He was growing old and frail22, and his mind seemed to have gone wholly back to the early years which he had spent in wild adventure and lawless wanderings. 103The care of his estate he had left to his grandson, who paid little heed23 to the old man, but went his way with the headstrong and reckless selfishness that was the characteristic of his race. The presence of his grand-daughter seemed to give him pleasure, but companionship between them there was none. He accepted her attentions, not, indeed, with an ill grace, but without any apparent sign of affection, though at times, as he sat watching her moving about his room, her figure appeared to arouse him from his fit of abstraction, and to awaken24 a chord of memory that was not wholly painful.
So she passed these two years at Castleton--dull enough for a girl of spirit and used to the excitement and life of a great city; and when the news of a great Catholic rising and massacre25 arrived, it found her alone and unprotected, with a number of panic-stricken domestics and a helpless old man looking to her for assistance and advice. Her brother had gone to Londonderry on business of his own, and there was no one near her on whom she could rely. The servants had remained at their posts for some time, but as the excitement deepened, and the tenantry fled to Enniskillen or to Londonderry for safety and shelter, they refused to remain longer, and while imploring26 her to join them in their flight, one morning they departed in a body. She herself would willingly have accompanied them, but her grandfather refused to move. It was, he said, mere27 moonshine. It was only when the Irish army had marched northward28, and there came the frequent and alarming 104reports of robbery and murder, that he was seized with an uncontrollable dread29, and insisted on fleeing to Londonderry forthwith. The girl had no one to assist her in their hasty flight but a brave and trusty servant who had served with her father abroad, and who had been since taken into her grandfather′s service. Together they had bundled the old man into the coach, and leaving the great house to its fate, had set out for the city of refuge. How they fared on their way thither30 we have already seen.
Gervase walked by Bayard′s bridle31, unmindful of all weariness and regardless of all dangers, seeking, after the manner of young men, to make the most of the sweet society into which chance had so strangely thrown him. He was indignant with himself that he was ashamed of his rags, though by way of making up for these, he began to talk of his life in Dublin and the gay doings of the capital.
At this Dorothy′s sense of humour was touched, and much to his confusion she began to laugh aloud. “Your talk in such a figure, of the Castle and of Tyrconnell and of my Lady, is a most excellent remedy for lowness of spirits. I cannot set matters straight, and must become accustomed to your mode. And yet I think I could have told that you were a gentleman.”
“That is something,” said Gervase, a little mollified, “and how?”
“Because,” she answered, with a na?ve glance that disarmed32 his resentment33, “your present garments fit 105you so ill. But I am very wrong to jest at such a time, and your friend does not seem to admire laughter. I think that I could have told anywhere that he was a soldier. You could not mistake his carriage.”
“A better soldier and a truer friend there never was,” Gervase answered warmly; “and that you will have cause to admit before your journey ends.”
“I think,” she said, “that you yourself fight not so badly. Oh! why was I not a man that I might strike for religion and liberty? it is a miserable34 thing to be a woman in times like these.”
“I hope I am not a coward,” Gervase answered, “but I have already seen enough of warfare35 to dislike my trade, and would never fight if it were possible to avoid it. But fight we must for our rights and liberties and,” he added, after a pause, “in defence of those we love.”
“And,” she said, smiling, “is it for these last that you are fighting? But I have no right to ask you that, though I have been told that men say love is out of fashion. Indeed I think that it is no longer in vogue36.”
“I care not for fashion in these things, but I have begun to think that there might be such loving as would make life a royal thing to live. I mean not love that asks to be loved in return, though I should like that too, but a love that fills the heart with great and splendid thoughts, and raises it above contemptible37 and base designs; the love I mean is wholly pure and unselfish and lifts the lover above 106himself. I know not whether you know the lines of that sonnet--”
“I think,” she said smiling, “we will change the subject. It seems to me that you are far too romantic to conduct a young and unprotected damsel on a dangerous journey like this. Your grim Captain Macpherson were a far fitter and more becoming companion--he would not breathe out his aspirations38 in rhyme, or relieve his love-laden soul in a ballad39. Heigho! I shall never understand you men. But now tell me about your journey from Londonderry, and how it came about that you were wounded?”
And thereupon Gervase proceeded to relate the story of his ride by night and the skirmish on the road, passing lightly over such incidents as might be unfitting for a woman′s ear to listen to.
But when he mentioned the name of De Laprade she stopped him. “And you have met my cousin Victor, for it can be no other? I had not heard that he had come to Ireland.”
“I mean the Vicomte de Laprade. He is not much older than myself, with a slight lisp, and very fair for a Frenchman.”
“Yes, that is he. You do not know that he is in some sort my cousin, my mother having been of his family. He was in London when I was a girl living with my aunt, and he would come to visit us whenever he could tear himself away from the cards and the festivities of Whitehall. Poor Victor! he was a sad rake in those days, and I fear he 107would never have come to Ireland had he not run through his fortune.”
“He hinted, indeed, at something of that sort,” said Gervase, “but he is a gallant41 fellow, and one cannot but like him. He hath done a great deal for me.”
“It would be strange should we meet here, yet who can tell? For it is as likely we shall find ourselves within the Irish camp as within the walls of Londonderry. I wonder in what manner we should be treated there?”
“Camps are ever lawless places,” Gervase answered, “and offer little entertainment for a lady. I trust that you will not be called upon to make the trial. But Macpherson is calling upon us to stop; we have already travelled too far in advance.”
The road now ran through a wooded and undulating country, and they were coming close to the ford42 by which they hoped to cross. At times they had been able to catch a distant glimpse of the river bright with the fading sunset, but so far as Gervase was able to see, there was no sign of the enemy, and he had begun to hope that they might pass unmolested.
“It is time,” said Macpherson, as he came up, “that we should determine on our plan of action, for we can go no further. The ford yonder is guarded. I caught the gleam of arms but a minute ago from the top of the hill, and there is part of a troop of horse in the little grove43 yonder to the right. I know the sound too well to mistake it. If it be possible 108to cross I shall soon know; though--and here I speak, not with any selfish or dishonourable intention, but as a man of honour and a soldier, it were, perhaps, best that this lady and her grandfather should place themselves of their free will in the hands of yonder gentry44, and trust to their humanity for generous treatment. It is a perilous45 undertaking46 that we have in hand, and bullets may presently be flying. However, as Providence has in some measure placed you under our care, should it be your good pleasure, we will do as best we can.”
“My grandfather is an old and defenceless man,” answered Dorothy, with spirit, “and as you have seen, carries with him a great quantity of treasure, which I would that I had never seen. What treatment, think you, is he likely to receive at the hands of those who live on the fruit of robbery and murder?”
“Miss Carew is right, Captain Macpherson,” said Gervase, “and whatever your design may be, I shall abide47 with her, and so far as my help goes, shall see that she and her grandfather pass unscathed.”
“I well knew,” answered Macpherson bitterly, “that you would do nothing less, though it may come to pass that you will both suffer for it hereafter. My design, as you phrase it, is even to go gently forward, and see in what manner yon loons have set their guard, and of what strength they may be. In the meantime, I should advise that you withdraw into that clump48 of oak trees where you may safely await my coming, which will be within the hour. I had looked for some sense from you, 109Mr. Orme, but I find that you are no wiser than the rest of them. ′Fore God we are all fools together.”
Before Gervase had time to reply he had disappeared within the undergrowth that grew densely49 by the roadside, and Gervase and the girl stood looking at one another in silence; the same grave suspicion had presented itself to both of them. “What think you of your friend?” she said, with indignation.
“For a moment I hardly knew what to think,” Gervase answered, “but my faith in him is not a whit40 shaken. Believe me, we may trust him unreservedly, and in good time he will prove that I am right. He will do whatever a man may to bring you safely through, and will risk life and limb to serve you. And now let us follow his directions, for if the ford be indeed guarded, ′tis a wonder that we were not long since discovered.”
Taking Colonel Carew′s horse by the bridle, Gervase led him into the oak wood followed by Dorothy. Here there proved to be excellent shelter, for the underwood had grown thick and high, and discovery was impossible so long as the enemy kept to the road, which it was likely they would do unless their suspicions were aroused.
The old man was helped from his horse and seated himself upon a fallen tree, with his precious box clasped upon his knees, speaking no word, but looking straight before him, with a fixed50 unmeaning gaze. He appeared to be unconscious of what was taking place round him, and insensible of the dangers 110to which they were exposed. Dorothy knelt down beside him and placed her hands on his. He was muttering wild and incoherent words.
“Grandfather,” she said, “do you know me?”
He looked at her with a frown. “Ay, girl, wherefore not?” he answered. "Talk no more, but fill up my glass till the red wine runs over. There is plenty where it came from--plenty, and gold that is better than wine, girl; and bars of silver and stones of price. We who sail under the Jolly Roger cannot afford to be scrupulous51. You are sly, wench, damnably sly, but you will not overreach me. Nay52, you shall have a doubloon or two for yourself and a bundle of silks from our next venture. I am grown stiff with this long lying ashore53, and am well wearied for a breath of the Spanish Main.
“‘For the guns are all ready and the decks are all clear
And the prize is awaiting the bold Buccaneer!′”
Dorothy rose and wrung54 her hands with a gesture of despair. Gervase could see that the wild words of the old man had touched her beyond description. It was not so much that they showed his mind had left him; they had revealed the terrible secret of his early life--a secret that till now she had never dreamed of. She had instinctively55 guessed the truth, and it had covered her with shame, as though the crime and the reproach were her own. Gervase out of regard for her feelings withdrew to a distance, and busied himself in getting 111ready a supper, which matter, necessary as it was, had quite escaped his thoughts. But Dorothy, though he pressed her strongly, refused to partake of it.
“I cannot taste of food,” she said, “and you know the reason--you also have heard the dreadful words. That accursed money comes--Oh! I might have guessed it, but who would have thought?--and he is so old and so frail and--and I think he is going to die. Oh! it is very terrible. I was so proud of my name, and the honour of my house, and now----”
Gervase had no words with which to comfort her, and so the three--the two men and the girl--sat here in the thicket56, speaking never a word. But for the young man, he could not take his eyes off the sweet, strong face that looked so lovely in its grief--the lips that trembled, and the eyes that were dimmed with unshed tears. Half an hour passed in silence; only the far-off murmur57 of the river came faintly through the twilight58, and the whirr of a startled bird, or the hasty scamper59 of a rabbit or a rat, broke the stillness round them. As yet there was no appearance of Macpherson. And then Gervase began to wonder whether, after all, Dorothy might not have been right in her hasty surmise60, and whether he might not have sought his own safety in flight, and left them to their fate. But he instantly dismissed the suggestion from his mind as ungenerous and unjust.
Then, at that moment, a shot rang out in the evening air, and another, and another. The sound 112came from the river, and as they stood and listened, they could hear the jinging of bridles61 and the clank of weapons, for the air was somewhat frosty and very still. They had risen to their feet and stood listening, only Gervase had drawn62 his sword, and instinctively stepped nearer to where the girl was standing63. Soon they heard the sound of hasty footsteps and the crashing of branches, as someone made his way with impetuous haste through the underwood. Then Macpherson appeared bareheaded, with a smoking pistol in his hand.
“There is not a moment to lose,” he cried. “Into the road and make what terms you can. They are regular troops and may not use you ill, but escape you cannot, and I may not tarry here. I have done for one of them, and, I think, another will never hear ‘boots and saddle′ sounded again. ′Tis your only hope.”
“And what,” cried Gervase, “do you purpose doing?”
“Saving my neck if it be possible. I cannot serve you, but would only make your case the worse. It goes against my heart to leave you, but for your sake and my own I can do naught64 else. Stay,” he continued, “there is one thing more. For that box they would cut your throats, and they must not find it with you. Madam, can you trust me? I am rugged65 and I am rough, but I think I am honest.”
Dorothy looked at him fairly a moment and their eyes met. “Yes,” she said, in a clear, strong voice, “I can trust you wholly.”
113“Then, sir,” he said, stepping forward to the old man, “By your leave and license66 I must, for your own good, relieve you of your toys.” With a quick movement he took the box out of the hands of the old man who stared at him with a bewildered gaze, and then with a hurried farewell, he passed out of sight. Colonel Carew uttered a loud, shrill67 scream and fell forward on the grass. Dorothy ran forward and tried to turn him over, but she had not strength enough. Then Gervase knelt down to help her, but when he saw the white, frowning face, one glance was sufficient to show him how it was. The old adventurer, with all his sins fresh in his memory and his wicked life rekindled68, as it were, out of the ashes of the past, had gone to his account.
The dragoons, who had hastily mounted on discovering Macpherson, and had been riding down the road, reined69 in their horses, and dismounting, plunged70 into the coppice. The old man′s sudden and startling outcry had guided them to the fugitives′ place of concealment71. They set up a loud shout when they were discovered, and one fellow was about to pistol Gervase when another struck up his hand and restrained him.
“Time enough for that. We′ll put a question or two first,” said the sergeant72 who commanded the party. “Tie his hands behind his back, and bring him out into the road. The old man is dead as a nail,” he continued, touching73 the lifeless body with his foot, “and the wench is no doubt his daughter. By my soul! she′s a beauty: now look you, the first 114man-Jack of you who lays his finger on her, I′ll blow his brains out, so help me God! and you know I′m a man of my word. Don′t fear, madam; they′re rough but kindly.”
As they led Gervase out into the road, one hope was uppermost in his mind, and that was that they might fall in with some officer of sufficient authority to whose care he might confide74 Dorothy, and to whose sense of honour he should not appeal in vain. There were still many gallant gentlemen in the Irish army in whose eyes a woman′s reputation would be sacred.
The dragoons who guarded him followed the sergeant out into the open, and they halted under a great oak that threw its broad branches across the road. Dorothy had implored75 them to bring her grandfather′s body with them, and on their refusing had seated herself beside it. But without using any great violence, they had insisted on her following the rest of the party. She had shed no tears, but her face was very white, and her breath came quickly in little, convulsive sobs76. Gervase looked at her for a moment, and then turned away his head.
“Now,” said the sergeant, “we′ll see what stuff he′s made of. How say you, sir? On what side are you? Are you for King James?”
“I am for law and order,” answered Gervase. “This young lady and I were on a peaceful journey, wishing ill and intending hurt to no one, and I know not what right you have to hinder us.”
“That is no answer to my question, sir; but I′ll 115answer for you--you′re a Whig and in arms against the King, or would be. Where is your authority? And now another question and I have done with you: Where is the prickeared knave77 gone who pistolled poor Cornet White and sent another of ours to kingdom come? I′ll take my oath he was of your party.”
“I saw no pistolling,” said Gervase; “is it like in such force as you see us, we should fall upon a troop of dragoons? Why, man, it was because we were afraid to venture near you that we hid ourselves in the tangle78 yonder.”
“This jesting will not answer, Master Whig. I′ll give you one chance of saving your neck and only one--what way went he?”
“Look you here, sergeant,” said Gervase, seeing the desperate position in which he was placed, “I′m a gentleman, and it would profit you little to shoot or hang me. See this lady and myself safe through to Londonderry, and you will have twenty golden guineas for yourself and five for every man here in your company. I cannot say you fairer, and if not for my sake or the money′s, then for the sake of this helpless lady.”
“This lady will be well cared for, never fear, and for your guineas, I′m thinking by the time you got to Londonderry, they would be own brothers to the lads they are making in Dublin. Come, my man, you′ll have sixty seconds to answer my question, and then Hurrah79 for the kingdom of glory.” So saying he took a piece of rope from the hands of 116one of the men and began leisurely80 to measure it, a foot at a time, looking up occasionally from the operation to see how it affected81 the prisoner.
“My God! you would not hang me?”
“Ay, that I would, with a heart and a half and high as Haman, if the rope were long enough. The time is nearly up--How say you?”
“I say that I care not how you use me, if you see the lady safe. Hang me if you will.”
“The time is up and you have not answered an honest question. Now, lads, we′ll see if this heretic rogue82 can do anything but prate83. It seems to me he looks a strolling player and may be one for all I know.” So saying he deftly84 threw the rope round the thick branch that grew over the road, and placed his hand on the prisoner′s shoulder.
Up to this time Dorothy could not believe that he meant to carry out his savage85 threat, but she saw now that this was no mere jest but a matter of life and death. The business was evidently to the taste of the troopers, and two of them laid aside their firelocks and placed their hands upon the rope. Then she sprang forward and caught the sergeant by the arm. “You do not mean what you say,” she cried, “he has never wronged you, nor have I, and had it not been for me and the dead old man yonder, he had not been in your power now. For my sake, for God′s sake, you will not injure him.”
The man seemed touched for a minute, so wild was she, and so beautiful, in her despair, and then he shook her off roughly. “Women have nothing 117to do in these affairs. Two of you fellows take her away, and leave us to finish this business in peace. Now, make haste about the matter, and get this damnable job out of hand. We must look after the other fellow before night comes down.”
Dorothy turned white and faint, and seemed like to have fallen on the road as Gervase held out his hand to her and said, with a lump in his throat,
“Good-bye, Miss Carew, I regret quitting life less than leaving you in this company, but my last prayer on earth is for your safety. Could my life have brought you help, I should have given it up without regret.”
Then she broke down utterly86, and they led her away, with her face buried in her hands. Suddenly, at that moment there was heard the sound of a horse coming rapidly along the road, and the men who were busied placing the noose87 round Gervase′s neck, stopped short in their work. Dorothy heard the sound also, and looked up. An officer, apparently88 of distinguished89 rank, accompanied by a couple of dragoons, was advancing at a rapid trot90.
His military cloak, richly embroidered91, was thrown open, and showed a burnished92 cuirass underneath93. His broad-brimmed hat adorned94 with a single white feather, nearly concealed95 his face. As he approached, Dorothy struggled in the hands of the man who held her and freeing herself, ran swiftly down the road to meet him. As he came up he reined in his black charger.
“Thank God!” she cried, “you have come in 118time. You, at least, are a gentleman, and you will save him.”
“I hope, madam, I am a gentleman,” he said, with a high, courteous96 manner and in a voice that was at once strong and musical. “I shall examine into this matter, and if I can in duty and in honour render you this service, you may rely upon me.”
Then hurriedly, and almost incoherently, she told him her story, or as much as she thought necessary for her purpose; and when she had finished he called out to one of the mounted troopers to take his horse.
“Now, Miss Carew,” he said, dismounting, and raising his hat with a stately courtesy, “having heard your story, I am rejoiced that I have arrived in time. These lambs of mine are hasty in their work and, I fear, have not always warrant for what they do. Believe me, I am sorry for your case and will do what I can to aid you. And now let us see how the gentleman has borne himself, who has so fair an advocate to plead his cause.”
With these words, taking her hand he led her up to the group which stood under the tree awaiting his approach. Gervase had given himself up for lost, and had commended his soul to his Maker97, for the rope had already been adjusted round his neck, and willing hands were only waiting for the word of command from the sergeant to turn him off. But as the mounted officer rode up and the fellows suspended their work, he felt instinctively that he had been saved. The look of baffled hate on the sergeant′s face showed that. The officer came up 119leading Dorothy by the hand, and the dragoons saluted98 him silently. He gave Gervase one quick searching look, a look that flashed with keen intelligence and seemed to take in every detail in a moment, and then said sternly, “Unbind the prisoner, and take down that rope.” He stood quietly, speaking no word, but waited with his keen eyes fixed on Gervase, until the dragoons had unbound the prisoner′s hands and removed the hempen99 cord from his neck. The work being completed, the men fell back a few paces.
“Now, sirrah!” he said, turning to the sergeant, “what does this mean? By whose orders or instructions were you about to hang this gentleman? Is it thus that you do your duty? While the fellow who shot down your officer has been making his escape, you have been preparing to murder an unoffending traveller whom it was your duty to protect. Had I been five minutes later, I do not doubt that I should have strung you up beside him. Good God! it is fellows like you who make me blush for my countrymen. Now, look you, the man who has made his escape must be brought in before nightfall. Should you fail to capture him you will see how I deal with men who forget that they are soldiers and act like caterans.”
“This fellow, if it please your honour----” began the sergeant.
“Silence, sirrah! Take your men and search the wood. This man must not escape, and when you return, report yourself to me at the house by the 120ford. Take all the men with you; I shall return alone. Stay, there is one thing more.” Here glancing hastily at Dorothy, he walked a short distance away, and in a low tone gave orders with regard to the remains100 of Colonel Carew, which he directed to be brought down to the post and await his instructions there. The man saluted, and giving the necessary orders with a sullen101 and crestfallen102 air, left his superior standing alone with the prisoner.
“Give me no thanks, sir,” he said, interrupting Gervase. “For I have only done for you what an Irish gentleman is bound in honour to do. Our men will do these lawless deeds, but with the party to which you belong rests the blame, having made them what they are. Till now they have been slaves with all the vices103 of the slave; they cannot learn the moderation and restraint of freemen in a day. However,” he continued, with a smile that lighted up his dark face, “this is no speech to address to a man who has just escaped the gallows104. Miss Carew tells me you are now on your way to Londonderry seeking refuge and safety there. I do not propose to advise you, but within a fortnight the city will be in our hands, and meanwhile must undergo the dangers of a siege. We do not make war on women, and Miss Carew may rely on me to help her to a place of safety.”
“My friends are there,” said Dorothy; “I have not elsewhere to go.”
“We have indeed proposed,” said Gervase, “to take refuge in Londonderry, and since Miss Carew 121has lost--is alone, I know not where else she can betake herself. For myself I am indebted to you, sir, for my life, and you may dispose of me as you will; but for the lady, I would beg you to allow her to pass safely through your lines and join her friends in the city.”
“That might easily be done, but surely Dublin were safer?”
“As I have said,” answered Dorothy, “my friends are all in Londonderry, and I should prefer to share their danger.”
“Well! we shall see how it may be, but in the meantime, I shall ask you to share my hospitality, such as it is, to-night, and to-morrow we will devise some plan for your security. Miss Carew may safely place herself in the hands of Patrick Sarsfield,” and he raised his hat with the bel air that sat so easily upon him.
Gervase looked with curiosity on the great Irish leader, than whom no more notable figure and chivalrous105 gentleman fought in the Irish ranks, and lent lustre106 and honour to a somewhat tarnished107 cause. He was little, indeed, above the middle height, but his bold and gallant bearing gave him the appearance of being of more than the ordinary stature108. His brow was frank and open, and his eyes had the clear and resolute109 gaze of a man accustomed to bold and perilous action--ardent, impetuous, and courageous110. His speech came rapidly, and his utterance111 was of the clearest and most decisive. Accustomed to camps he had yet the air of a well-bred 122man of the world, and when he smiled his face lost the fixed and somewhat melancholy112 air it wore when in repose113.
“And you are Colonel Sarsfield?” Dorothy inquired. “Then we are friends, for you were the friend of my aunt Lady Bellasis.”
“Truly she was my very good friend, and her son Will--your cousin, I presume--was my dear crony and companion-in-arms. We served together during Monmouth′s campaign, and I might almost say that he died in my arms at Taunton. You are then the Dorothy of whom I heard him speak. I think his death broke his mother′s heart. It is strange that we should meet here, but life is made up of strange things; we should wonder at nothing. Now, Mr. Orme, I shall give the lady my arm, and we will see whether even here in the desert they cannot furnish us with a bottle of wine, that we may drink to peace and a settlement of differences. Only I should like to say this: I ask no questions, and look upon you only as Miss Carew′s companion and protector; I expect that you will close your eyes to anything that you may see, and ever after be silent on the matter.”
“I hope,” answered Gervase, “I know better than to take advantage of your great kindness. I shall observe your instructions to the letter.”
“′Tis very well. Come, Miss Carew,” Sarsfield said, extending his hand, “this hath been a melancholy journey for you, and henceforth I wish you happier fortune. I have given orders regarding the 123interment of your kinsman114, and will spare you all the pain I can.”
Dorothy thanked him with a look, and was silent. Beside the river was a farm-house which was evidently used as a military station, for before the door a number of dragoons--perhaps a dozen--were gathered in small groups, and several horses were picketed115 in the enclosure which had formerly116 been used as a garden.
As they entered the house they were saluted by the strong odour of tobacco-smoke. A man was engaged in cooking at the open hearth117, and another was seated on a chair hard by, watching the operation as he smoked his pipe in silence, and beat a tattoo118 with his heels upon the earthen floor. The latter was a remarkable-looking man in every way. He was dressed in a plain red coat, with a tangled119 weather-beaten wig120 hanging down at full length. He wore a faded beaver121 with a narrow brim, and had a dirty yellow-coloured cravat122 tied carelessly round his neck. His legs were very long, his face was full of freckles123, and his nose was tilted124 up in what had been a good-humoured fashion but for the heavy and forbidding expression of his mouth. As they came in he did not rise but merely removed his pipe from his lips.
“How now?” he asked.
“My special mission hath already borne fruit, Colonel Luttrel,” said Sarsfield stiffly. “This lady is the kinswoman of a late very dear friend of mine, and your dragoons have used her with the scantest125 courtesy.”
124“The young lady hath reason to be thankful ′tis no worse, for they cannot stand the sight of a petticoat, and they could not be expected to know of the relationship. We′ll trust to the supper, which is nearly ready, to cure her wounded feelings.”
“This lady is my friend, sir,” said Sarsfield, with a frown.
“And Colonel Luttrel′s also, I hope,” said Dorothy, with a sweeping126 curtesy, which made the soldier open his eyes to their widest with wonder and admiration127, and drew a smile to Sarsfield′s lips. “I think, sir, you speak very sensibly and am glad to hear that supper is ready.”
The Colonel rose from his chair, laid down his pipe, and held out his hand. “You are of the kind that pleases me,” he said, “and I would, my dear, that I was thirty years younger for your sake. Fine airs never pleased me yet and, damme! you′re a beauty.” Again Dorothy curtesied with becoming gravity. “Now, sit you down,” he went on, “and let me hear of what the Colonel yonder complains, for he and I,” and here he lowered his voice, “strike it off but ill. If any man of mine but dared to lay his finger on you, I′ll give him a round dozen for your sake.”
“I′m sure you are very generous,” Dorothy said, demurely128 enough, and thereafter she and the old soldier began to talk together with great ease and friendliness129. Presently he was laughing loudly at her playful sallies, and before he was aware she drew the heart out of him till he was completely her servant.
125I have seen the lady′s portrait painted but a few years after the events here narrated130, and I say in all soberness that I do not wonder at her power. Of her mere beauty I can give no just description, but to my mind her chief charm lay in her eyes, the expression of which the painter--a Fleming, whose name has escaped my memory--had caught with marvellous fidelity131. Full of pride and stateliness, they were yet prone132 to light up with tenderness and playful humour, to which her lips gave just and fitting emphasis. Had I not already known something of her life I should yet have willingly taken her for a heroine. And yet the contemplation of that sweet face saddened me beyond expression. Hanging there among the portraits of forgotten statesmen, and old-world soldiers who fought at Ramillies and Oudenarde, the presentment of that young and smiling face, so full of tender light and gracious sweetness, looked out of the past with pathetic warning that all things have the same fate and must go the same inevitable133 way.
In this little comedy it must not be supposed she was altogether acting134 a part, or that in anything she said or did she was inspired by any other feeling than friendliness, and it may be the frolicsome135 humour, that was in her a characteristic trait. From time to time she looked up archly at Colonel Sarsfield who stood smiling by the window, and then resumed her conversation with increased sprightliness136.
“I never understand women, my dear,” Luttrel said.
126“And you never will, sir, for we do not understand ourselves. I think you have never been married?”
“The Lord be praised for all His mercies, that blessing137 is still a long way before me. I mean, my dear young lady, no offence to you, but my brother Phil married and saved the rest of the family.”
“With Colonel Luttrel′s permission we will draw a veil over his family history.”
“′Tis mighty138 well,” said the other; “commissary-general to a ragged139 army of fifteen, and his wife still a rare recruiting sergeant.”
So saying he took his place stiffly behind his chair, waiting till Dorothy was seated at the supper table. “And I hope,” he growled140, looking askance at Gervase, “that this person is of fit condition to sit at the table with people of quality.”
“Of that matter, sir,” said Sarsfield, “I am perhaps the best judge. Mr. Orme, will you do me the favour to take this chair beside me? I remember when I was of your age I did not require much invitation after a long day. You will tell Miss Carew that soldiers′ fare is ever of the plainest. And as far as prudence141 and honour will permit, I should like to hear something of your journeying, which seems to have been of the strangest, or so this fair advocate would have me believe.”
Gervase long remembered this strange evening spent in this curious company. He was wholly unable to resist the fascination142 of the great soldier′s manner, and long after that fiery143 soul had passed away in the onset144 at Landen, would dwell upon his 127memory with admiration and regret. He treated Gervase with perfect friendliness, delicately avoiding all matters that might cause offence. He related many incident in his own career with perfect frankness and vivacity145, and spoke146 with great shrewdness and insight of many famous men that he had met. Of Marlborough, whom he had known in Monmouth′s campaign, he spoke with great enthusiasm in his character as a soldier, though he affected to despise him as a man; and Gervase remembered the conversation in after years, when the hero of Blenheim returned amid the plaudits of the nation and crowned with the laurels147 of victory.
Luttrel listened with a hard and solemn visage; it was abundantly clear that he was determined148 that he should not go to bed sober, and was already far advanced in his cups before Dorothy left the table. But he was entirely silent under Sarsfield′s eye, and merely plied149 the bottle with great assiduity. Presently Dorothy quitted the room. Sarsfield standing with his hands on the back of his chair, wished her a stately “good-night.” When she had retired he turned to Gervase.
“I shall not see you again this evening, Mr. Orme,” he said, “and I have not asked you for your parole. Nor is such my intention. On your word I know that I could rely, but I know that I have better security for your safe custody150 there,” and he pointed151 towards Dorothy′s room. “Good-night, gentlemen, and I trust that you will not quarrel,” with which words he went out.
Luttrel put his arms on the table and looked at 128Gervase with a drunken sneer152. “The Colonel thinks that he is a mighty pretty fellow, and that no man knows the points of a woman but himself. And he flirts153 with the bottle like a quaker, which I have never taken to be the first sign of manhood. Indeed, you are a damnable drinker yourself. Come, sir, fill up your glass cheerfully, or I shall be compelled to think you have an objection to your company.”
“I have no fault to find with my entertainment,” Gervase answered good humouredly, unwilling154 to create any dissension, and making a show of replenishing his glass.
“Why, there, that′s right! But I may tell you frankly155, Mr. What′s-your-name, that had this thing been left to me, you should not now have been sitting drinking of this excellent usquebaugh in the company of your betters. I speak in the way of friendship, for I ever like to be honest, and, mark you, I mean no offence in the world, but if I had my will, I should even string you up with a hempen cravat round your neck to show you what I think of your principles.”
“Meaning thereby156 that you would hang me?” Gervase said with a smile.
“Ay, that I would, with the best intentions in the world, but since I cannot carry out my purpose, I will even drink with you or fight with you, as you will.”
“I should stand no chance with you either way, I am afraid; but I am very tired and with your permission”--and here Gervase offered to rise.
129The other clapped his hand upon his sword, and rose to his feet with a drunken stagger. “Nay, that you shall not. I am a hospitable157 man, and none shall say that I did not give you an opportunity of going to bed like a gentleman.”
Finding himself thus placed between two fires, Gervase unwillingly158 resumed his seat, and watched his truculent159 host growing more and more intoxicated160, while he entered into a rambling161 disquisition on his own fortunes and the wrongs of his unhappy country. He did not doubt but that the time of deliverance had come. The Irish gentlemen were about to strike a great blow for freedom and for James Stuart, though they cared not a whit for the quarrel, but he served their purpose as well as another. For the pestilent heretics in Londonderry, they would be taught a wholesome162 lesson: they would be made a warning to all traitors163. His father was a man in Cromwell′s day. Then his talk grew more and more incoherent, and finally, with his head fallen upon his arms, and the contents of the overturned measure streaming over the table, he fell fast asleep. Gervase then rose and sought his own bed, glad that, after all, the night had passed so amicably164.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
hardy
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
colonists
|
|
| n.殖民地开拓者，移民，殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
fortress
|
|
| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
civilize
|
|
| vt.使文明，使开化 (=civilise) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
vault
|
|
| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
demesne
|
|
| n.领域，私有土地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
tolerance
|
|
| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
rumours
|
|
| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
prospered
|
|
| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
moody
|
|
| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
orphan
|
|
| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
legacy
|
|
| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
frail
|
|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
heed
|
|
| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
awaken
|
|
| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
massacre
|
|
| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
imploring
|
|
| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
northward
|
|
| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
bridle
|
|
| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
disarmed
|
|
| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
warfare
|
|
| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
Vogue
|
|
| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
contemptible
|
|
| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
ballad
|
|
| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
whit
|
|
| n.一点，丝毫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
Ford
|
|
| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
grove
|
|
| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
gentry
|
|
| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
perilous
|
|
| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
undertaking
|
|
| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
abide
|
|
| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
clump
|
|
| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
densely
|
|
| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
scrupulous
|
|
| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
ashore
|
|
| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
wrung
|
|
| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
instinctively
|
|
| adv.本能地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
thicket
|
|
| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
scamper
|
|
| v.奔跑，快跑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
surmise
|
|
| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
bridles
|
|
| 约束( bridle的名词复数 )； 限动器； 马笼头； 系带 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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
naught
|
|
| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
rugged
|
|
| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
license
|
|
| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
shrill
|
|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
rekindled
|
|
| v.使再燃( rekindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
reined
|
|
| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
concealment
|
|
| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
sergeant
|
|
| n.警官，中士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
confide
|
|
| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
implored
|
|
| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
sobs
|
|
| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
knave
|
|
| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
tangle
|
|
| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
hurrah
|
|
| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
leisurely
|
|
| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
rogue
|
|
| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
prate
|
|
| v.瞎扯，胡说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
deftly
|
|
| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
noose
|
|
| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
trot
|
|
| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
embroidered
|
|
| adj．绣花的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
burnished
|
|
| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
underneath
|
|
| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
adorned
|
|
| [计]被修饰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
maker
|
|
| n.制造者，制造商 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
saluted
|
|
| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
hempen
|
|
| adj. 大麻制的, 大麻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
crestfallen
|
|
| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
vices
|
|
| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
gallows
|
|
| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
chivalrous
|
|
| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
lustre
|
|
| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
tarnished
|
|
| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
stature
|
|
| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
resolute
|
|
| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
courageous
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
kinsman
|
|
| n.男亲属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
picketed
|
|
| 用尖桩围住（picket的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
hearth
|
|
| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
tattoo
|
|
| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
tangled
|
|
| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
wig
|
|
| n.假发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
beaver
|
|
| n.海狸，河狸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
cravat
|
|
| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
freckles
|
|
| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
tilted
|
|
| v. 倾斜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
scantest
|
|
| scant（不足的）的最高级形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
126
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
demurely
|
|
| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
friendliness
|
|
| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
narrated
|
|
| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
fidelity
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
prone
|
|
| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
frolicsome
|
|
| adj.嬉戏的，闹着玩的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
sprightliness
|
|
| n.愉快，快活 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
growled
|
|
| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
prudence
|
|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
fascination
|
|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
onset
|
|
| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
vivacity
|
|
| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
laurels
|
|
| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
plied
|
|
| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
custody
|
|
| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
flirts
|
|
| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
unwilling
|
|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
thereby
|
|
| adv.因此，从而 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
hospitable
|
|
| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
unwillingly
|
|
| adv.不情愿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
truculent
|
|
| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
intoxicated
|
|
| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
rambling
|
|
| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
wholesome
|
|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
traitors
|
|
| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
amicably
|
|
| adv.友善地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |