tor him equally indifferent. He does not mingle96 in their paths of callous97 bustle98, or hold himself responsible to the airy impostures before which they bow down. He is a mariner99 who, on the sea of life, keeps his gaze fixedly100 on a single star; and if that do not shine, he lets go the rudder, and glories when his barque descends101 into the bottomless gulf102.
Yes! it was this mighty103 passion that now raged in the heart of Ferdinand Armine, as, pale and trembling, he withdrew a few paces from the overwhelming spectacle, and leant against a tree in a chaos104 of emotion. What had he seen? What ravishing vision had risen upon his sight? What did he feel? What wild, what delicious, what maddening impulse now pervaded105 his frame? A storm seemed raging in his soul, a mighty wind dispelling106 in its course the sullen107 clouds and vapours of long years. Silent he was indeed, for he was speechless; though the big drop that quivered on his brow and the slight foam108 that played upon his lip proved the difficult triumph of passion over expression. But, as the wind clears the heaven, passion eventually tranquillises the soul. The tumult109 of his mind gradually subsided110; the flitting memories, the scudding111 thoughts, that for a moment had coursed about in such wild order, vanished and melted away, and a feeling of bright serenity112 succeeded, a sense of beauty and of joy, and of hovering113 and circumambient happiness.
He advanced, and gazed again; the lady was still there. Changed indeed her position; she had gathered a flower and was examining its beauty.
‘Henrietta!’ exclaimed a manly114 voice from the adjoining wood. Before she could answer, a stranger came forward, a man of middle age but of an appearance remarkably115 prepossessing. He was tall and dignified116, fair, with an aquiline117 nose. One of Ferdinand’s dogs followed him barking.
‘I cannot find the gardener anywhere,’ said the stranger; ‘I think we had better remount.’
‘Ah, me! what a pity!’ exclaimed the lady.
‘Let me be your guide,’ said Ferdinand, advancing.
The lady rather started; the gentleman, not at all discomposed, courteously118 welcomed Ferdinand, and said, ‘I feel that we are intruders, sir. But we were informed by the woman at the lodge120 that the family were not here at present, and that we should find her husband in the grounds.’
‘The family are not at Armine,’ replied Ferdinand; ‘I am sure, however, Sir Ratcliffe would be most happy for you to walk about the grounds as much as you please; and as I am well acquainted with them, I should feel delighted to be your guide.’
‘You are really too courteous119, sir,’ replied the gentleman; and his beautiful companion rewarded Ferdinand with a smile like a sunbeam, that played about her countenance till it finally settled into two exquisite121 dimples, and revealed to him teeth that, for a moment, he believed to be even the most beautiful feature of that surpassing visage.
They sauntered along, every step developing new beauties in their progress and eliciting122 from his companions renewed expressions of rapture. The dim bowers, the shining glades123, the tall rare trees, the luxuriant shrubs, the silent and sequestered124 lake, in turn enchanted125 them, until at length, Ferdinand, who had led them with experienced taste through all the most striking points of the pleasaunce, brought them before the walls of the castle.
‘And here is Armine Castle,’ he said; ‘it is little better than a shell, and yet contains something which you might like to see.’
‘Oh! by all means,’ exclaimed the lady.
‘But we are spoiling your sport,’ suggested the gentleman.
‘I can always kill partridges,’ replied Ferdinand, laying down his gun; ‘but I cannot always find agreeable companions.’
So saying, he opened the massy portal of the castle and they entered the hall. It was a lofty chamber, of dimensions large enough to feast a thousand vassals126, with a dais and a rich Gothic screen, and a gallery for the musicians. The walls were hung with arms and armour127 admirably arranged; but the parti-coloured marble floor was so covered with piled-up cases of furniture that the general effect of the scene, was not only greatly marred128, but it was even difficult in some parts to trace a path.
‘Here,’ said Ferdinand, jumping upon a huge case and running to the wall, ‘here is the standard of Ralph d’Ermyn, who came over with the Conqueror129, and founded the family in England. Here is the sword of William d’Armyn, who signed Magna Carta. Here is the complete coat armour of the second Ralph, who died before Ascalon. This case contains a diamond-hilted sword, given by the Empress to the great Sir Ferdinand for defeating the Turks; and here is a Mameluke sabre, given to the same Sir Ferdinand by the Sultan for defeating the Empress.’
‘Oh! I have heard so much of that great Sir Ferdinand,’ said the lady. ‘He must have been the most interesting character.’
‘He was a marvellous being,’ answered her guide, with a peculiar130 look, ‘and yet I know not whether his descendants have not cause to rue131 his genius.’
‘Oh! never, never!’ said the lady; ‘what is wealth to genius? How much prouder, were I an Armine, should I be of such an ancestor than of a thousand others, even if they had left me this castle as complete as he wished it to be!’
‘Well, as to that,’ replied Ferdinand, ‘I believe I am somewhat of your opinion; though I fear he lived in too late an age for such order of minds. It would have been better for him perhaps if he had succeeded in becoming King of Poland.’
‘I hope there is a portrait of him,’ said the lady; ‘there is nothing I long so much to see.’
‘I rather think there is a portrait,’ replied her companion, somewhat drily. ‘We will try to find it out. Do not you think I make not a bad cicerone?’
‘Indeed, most excellent,’ replied the lady.
‘I perceive you are a master of your subject,’ replied the gentleman, thus affording Ferdinand an easy opportunity of telling them who he was. The hint, however, was not accepted.
‘And now,’ said Ferdinand, ‘we will ascend132 the staircase.’
Accordingly they mounted a large spiral staircase which filled the space of a round tower, and was lighted from the top by a lantern of rich, coloured glass on which were emblazoned the arms of the family. Then they entered the vestibule, an apartment spacious133 enough for a salon134; which, however, was not fitted up in the Gothic style, but of which the painted ceiling, the gilded135 panels, and inlaid floor were more suitable to a French palace. The brilliant doors of this vestibule opened in many directions upon long suites136 of state chambers137, which indeed merited the description of shells. They were nothing more; of many the flooring was not even laid down; the walls of all were rough and plastered.
‘Ah!’ said the lady, ‘what a pity it is not finished!’
‘It is indeed desolate,’ observed Ferdinand; ‘but here perhaps is something more to your taste.’ So saying, he opened another door and ushered138 them into the picture gallery.
It was a superb chamber nearly two hundred feet in length, and contained only portraits of the family, or pictures of their achievements. It was of a pale green colour, lighted from the top; and the floor, of oak and ebony, was partially139 covered with a single Persian carpet, of fanciful pattern and brilliant dye, a present from the Sultan to the great Sir Ferdinand. The earlier annals of the family were illustrated140 by a series of paintings by modern masters, representing the battle of Hastings, the siege of Ascalon, the meeting at Runnymede, the various invasions of France, and some of the most striking incidents in the Wars of the Roses, in all of which a valiant141 Armyn prominently figured. At length they stood before the first contemporary portrait of the Armyn family, one of Cardinal142 Stephen Armyn, by an Italian master. This great dignitary was legate of the Pope in the time of the seventh Henry, and in his scarlet143 robes and ivory chair looked a papal Jupiter, not unworthy himself of wielding144 the thunder of the Vatican. From him the series of family portraits was unbroken; and it was very interesting to trace, in this excellently arranged collection, the history of national costume. Holbein had commemorated145 the Lords Tewkesbury, rich in velvet146, and golden chains, and jewels. The statesmen of Elizabeth and James, and their beautiful and gorgeous dames147, followed; and then came many a gallant148 cavalier, by Vandyke. One admirable picture contained Lord Armine and his brave brothers, seated together in a tent round a drum, on which his lordship was apparently149 planning the operations of the campaign. Then followed a long series of unmemorable baronets, and their more interesting wives and daughters, touched by the pencil of Kneller, of Lely, or of Hudson; squires150 in wigs151 and scarlet jackets, and powdered dames in hoops152 and farthingales.
They stood before the crowning effort of the gallery, the masterpiece of Reynolds. It represented a full-length portrait of a young man, apparently just past his minority. The side of the figure was alone exhibited, and the face glanced at the spectator over the shoulder, in a favourite attitude of Vandyke. It was a countenance of ideal beauty. A profusion153 of dark brown curls was dashed aside from a lofty forehead of dazzling brilliancy. The face was perfectly154 oval; the nose, though small was high and aquiline, and exhibited a remarkable155 dilation156 of the nostril157; the curling lip was shaded by a very delicate mustache; and the general expression, indeed, of the mouth and of the large grey eyes would have been perhaps arrogant158 and imperious, had not the extraordinary beauty of the whole countenance rendered it fascinating.
It was indeed a picture to gaze upon and to return to; one of those visages which, after having once beheld, haunt us at all hours and flit across our mind’s eye unexpected and unbidden. So great was the effect that it produced upon the present visitors to the gallery, that they stood before it for some minutes in silence; the scrutinising glance of the gentleman was more than once diverted from the portrait to the countenance of his conductor, and the silence was eventually broken by our hero.
‘And what think you,’ he enquired159, ‘of the famous Sir Ferdinand?’
The lady started, looked at him, withdrew her glance, and appeared somewhat confused. Her companion replied, ‘I think, sir, I cannot err47 in believing that I am indebted for much courtesy to his descendant?’
‘I believe,’ said Ferdinand, ‘that I should not have much trouble in proving my pedigree. I am generally considered an ugly likeness160 of my grandfather.’
The gentleman smiled, and then said, ‘I hardly know whether I can style myself your neighbour, for I live nearly ten miles distant. It would, however, afford me sincere gratification to see you at Ducie Bower38. I cannot welcome you in a castle. My name is Temple,’ he continued, offering his card to Ferdinand. ‘I need not now introduce you to my daughter. I was not unaware161 that Sir Ratcliffe Armine had a son, but I had understood he was abroad.’
‘I have returned to England within these two months,’ replied Ferdinand, ‘and to Armine within these two days. I deem it fortunate that my return has afforded me an opportunity of welcoming you and Miss Temple. But you must not talk of our castle, for that you know is our folly162. Pray come now and visit our older and humbler dwelling163, and take some refreshment164 after your long ride.’
This offer was declined, but with great courtesy. They quitted the castle, and Mr. Temple was about to direct his steps towards the lodge, where he had left his own and his daughter’s horses; but Ferdinand persuaded them to return through the park, which he proved to them very satisfactorily must be the nearest way. He even asked permission to accompany them; and while his groom165 was saddling his horse he led them to the old Place and the flower-garden.
‘You must be very fatigued166, Miss Temple. I wish that I could persuade you to enter and rest yourself.’
‘Indeed, no: I love flowers too much to leave them.’
‘Here is one that has the recommendation of novelty as well as beauty,’ said Ferdinand, plucking a strange rose, and presenting it to her. ‘I sent it to my mother from Barbary.’
‘You live amidst beauty.’
‘I think that I never remember Armine looking so well as today.’
‘A sylvan167 scene requires sunshine,’ replied Miss Temple. ‘We have been most fortunate in our visit.’
‘It is something brighter than the sunshine that makes it so fair,’ replied Ferdinand; but at this moment the horses appeared.
收听单词发音 |
1
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
solicitude
|
|
| n.焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
casement
|
|
| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
tinkle
|
|
| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
bellwether
|
|
| n.系铃的公羊，前导，领导者，群众的首领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
bliss
|
|
| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
ramble
|
|
| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
innocence
|
|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
subterfuge
|
|
| n.诡计；藉口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
candid
|
|
| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
expedient
|
|
| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
rapture
|
|
| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
ordained
|
|
| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
hermit
|
|
| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
auspicious
|
|
| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
meek
|
|
| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
subdue
|
|
| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
inclination
|
|
| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
deprivations
|
|
| 剥夺( deprivation的名词复数 )； 被夺去； 缺乏； 匮乏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
patrimony
|
|
| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
extinction
|
|
| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
follies
|
|
| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
bower
|
|
| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
bowers
|
|
| n.（女子的）卧室( bower的名词复数 )；船首锚；阴凉处；鞠躬的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
tranquillity
|
|
| n. 平静, 安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
pensive
|
|
| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
exempted
|
|
| 使免除[豁免]( exempt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
bondage
|
|
| n.奴役，束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
lured
|
|
| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
sculptor
|
|
| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
err
|
|
| vi.犯错误，出差错 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
scrutiny
|
|
| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
pervading
|
|
| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
marvelled
|
|
| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
anathemas
|
|
| n.（天主教的）革出教门( anathema的名词复数 )；诅咒；令人极其讨厌的事；被基督教诅咒的人或事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
53
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
vault
|
|
| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
fragrant
|
|
| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
shrubs
|
|
| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
grove
|
|
| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
gliding
|
|
| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
yelping
|
|
| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
cedar
|
|
| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
beheld
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
regularity
|
|
| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
lashes
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
pellucid
|
|
| adj.透明的，简单的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
lustrous
|
|
| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
groves
|
|
| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
stature
|
|
| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
expediency
|
|
| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
scorch
|
|
| v.烧焦，烤焦；高速疾驶；n.烧焦处，焦痕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
frigid
|
|
| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
lustre
|
|
| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
meridian
|
|
| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
basks
|
|
| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的第三人称单数 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
overcast
|
|
| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
blight
|
|
| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
execrates
|
|
| v.憎恶( execrate的第三人称单数 )；厌恶；诅咒；咒骂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
85
habitual
|
|
| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
travail
|
|
| n.阵痛；努力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
behold
|
|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
flaunty
|
|
| adj.虚华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
gourd
|
|
| n.葫芦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
juggle
|
|
| v.变戏法，纂改，欺骗，同时做；n.玩杂耍，纂改，花招 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
posterity
|
|
| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
forfeit
|
|
| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
immortal
|
|
| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
mingle
|
|
| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
callous
|
|
| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
bustle
|
|
| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
mariner
|
|
| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
fixedly
|
|
| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
descends
|
|
| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
gulf
|
|
| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
chaos
|
|
| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
pervaded
|
|
| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
dispelling
|
|
| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
foam
|
|
| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
tumult
|
|
| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
subsided
|
|
| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
scudding
|
|
| n.刮面v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
serenity
|
|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
hovering
|
|
| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
remarkably
|
|
| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
aquiline
|
|
| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
courteously
|
|
| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
lodge
|
|
| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
eliciting
|
|
| n. 诱发, 引出 动词elicit的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
glades
|
|
| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
sequestered
|
|
| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
vassals
|
|
| n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 )；（封建时代）诸侯；从属者；下属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
armour
|
|
| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
marred
|
|
| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
conqueror
|
|
| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
rue
|
|
| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
ascend
|
|
| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
salon
|
|
| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
gilded
|
|
| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
suites
|
|
| n.套( suite的名词复数 )；一套房间；一套家具；一套公寓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
chambers
|
|
| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
ushered
|
|
| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
illustrated
|
|
| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
valiant
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
cardinal
|
|
| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
wielding
|
|
| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的现在分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
commemorated
|
|
| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
dames
|
|
| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
squires
|
|
| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
wigs
|
|
| n.假发，法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
hoops
|
|
| n.箍( hoop的名词复数 )；（篮球）篮圈；（旧时儿童玩的）大环子；（两端埋在地里的）小铁弓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
profusion
|
|
| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
dilation
|
|
| n.膨胀，扩张，扩大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
nostril
|
|
| n.鼻孔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
arrogant
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
enquired
|
|
| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
likeness
|
|
| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
unaware
|
|
| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
refreshment
|
|
| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
groom
|
|
| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
fatigued
|
|
| adj. 疲乏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
sylvan
|
|
| adj.森林的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |