It was a bright July morning four months after that fatal fight in the Spanish barranca. A blue heaven stretched above, a green rolling plain undulated below, intersected with hedge-rows and flecked with grazing sheep. The sun was yet low in the heaven, and the red cows stood in the long shadow of the elms, chewing the cud and gazing with great vacant eyes at two horsemen who were spurring it down the long white road which dipped and curved away back to where the towers and pinnacles1 beneath the flat-topped hill marked the old town of Winchester.
Of the riders one was young, graceful2, and fair, clad in plain doublet and hosen of blue Brussels cloth, which served to show his active and well-knit figure. A flat velvet3 cap was drawn4 forward to keep the glare from his eyes, and he rode with lips compressed and anxious face, as one who has much care upon his mind. Young as he was, and peaceful as was his dress, the dainty golden spurs which twinkled upon his heels proclaimed his knighthood, while a long seam upon his brow and a scar upon his temple gave a manly6 grace to his refined and delicate countenance7. His comrade was a large, red-headed man upon a great black horse, with a huge canvas bag slung8 from his saddle-bow, which jingled9 and clinked with every movement of his steed. His broad, brown face was lighted up by a continual smile, and he looked slowly from side to side with eyes which twinkled and shone with delight. Well might John rejoice, for was he not back in his native Hampshire, had he not Don Diego's five thousand crowns rasping against his knee, and above all was he not himself squire10 now to Sir Alleyne Edricson, the young Socman of Minstead lately knighted by the sword of the Black Prince himself, and esteemed11 by the whole army as one of the most rising of the soldiers of England.
For the last stand of the Company had been told throughout Christendom wherever a brave deed of arms was loved, and honors had flowed in upon the few who had survived it. For two months Alleyne had wavered betwixt death and life, with a broken rib12 and a shattered head; yet youth and strength and a cleanly life were all upon his side, and he awoke from his long delirium13 to find that the war was over, that the Spaniards and their allies had been crushed at Navaretta, and that the prince had himself heard the tale of his ride for succor14 and had come in person to his bedside to touch his shoulder with his sword and to insure that so brave and true a man should die, if he could not live, within the order of chivalry15. The instant that he could set foot to ground Alleyne had started in search of his lord, but no word could he hear of him, dead or alive, and he had come home now sad-hearted, in the hope of raising money upon his estates and so starting upon his quest once more. Landing at London, he had hurried on with a mind full of care, for he had heard no word from Hampshire since the short note which had announced his brother's death.
“By the rood!” cried John, looking around him exultantly16, “where have we seen since we left such noble cows, such fleecy sheep, grass so green, or a man so drunk as yonder rogue17 who lies in the gap of the hedge?”
“Ah, John,” Alleyne answered wearily, “it is well for you, but I never thought that my home-coming would be so sad a one. My heart is heavy for my dear lord and for Aylward, and I know not how I may break the news to the Lady Mary and to the Lady Maude, if they have not yet had tidings of it.”
John gave a groan18 which made the horses shy. “It is indeed a black business,” said he. “But be not sad, for I shall give half these crowns to my old mother, and half will I add to the money which you may have, and so we shall buy that yellow cog wherein we sailed to Bordeaux, and in it we shall go forth19 and seek Sir Nigel.”
Alleyne smiled, but shook his head. “Were he alive we should have had word of him ere now,” said he. “But what is this town before us?”
“Why, it is Romsey!” cried John. “See the tower of the old gray church, and the long stretch of the nunnery. But here sits a very holy man, and I shall give him a crown for his prayers.”
Three large stones formed a rough cot by the roadside, and beside it, basking20 in the sun, sat the hermit21, with clay-colored face, dull eyes, and long withered22 hands. With crossed ankles and sunken head, he sat as though all his life had passed out of him, with the beads23 slipping slowly through his thin, yellow fingers. Behind him lay the narrow cell, clay-floored and damp, comfortless, profitless and sordid24. Beyond it there lay amid the trees the wattle-and-daub hut of a laborer26, the door open, and the single room exposed to the view. The man ruddy and yellow-haired, stood leaning upon the spade wherewith he had been at work upon the garden patch. From behind him came the ripple27 of a happy woman's laughter, and two young urchins28 darted29 forth from the hut, bare-legged and towsy, while the mother, stepping out, laid her hand upon her husband's arm and watched the gambols30 of the children. The hermit frowned at the untoward31 noise which broke upon his prayers, but his brow relaxed as he looked upon the broad silver piece which John held out to him.
“There lies the image of our past and of our future,” cried Alleyne, as they rode on upon their way. “Now, which is better, to till God's earth, to have happy faces round one's knee, and to love and be loved, or to sit forever moaning over one's own soul, like a mother over a sick babe?”
“I know not about that,” said John, “for it casts a great cloud over me when I think of such matters. But I know that my crown was well spent, for the man had the look of a very holy person. As to the other, there was nought32 holy about him that I could see, and it would be cheaper for me to pray for myself than to give a crown to one who spent his days in digging for lettuces33.”
Ere Alleyne could answer there swung round the curve of the road a lady's carriage drawn by three horses abreast34 with a postilion upon the outer one. Very fine and rich it was, with beams painted and gilt35, wheels and spokes36 carved in strange figures, and over all an arched cover of red and white tapestry37. Beneath its shade there sat a stout38 and elderly lady in a pink cote-hardie, leaning back among a pile of cushions, and plucking out her eyebrows39 with a small pair of silver tweezers40. None could seem more safe and secure and at her ease than this lady, yet here also was a symbol of human life, for in an instant, even as Alleyne reined41 aside to let the carriage pass, a wheel flew out from among its fellows, and over it all toppled—carving, tapestry and gilt—in one wild heap, with the horses plunging42, the postilion shouting, and the lady screaming from within. In an instant Alleyne and John were on foot, and had lifted her forth all in a shake with fear, but little the worse for her mischance.
“Now woe43 worth me!” she cried, “and ill fall on Michael Easover of Romsey! for I told him that the pin was loose, and yet he must needs gainsay44 me, like the foolish daffe that he is.”
“I trust that you have taken no hurt, my fair lady,” said Alleyne, conducting her to the bank, upon which John had already placed a cushion.
“Nay, I have had no scath, though I have lost my silver tweezers. Now, lack-a-day! did God ever put breath into such a fool as Michael Easover of Romsey? But I am much beholden to you, gentle sirs. Soldiers ye are, as one may readily see. I am myself a soldier's daughter,” she added, casting a somewhat languishing45 glance at John, “and my heart ever goes out to a brave man.”
“We are indeed fresh from Spain,” quoth Alleyne.
“From Spain, say you? Ah! it was an ill and sorry thing that so many should throw away the lives that Heaven gave them. In sooth, it is bad for those who fall, but worse for those who bide46 behind. I have but now bid farewell to one who hath lost all in this cruel war.”
“And how that, lady?”
“She is a young damsel of these parts, and she goes now into a nunnery. Alack! it is not a year since she was the fairest maid from Avon to Itchen, and now it was more than I could abide47 to wait at Romsey Nunnery to see her put the white veil upon her face, for she was made for a wife and not for the cloister48. Did you ever, gentle sir, hear of a body of men called 'The White Company' over yonder?”
“Surely so,” cried both the comrades.
“Her father was the leader of it, and her lover served under him as squire. News hath come that not one of the Company was left alive, and so, poor lamb, she hath——”
“Lady!” cried Alleyne, with catching49 breath, “is it the Lady Maude Loring of whom you speak?”
“It is, in sooth.”
“Maude! And in a nunnery! Did, then, the thought of her father's death so move her?”
“Her father!” cried the lady, smiling. “Nay; Maude is a good daughter, but I think it was this young golden-haired squire of whom I have heard who has made her turn her back upon the world.”
“And I stand talking here!” cried Alleyne wildly. “Come, John, come!”
Rushing to his horse, he swung himself into the saddle, and was off down the road in a rolling cloud of dust as fast as his good steed could bear him.
Great had been the rejoicing amid the Romsey nuns50 when the Lady Maude Loring had craved51 admission into their order—for was she not sole child and heiress of the old knight5, with farms and fiefs which she could bring to the great nunnery? Long and earnest had been the talks of the gaunt lady abbess, in which she had conjured52 the young novice53 to turn forever from the world, and to rest her bruised54 heart under the broad and peaceful shelter of the church. And now, when all was settled, and when abbess and lady superior had had their will, it was but fitting that some pomp and show should mark the glad occasion. Hence was it that the good burghers of Romsey were all in the streets, that gay flags and flowers brightened the path from the nunnery to the church, and that a long procession wound up to the old arched door leading up the bride to these spiritual nuptials55. There was lay-sister Agatha with the high gold crucifix, and the three incense-bearers, and the two-and-twenty garbed56 in white, who cast flowers upon either side of them and sang sweetly the while. Then, with four attendants, came the novice, her drooping57 head wreathed with white blossoms, and, behind, the abbess and her council of older nuns, who were already counting in their minds whether their own bailiff could manage the farms of Twynham, or whether a reeve would be needed beneath him, to draw the utmost from these new possessions which this young novice was about to bring them.
But alas58! for plots and plans when love and youth and nature, and above all, fortune are arrayed against them. Who is this travel-stained youth who dares to ride so madly through the lines of staring burghers? Why does he fling himself from his horse and stare so strangely about him? See how he has rushed through the incense-bearers, thrust aside lay-sister Agatha, scattered59 the two-and-twenty damosels who sang so sweetly—and he stands before the novice with his hands out-stretched, and his face shining, and the light of love in his gray eyes. Her foot is on the very lintel of the church, and yet he bars the way—and she, she thinks no more of the wise words and holy rede of the lady abbess, but she hath given a sobbing60 cry and hath fallen forward with his arms around her drooping body and her wet cheek upon his breast. A sorry sight this for the gaunt abbess, an ill lesson too for the stainless61 two-and-twenty who have ever been taught that the way of nature is the way of sin. But Maude and Alleyne care little for this. A dank, cold air comes out from the black arch before them. Without, the sun shines bright and the birds are singing amid the ivy62 on the drooping beeches63. Their choice is made, and they turn away hand-in-hand, with their backs to the darkness and their faces to the light.
Very quiet was the wedding in the old priory church at Christchurch, where Father Christopher read the service, and there were few to see save the Lady Loring and John, and a dozen bowmen from the castle. The Lady of Twynham had drooped64 and pined for weary months, so that her face was harsher and less comely65 than before, yet she still hoped on, for her lord had come through so many dangers that she could scarce believe that he might be stricken down at last. It had been her wish to start for Spain and to search for him, but Alleyne had persuaded her to let him go in her place. There was much to look after, now that the lands of Minstead were joined to those of Twynham, and Alleyne had promised her that if she would but bide with his wife he would never come back to Hampshire again until he had gained some news, good or ill, of her lord and lover.
The yellow cog had been engaged, with Goodwin Hawtayne in command, and a month after the wedding Alleyne rode down to Bucklershard to see if she had come round yet from Southampton. On the way he passed the fishing village of Pitt's Deep, and marked that a little creyer or brig was tacking66 off the land, as though about to anchor there. On his way back, as he rode towards the village, he saw that she had indeed anchored, and that many boats were round her, bearing cargo67 to the shore.
A bow-shot from Pitt's Deep there was an inn a little back from the road, very large and wide-spread, with a great green bush hung upon a pole from one of the upper windows. At this window he marked, as he rode up, that a man was seated who appeared to be craning his neck in his direction. Alleyne was still looking up at him, when a woman came rushing from the open door of the inn, and made as though she would climb a tree, looking back the while with a laughing face. Wondering what these doings might mean, Alleyne tied his horse to a tree, and was walking amid the trunks towards the inn, when there shot from the entrance a second woman who made also for the trees. Close at her heels came a burly, brown-faced man, who leaned against the door-post and laughed loudly with his hand to his side, “Ah, mes belles68!” he cried, “and is it thus you treat me? Ah, mes petites! I swear by these finger-bones that I would not hurt a hair of your pretty heads; but I have been among the black paynim, and, by my hilt! it does me good to look at your English cheeks. Come, drink a stoup of muscadine with me, mes anges, for my heart is warm to be among ye again.”
At the sight of the man Alleyne had stood staring, but at the sound of his voice such a thrill of joy bubbled up in his heart that he had to bite his lip to keep himself from shouting outright69. But a deeper pleasure yet was in store. Even as he looked, the window above was pushed outwards70, and the voice of the man whom he had seen there came out from it. “Aylward,” cried the voice, “I have seen just now a very worthy71 person come down the road, though my eyes could scarce discern whether he carried coat-armor. I pray you to wait upon him and tell him that a very humble72 knight of England abides73 here, so that if he be in need of advancement74, or have any small vow75 upon his soul, or desire to exalt76 his lady, I may help him to accomplish it.”
Aylward at this order came shuffling77 forward amid the trees, and in an instant the two men were clinging in each other's arms, laughing and shouting and patting each other in their delight; while old Sir Nigel came running with his sword, under the impression that some small bickering78 had broken out, only to embrace and be embraced himself, until all three were hoarse79 with their questions and outcries and congratulations.
On their journey home through the woods Alleyne learnt their wondrous81 story: how, when Sir Nigel came to his senses, he with his fellow-captive had been hurried to the coast, and conveyed by sea to their captor's castle; how upon the way they had been taken by a Barbary rover, and how they exchanged their light captivity82 for a seat on a galley83 bench and hard labor25 at the pirate's oars80; how, in the port at Barbary, Sir Nigel had slain84 the Moorish85 captain, and had swum with Aylward to a small coaster which they had taken, and so made their way to England with a rich cargo to reward them for their toils86. All this Alleyne listened to, until the dark keep of Twynham towered above them in the gloaming, and they saw the red sun lying athwart the rippling87 Avon. No need to speak of the glad hearts at Twynham Castle that night, nor of the rich offerings from out that Moorish cargo which found their way to the chapel88 of Father Christopher.
Sir Nigel Loring lived for many years, full of honor and laden89 with every blessing90. He rode no more to the wars, but he found his way to every jousting91 within thirty miles; and the Hampshire youth treasured it as the highest honor when a word of praise fell from him as to their management of their horses, or their breaking of their lances. So he lived and so he died, the most revered92 and the happiest man in all his native shire.
For Sir Alleyne Edricson and for his beautiful bride the future had also naught93 but what was good. Twice he fought in France, and came back each time laden with honors. A high place at court was given to him, and he spent many years at Windsor under the second Richard and the fourth Henry—where he received the honor of the Garter, and won the name of being a brave soldier, a true-hearted gentleman, and a great lover and patron of every art and science which refines or ennobles life.
As to John, he took unto himself a village maid, and settled in Lyndhurst, where his five thousand crowns made him the richest franklin for many miles around. For many years he drank his ale every night at the “Pied Merlin,” which was now kept by his friend Aylward, who had wedded94 the good widow to whom he had committed his plunder95. The strong men and the bowmen of the country round used to drop in there of an evening to wrestle96 a fall with John or to shoot a round with Aylward; but, though a silver shilling was to be the prize of the victory, it has never been reported that any man earned much money in that fashion. So they lived, these men, in their own lusty, cheery fashion—rude and rough, but honest, kindly97 and true. Let us thank God if we have outgrown98 their vices99. Let us pray to God that we may ever hold their virtues100. The sky may darken, and the clouds may gather, and again the day may come when Britain may have sore need of her children, on whatever shore of the sea they be found. Shall they not muster101 at her call?
The End
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
pinnacles
|
|
| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
slung
|
|
| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
jingled
|
|
| 喝醉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
esteemed
|
|
| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
rib
|
|
| n.肋骨，肋状物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
delirium
|
|
| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
succor
|
|
| n.援助，帮助；v.给予帮助 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
chivalry
|
|
| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
exultantly
|
|
| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
rogue
|
|
| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
groan
|
|
| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
basking
|
|
| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
hermit
|
|
| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
withered
|
|
| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
beads
|
|
| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
labor
|
|
| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
laborer
|
|
| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
ripple
|
|
| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
urchins
|
|
| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
darted
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
gambols
|
|
| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
31
untoward
|
|
| adj.不利的，不幸的，困难重重的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
nought
|
|
| n.／adj.无，零 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
lettuces
|
|
| n.莴苣，生菜（ lettuce的名词复数 ）；生菜叶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
abreast
|
|
| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
gilt
|
|
| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
spokes
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条( spoke的名词复数 )；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
tapestry
|
|
| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
tweezers
|
|
| n.镊子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
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： |
|
|
|
|
42
plunging
|
|
| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
woe
|
|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
gainsay
|
|
| v.否认，反驳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
languishing
|
|
| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
bide
|
|
| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
abide
|
|
| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
cloister
|
|
| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
nuns
|
|
| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
craved
|
|
| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
conjured
|
|
| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
novice
|
|
| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
bruised
|
|
| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
nuptials
|
|
| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
garbed
|
|
| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
drooping
|
|
| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
sobbing
|
|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
stainless
|
|
| adj.无瑕疵的，不锈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
ivy
|
|
| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
beeches
|
|
| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
drooped
|
|
| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
comely
|
|
| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
tacking
|
|
| （帆船）抢风行驶，定位焊[铆]紧钉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
cargo
|
|
| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
belles
|
|
| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
outright
|
|
| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
outwards
|
|
| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
abides
|
|
| 容忍( abide的第三人称单数 )； 等候； 逗留； 停留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
advancement
|
|
| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
vow
|
|
| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
exalt
|
|
| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
shuffling
|
|
| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
bickering
|
|
| v.争吵( bicker的现在分词 )；口角；（水等）作潺潺声；闪烁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
hoarse
|
|
| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
oars
|
|
| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
wondrous
|
|
| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
captivity
|
|
| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
galley
|
|
| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
slain
|
|
| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
moorish
|
|
| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
toils
|
|
| 网 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
rippling
|
|
| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
chapel
|
|
| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
laden
|
|
| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
jousting
|
|
| （骑士）骑马用长矛比武( joust的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
revered
|
|
| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
naught
|
|
| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
wedded
|
|
| 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 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
plunder
|
|
| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
wrestle
|
|
| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
outgrown
|
|
| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
vices
|
|
| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
muster
|
|
| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |