It was the 5th of November, and a holiday.

那天是十一月五日，一个假日。

My little servant, after helping me to clean my house, was gone, well satisfied with the fee of a penny for her aid.

我的小佣人帮我清扫了房子后走掉了，对一个便士的酬劳十分满意。

All about me was spotless and bright -- scoured floor, polished grate, and well-rubbed chairs.

我周围窗明几净，一尘不染——擦洗过的地板，磨得锃亮的炉格和擦得干干净净的椅子。

I had also made myself neat, and had now the afternoon before me to spend as I would.

我把自己也弄得整整齐齐，这会儿整个下午就随我度过了。

The translation of a few pages of German occupied an hour;

翻译几页德文占去了我一个小时。

then I got my palette and pencils, and fell to the more soothing, because easier occupation, of completing Rosamond Oliver's miniature.

随后我拿了画板和画笔，开始了更为容易因而也更加惬意的工作，完成罗莎蒙德．奥利弗的小画像。

The head was finished already: there was but the background to tint and the drapery to shade off;

头部已经画好，剩下的只是给背景着色，给服饰画上阴影，

a touch of carmine, too, to add to the ripe lips -- a soft curl here and there to the tresses --

再在成熟的嘴唇上添一抹胭脂红，——头发这儿那儿再画上一点柔软的卷发——

a deeper tinge to the shadow of the lash under the azured eyelid.

把天蓝的眼盖下睫毛的阴影加深一些。

I was absorbed in the execution of these nice details, when, after one rapid tap, my door unclosed, admitting St. John Rivers.

我正全神贯注地画着这些有趣的细节，一阵急促的敲门声响了起来，我那扇门开了，圣·约翰·里弗斯先生走了进来。

"I am come to see how you are spending your holiday," he said.

“我来看看你怎么过假日，”他说。

"Not, I hope, in thought?

“但愿没有动什么脑筋？

No, that is well: while you draw you will not feel lonely.

没有，那很好，你一画画就不感到寂莫了。

You see, I mistrust you still, though you have borne up wonderfully so far.

你瞧，我还是不大相信，尽管你到目前为止还是很好地挺过来了，

I have brought you a book for evening solace," and he laid on the table a new publication --

我给你带来了一本书供你晚上消遣，”他把一本新出版的书放在桌上——

a poem: one of those genuine productions so often vouchsafed to the fortunate public of those days -- the golden age of modern literature.

一部诗：是那个时代——现代文学的黄金时代常常赐予幸运的公众一本货真价实的出版物。

Alas! the readers of our era are less favoured.

哎呀！我们这个时代的读者却没有那份福气。