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It was the 5th of November, and a holiday.
那天是十一月五日，一個假日。
My little servant, after helping me to clean my house, was gone, well satisfied with the fee of a penny for her aid.
我的小傭人幫我清掃了房子后走掉了，對一個便士的酬勞十分滿意。
All about me was spotless and bright -- scoured floor, polished grate, and well-rubbed chairs.
我周圍窗明幾凈，一塵不染——擦洗過的地板，磨得锃亮的爐格和擦得干干凈凈的椅子。
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齊齊，這會兒整個下午就隨我度過了。
The translation of a few pages of German occupied an hour;
翻譯幾頁德文占去了我一個小時。
then I got my palette and pencils, and fell to the more soothing, because easier occupation, of completing Rosamond Oliver's miniature.
隨后我拿了畫板和畫筆，開始了更為容易因而也更加愜意的工作，完成羅莎蒙德．奧利弗的小畫像。
The head was finished already: there was but the background to tint and the drapery to shade off;
頭部已經畫好，剩下的只是給背景著色，給服飾畫上陰影，
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紅，——頭發這兒那兒再畫上一點柔軟的卷發——
a deeper tinge to the shadow of the lash under the azured eyelid.
把天藍的眼蓋下睫毛的陰影加深一些。
I was absorbed in the execution of these nice details, when, after one rapid tap, my door unclosed, admitting St. John Rivers.
我正全神貫注地畫著這些有趣的細節，一陣急促的敲門聲響了起來，我那扇門開了，圣·約翰·里弗斯先生走了進來。
"I am come to see how you are spending your holiday," he said.
“我來看看你怎么過假日，”他說。
"Not, I hope, in thought?
“但愿沒有動什么腦筋？
No, that is well: while you draw you will not feel lonely.
沒有，那很好，你一畫畫就不感到寂莫了。
You see, I mistrust you still, though you have borne up wonderfully so far.
你瞧，我還是不大相信，盡管你到目前為止還是很好地挺過來了，
I have brought you a book for evening solace," and he laid on the table a new publication --
我給你帶來了一本書供你晚上消遣，”他把一本新出版的書放在桌上——
a poem: one of those genuine productions so often vouchsafed to the fortunate public of those days -- the golden age of modern literature.
一部詩：是那個時代——現代文學的黃金時代常常賜予幸運的公眾一本貨真價實的出版物。
Alas! the readers of our era are less favoured.
哎呀！我們這個時代的讀者卻沒有那份福氣。
