Clifford.—Tut, man, I’d sit in a snow-wreath, or on a glacier5, to listen to you. But, hark ye! what was that you muttered, before you began your story, about leaving us?
Dominie.—Really I cannot speak it without vurra great pain, Mr. Clifford; but my path disparts from your road a little way on here. I have to wend my way through the whole extent of these wild forests, which you see below us there, stretching across the intermediate country between us and the misty6 Cairngorums yonder. I am journeying to visit a brother of mine, who, as the elegant author of Douglas hath it,
“Feeds his flocks,
on the slopes of the mountains beyond.
Clifford.—Nay8, nay, we cannot part with you so. Had it been a lady, indeed, that you were going to visit, I should not have said a word. But for a brother merely.
Dominie (with the tear swelling10 in his eye).—Pardon me, Mr. Clifford, pardon me; but I have an affection for my brother which few can estimate. We were twin bairns. Ewan and I alone remain of all our family. I make a yearly journey to visit him.
Clifford.—I venerate11 you for your feelings, and I [347]sympathise with them from the bottom of my heart. But if I may make a guess at the geography of the country before us, I should conceive that if we could persuade you to go with us to Tomantoul to-day, your walk from thence to your brother’s to-morrow would be but short.
Dominie (hesitating).—Hu—um!—that may be, sir. I am sure I am vurra happy in your company; but, may I ask gentlemen, what your plans are?
Clifford.—We tie ourselves to no plans. For aught we know we may be in Switzerland or Sweden before this day month. But, at present, we propose to proceed up the Glen of the Aven to-morrow, on our way to Loch Aven.
Dominie.—It is a wild place, and the way is not easy to find.
Author.—Wild enough, indeed. I once wandered all round it; but I never approached it by its own glen.
Dominie.—I would have fain gone with you as your guide, for well do I know every mountain, moss12, rock, and well by the way. But I cannot mistrust my brother, who is expeckin’ me about this time. Albeit13, as I cannot go all the way myself with you, I would fain, before I quit you, put you into the hands of one who is well acquainted with all the mountain tracks and passes, that there may be no risk of your losing yourselves amidst those savage14 Alpine15 solitudes16.
Clifford.—Ah! that would be kind of you indeed.
Grant.—Had you not better consent to spend this night with us at Tomantoul, then, Mr. Macpherson.
Dominie.—I was just thinking in my own mind that I behooved17 so to do. I can then see you as far up Strathdaun to-morrow as Gaulrig, where old Willox the Wizard lives, and there——
Clifford.—What! a wizard, said you? You don’t mean to put us under the guidance of Satan, I hope. That would indeed be sending us to the——
Dominie.—No, no, Mr. Clifford; but there is a friend of mine, who lives near to old Willox, one Archy Stewart, a retired18 sergeant19, who will be just the man for your purpose, if we can find him at home. He knows every inch of the mountains, and, moreover, he is as full of old stories as an egg is full of meat.
Clifford.—The very man for us. But what can you tell us of old Willox the Wizard? I hope we shall see him. [348]
Author.—I have often heard of him. His name is MacGregor, is it not? I should like much to see him.
Dominie.—You will be sure to see him if you call at Gaulrig, for, as he is now above ninety, he is too old to leave home. He is worth the seeing too; for although, as I need not tell you, gentlemen, he never possessed20 any supernatural power, yet his cleverness must have been great to have enabled him to make the whole country, far and near, believe, even in these more enlightened days, that he can divine secrets and work wonders by means of his two charmed instruments—the mermaid’s stone and the enchanted21 bridal of the water-kelpie.
Clifford.—How the deuce did he get hold of such articles? and what sort of things are they?
Dominie.—You will easily persuade him to show them to you; and it will be better for me to leave him to tell his own story about them. But, as I have now made up my mind to go on with you to Tomantoul, gentlemen, I can tell you a short anecdote22 or two of him as we journey on our way, which will show you that all his fame as a warlock really rested on his own natural acuteness.
Clifford.—I could have guessed as much, methinks, without being any great conjuror23 myself. But let us have your anecdotes24, if you please.
Dominie.—I had much information about Willox from the Rev25. John Grant, late Minister of Duthel, who was acquainted with him for many years. For, notwithstanding the warlock’s reputation for the possession of uncanny qualities, he was uniformly consorted26 with and treated as a gentleman by all the gentry27 of this Highland28 country. My old and worthy29, and kind and benevolent30 friend, Mr. Grant, was a man of too much wisdom as well as learning to believe in the supernatural powers of Willox, or any such pretender. Mr. Grant, indeed, was a man of vurra enlarged mind and sound judgment31, a deep divine, a classical scholar, such as is seldom to be met with in our poor country of Scotland, an admirable critic, and an elegant poet; and although what I may be stating regarding him has little to do with what I am going to tell you about Willox, yet, as you may have a chance to hear more of Mr. Grant from my friend Sergeant Archy Stewart when you come to make his acquaintance, I may be allowed to complete my sketch32 of this remarkable33 man by saying that, [349]whilst he was pious34 and regular in his duties, as became a clergyman, he was, nevertheless, cheerful and convivial35, and extremely fond of a bit of humour; and, moreover, as he was often called upon to give his opinion pretty strongly in argument, he was equally ready to back it up at any time by his courage and bodily vigour36 against the brute37 force or the insults of his opponents, in days, now happily gone by, when even the sacred character of a minister of the gospel did not always proteck his person from injury. To enable him to defend himself the more effectually in such chance encounters, nature had given to him a stout38 and athletic39 frame and a nervous arm, in addition to which he did himself furnish the hand of that arm with a great hazel stick, which he facetiously40 called his Ruling Elder, and so armed, no man nor set of men in the whole country side could make him show his back. He was a capital preacher; but many doubted whether his sermons or his cudgel wrought41 the most reformation in his neighbourhood.
It was observed that Mr. Grant was always peculiarly unfortunate in losing his cattle. Not a year passed that some of them did not die of a strange and unaccountable disease which quite baffled the skill of all the farriers and cow-leeches in the district. But on one occasion the mortality was so great as seriously to threaten the utter extermination42 of his stock. As this calamity43 seemed to affect none of his neighbours, and to fall upon him alone, it was not unnatural44 for his superstitious45 servants to say that his cattle were bewitched. In their opinion nobody but Willox could cure such an evil.
“If you don’t send for Willox, sir, you’ll lose every nout beast in your aught,” said the minister’s hind46.
“Saunders,” replied the minister, “although I have no faith in any such wicked and abominable47 superstitions48 as would gift Mr. MacGregor with superhuman powers, I am willing enough to give him credit for more than ordinary shrewdness and sagacity as a mere9 man. You may, therefore, send for him with my compliments, as I believe that he is more likely than any one to discover the natural cause of these my losses.”
Willox came accordingly; and after the usual salutations he took the parson aside.
“Between you and me, Mr. Grant,” said he, “there is [350]no use in my making any pretence49 of witchcraft50. But you know we may find out the cause of the death of your cattle for all that. Your losses, I think, always happen at or about this particular season of the year?”
“They do,” replied the parson.
“Come, then, let you and me take a quiet walk together over your farm.”
Mr. Grant and Willox patiently perambulated the farm, and especially the cattle-pastures for some hours together, Willox all the while throwing his sharp eyes around him in every direction, until they came to a hollow place where the warlock suddenly stopped.
“Here is the cause of the evil,” said Willox, at once pointing to a certain plant which grew there, and nowhere else in the neighbourhood. “If you will only take care that your man Saunders never allows your cattle to get into this hollow until the flower of that plant is withered51 and gone, you will find that you will never again lose a single beast in the same way.”
I need not tell you, gentlemen, that Mr. Grant took care that the warlock’s advice was strictly52 followed; and the result was perfectly53 satisfactory.
Clifford.—A most invaluable54 wizard! I wonder whether one might hold a consultation55 with him on the mysteries of fly-fishing.
Grant.—I have no doubt he could advise you well.
Clifford.—Nay, it was not for myself that I was asking. I manage to do well enough by means of mine own conjuring56 rod; but to you and my friend there some little aid of magic might be useful, seeing you can make so little of it by your own simple skill. But come, Mr. Macpherson, what more of old Willox?
Dominie.—A great alarm was created at Castle Grant, in consequence of a strange madness that frequently seized upon the cattle at pasture in the grounds. At such times they were observed furiously running in all directions, with the tips of their noses and tails in the air, and bursting over all the fences. The easiest solution of this phenomenon was to say that they were bewitched; and all the servants about the castle, especially those who had the broken fences to mend, believed that it was the true one. Even Sir James Grant, worthy man, when brought out to judge for himself, could not deny the grounds at least of [351]this general opinion. To satisfy those who held it, he allowed the aid of Willox to be called in.
“Some trick has been played here,” said the warlock, after inquiring into all the particulars, and minutely examining those parts of the pastures where the animals were in the habit of lying most frequently. “Some wicked person has thrown some disagreeable odour among the beasts.”
The probability of this was doubted by every one present. Nay, every one declared that such a thing was impossible.
“Well,” said Willox, “I know that what I say is true; and I’ll soon convince you all that it is possible. Drive the cattle into the fold.”
The cattle were folded accordingly, and Willox walked into the very midst of them. There he took certain ingredients from his pocket, and putting them on a small bundle of tow, he prepared to strike fire with a flint and steel.
“Now, gentlemen,” said he, “I advise all of you who have any regard for your own safety to look sharp to it.”
The fire was struck, the tow was kindled57, a most offensive stench arose, and no sooner had the cattle winded the fumes58 of it, than they darted59 off in twenty different directions, as if the burning tow had been the fuse that discharged them from some vast bomb-shell. The poles and other barriers of the fold were shivered and levelled in a moment as if such an inclosure had never existed. Down went the astonished spectators one by one in detail, as they chanced to come into the diverging60 lines of flight of the scattering61 herd62. Smack63, crash, and rumble64 went the nearer fences, as the several flying animals went through or over them, like cannon-shot; and by the time the poor wounded, maimed, and crippled people had gathered themselves to their legs, such of them, I mean, as had legs left to stand upon, they beheld65, to their utter dismay, the cattle scouring66 the distant country in all directions.
I need hardly add, that a little further investigation67 enabled Willox, without the aid of witchcraft, not only to satisfy every one that his first suspicions had been well founded, but also to prove that they had been so by discovering the offender68.
Grant.—Depend upon it, this warlock must be no ordinary man. [352]
Dominie.—I have another anecdote of him. A certain farmhouse69 in Strathspey was said to be haunted. Stones and dust and rubbish were thrown into the middle of the family apartment, and no one could discover whence or from what hand they came. Mr. John Grant, the minister of the parish, was sent for to lay the ghost; and to the great comfort of those to whom the house belonged, he came accompanied by Willox.
“While I am engaged in going through the evening family worship,” said the parson to Willox, “do you keep your eyes on the alert, and try to ascertain70 whence the missiles appear to come.”
The minister began the duties of the evening. A psalm71 was sung. During the time the people present were singing it, the volleys were discontinued; but the moment the psalm was ended, the discharges again commenced.
“We had better sing another psalm,” whispered Willox to the parson. Mr. Grant immediately gave out some verses accordingly. The disturbance72 ceased as before; but they were no sooner concluded, than it began again with redoubled fury. The sharp eyes of Willox shot like lightning into every part of the chamber73. In an instant they were arrested by one of those great clumsy wooden partitions so common in our Highland farmers’ humble74 dwellings75, which, being boarded on both sides, rise up a certain height only towards the bare rafters above, leaving the vast vacuity76 below the roof undivided from end to end of the building. Willox gave a preconcerted sign to the parson.
“My friends,” said Mr. Grant, “I insist that the boxing of that partition be immediately opened up.”
His orders were obeyed, and no sooner were the boards removed than the ghost was discovered. A little black Highland herd lassie sat cowering77 within, her face filled with dread78 of the punishment that awaited her. The creature had managed from time to time to creep in there by lifting up a loose plank79, and from that concealment80 she had contrived81 to throw her missiles over the open top of the partition into the apartment, all which she had done to revenge herself against the family for having been whipped for some piece of negligence82 of which she had been guilty. The parson had no sooner learned these particulars, than [353]he pounced83 upon the trembling culprit, like a great mastiff on a mouse, and dragging her forth84, he, without the least delay or ceremony, gave her, to use his own phrase, a good skegging.
Clifford.—Had Mr. Grant and Willox been sent for, the celebrated85 ghost of Cock Lane would have had but a short reign86 of it.
Dominie.—I have but one story more of Willox to plague you with. William Stuart, a farmer in Brae Moray, was led, by his father’s persuasion87, and very much against his own inclination88, to marry a woman whom he could not like, all because she possessed a certain tocher. He went to his marriage like a condemned89 thief to the gallows90, and from the very first moment he treated his wife as an alien. A certain worthy lady in the neighbourhood, who felt interested in Mrs. Stuart, firmly believed that her husband’s dislike to her was occasioned by witchcraft. She accordingly sent for Willox, and entreated91 him to exercise his skill in the poor woman’s behalf, and the warlock undertook to do all in his power for her.
Having contrived to pay a visit at Stuart’s house, when he knew that he should find him at home, he accepted his invitation to stay to dine with him, and after they had had a cheerful glass together, Willox ventured to begin his attempt by drinking Mrs. Stuart’s health.
“You are the only man, Stuart, that does not admire your wife,” said Willox, in a half jocular tone.
“May be so,” said Stuart dryly.
“If you were not bewitched, as my skill tells me that you are, you would find more happiness at your own fireside than you do,” continued Willox.
“Maybe I am bewitched,” said Stuart, from the mere desire of being civil.
“I tell you I know you are,” said Willox, “and if you will allow me I shall soon show you the people who have bewitched you.”
“Ha! ha! I should like to see them,” said Stuart with a forced laugh; “but if you do show them to me, you are even a greater conjuror than I take you to be.”
Willox, with great solemnity, now took forth the mermaid’s stone from his pocket. It was semi-transparent, circular, and convex, like an ordinary lens, and it filled the palm of his hand. Placing the back of his hand on [354]the table, and keeping the stone in the hollow of it, he solemnly addressed Stuart.
“I see nothing,” said Stuart, following his direction.
“Do you see nothing now?” demanded Willox.
“Yes,” replied Stuart, “I see something like a red spot.”
“Look again, do you see nothing more now?” demanded Willox.
“Yes,” said Stuart again, “I see something like a black spot, a little way from the red spot.”
“Listen, then!” said Willox. “These are the heads of a red-haired lass and a black-haired lass, and it is they who bewitch you from your lawful93 wife.”
“If you are not a great warlock, you are at least a great rascal,” cried Stuart, losing all temper; “but by the great oath, I’ll soon know which you are.” And saying so, he suddenly seized on the wizard’s hand before he was aware, and turning it up, he extracted two pins from between the fingers, the head of one of which had been dipped in red wax, and the head of the other in black wax.
“You scoundrel,” said Stuart, preparing to assault him, “you have been unjustifiably prying94 into my secrets, but I’ll teach you to use greater discretion95 in future.”
“Approach me at your peril96!” cried Willox, stepping back towards the door, and brandishing97 a dagger98 which he drew from his bosom99. “I have done or said nothing but what is friendly to you, and if you have the folly100 to attempt anything of a different nature towards me, you must take the consequences,” and so saying he immediately took himself off. So ended the Dominie.
Our walk to-day had little beauty in it, except in its distant prospects101, which, when we looked over the vast extent of fir forests towards the Cairngorum group of mountains, were always grand. The scenery of the Aven indeed, and especially at the spot where we crossed it, delighted us all. The fragment of the ruined bridge of Campdale still stood, a sad monument of the ravages102 of the fearful flood of August, 1829; but the stream now sparkled away along its customary channel like liquid crystal.
Clifford (stopping mechanically to put his fishing-rod [355]together).—It is certainly the clearest stream I ever beheld. Yet shall I try my skill to extract some trouts from it for dinner.
Grant (as we ascended104 the path that led us up from the deep glen of the Aven where we left Clifford fishing).—Anything to be seen at Tomantoul?
Author.—Nothing that I have ever been able to discover. The sight is one of the dreariest105 I know,—a high, wide, bare, and uninteresting moor106, quite raised, as you see, above all the beauties of the river, which are buried from it in the profound of the neighbouring valley; nor has the village itself any very great redeeming107 charm about it.
Grant.—How comes it that all the cottages and walls are built of sandstone in the very heart of this primitive108 country?
Author.—You may well be surprised, but you will perhaps be still more astonished to learn that the place stands on a great detached isolated109 field of the floetz strata110, four miles in length by one in breadth, which has been raised up on the very bosom of the primitive granite111.
Grant.—A curious geological fact.
Author.—It is a fact which I learned when I was here formerly112 from a very intelligent gentleman who is the clergyman here, to whom I was also indebted for much valuable information during my inquiries113 about the great flood. I shall be happy to introduce you to him.
Grant.—I believe similar instances occur elsewhere in this part of Scotland.
Author.—Yes, at Kildrummie Castle, in the Glen of Dollas, and also near the borders of the primitive in the vale of Pluscardine.
Dominie.—To what strange changes has this earth of ours been subjeckit!
Grant.—Tell me, I pray you, what nice looking house is this?
Author.—It is the residence of the clergyman; perhaps you would like to call on him now, while our friend here goes on to the inn with our man to secure beds and entertainment for us all.
Grant assented114, and, entering the manse accordingly, we remained talking very agreeably there, until the whistling of Clifford, as he marched up the street with his rod in his hand, and his fishing pannier on his back, made us suddenly [356]terminate our interesting colloquy115, in order to run after him. As we got into the inn we found him in the act of admiring his trouts, which filled a large trencher.
Clifford.—See what noble fellows! There is one of three pounds and a half if he is an ounce. I hooked him in the pool above the broken bridge, and I called to you as you were going up the hill to come back and witness the sport he yielded; but you were too intent on your own conversation to hear me, and so you lost it all. What were you talking about?
Grant.—Geology.
Clifford.—Geology!—fiddlesticks. By all that is good, you deserve to dine upon fossil fishes.
Landlady.—We shall see, sir; we’ll do the best we can.
Author.—You will at least be able to give us an omelet, after the instructions I gave you when I was last in your house.
Landlady.—That I can; I made one for the Duke when he was up here at the fowling117, and he said that it was just famous.
Clifford.—Can you give us any soup?
Landlady.—Na, sir; I’m dootin’ that I hae na time for that.
Clifford.—Pooh! If you will give me a large smooth white pebble118, such as is called by my geological friends here quartz119, but which you know better, I believe, by the name of a chucky-stane, I’ll make some capital soup out of it in a very few minutes.
Landlady.—Odd, sir, I’m thinkin’ ye’ll be clever an ye can do that.
Clifford.—Be quick, then, and fetch me such a stone as I have described. Remember it must be quite clean, and large enough to make soup for four gentlemen,—and recollect120 that we are very hungry.
Landlady (entering with a stone in one hand).—There it is. It’s quite clean, for I washed it wi’ my ain hands.
Clifford.—So, that is all right. Now, fetch me a pan with clean water in it. Oh, you have it there, I see. Well, put in the stone, and put the pan on the fire. Now, you see, my good woman, I am a pupil of old Willox the Warlock, [357]therefore you need not be astonished at anything I do. Go get me a spoon to taste the soup with. (Whilst her back is turned, slyly dropping a cake or two of portable soup into the pot.) Aye, now, let me see; taste it yourself. It already begins to have some flavour.
Landlady (astonished).—Have a care o’ huz a’, so it has!
Clifford (stirring it).—But, stay a moment; taste it now!
Landlady (taking a spoonful of it).—Keep me, that is just awthegither maygics indeed!
Clifford (tasting it).—Oh, it will do now. Bring me an iron spoon to take out the stone with. Now, here take it away, dry it well, and lock it carefully up in your larder121; for, you perceive, that it is but very little wasted, and, consequently, it will make some good tureens of soup yet; and though such stones are plenty enough, yet you know it is always good housewifery to be economical.
Landlady (taking away the stone).—That’s true, indeed, sir.
Grant (after we had dined).—Well, thanks to Clifford’s chucky-stone soup, his delicious fritto of trout103, our landlady’s excellent mutton-chops, and your omelet, we have dined like princes.
Clifford.—I am now hungry for nothing but a narrative122. Come, Mr. Macpherson, as we are to lose you to-morrow, I must remind you that you are still in my book for some story about Old Stachcan, the man with the pistol, I mean, whose portrait we saw at Castle Grant. Pray do not hesitate to clear off your score.
Dominie.—I need not say, Mr. Clifford, that since you and your friends here are so good as to accept of such poor coin as my bit stories, in return for all the kindness and condescension123 which I have received from you, it is well my part to pay it readily, and without a grudge124. But what I had to tell you about Old Stachcan was more an account of the man than any very parteeklar story about him. Now, as you will pass by the very bit where he lay concealed125, I would rather leave it to my friend Sergeant Archy Stewart, who knows more about him than I do, to give you his history on the spot.
Grant.—Well, since that is the case, Mr. Macpherson, I shall undertake to tell a story for you. And instead of [358]that which you were to tell us about one Grant, I shall give you a legend which I have heard of two lairds of that name.
Clifford.—Provided you do not on that account make your story twice as long as Mr. Macpherson’s would have been, I for one am contented126.
Grant.—If I should do so, you have your resource, Clifford, you may go to sleep, you know; and if you do, I shall perhaps have the pleasure of singing, in the words of Scott’s Water Sprite,—
“Good luck to your fishing.”
Clifford.—No more of that, an thou lovest me, Hal.
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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prolixity
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| n.冗长，罗嗦 | |
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glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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7
frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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venerate
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| v.尊敬，崇敬，崇拜 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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behooved
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| v.适宜( behoove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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conjuror
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| n.魔术师，变戏法者 | |
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anecdotes
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rev
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consorted
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gentry
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highland
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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30
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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31
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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32
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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33
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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34
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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35
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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36
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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37
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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39
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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40
facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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41
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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42
extermination
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| n.消灭，根绝 | |
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43
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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44
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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45
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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46
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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47
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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48
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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49
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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50
witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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51
withered
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| 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 | |
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52
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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53
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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54
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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55
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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56
conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
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57
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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58
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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59
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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60
diverging
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| 分开( diverge的现在分词 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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61
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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62
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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63
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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64
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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65
beheld
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| 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 | |
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66
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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67
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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68
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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69
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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70
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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71
psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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72
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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73
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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74
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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76
vacuity
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| n.(想象力等)贫乏，无聊，空白 | |
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77
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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78
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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79
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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80
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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81
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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82
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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83
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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84
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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85
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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86
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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87
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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88
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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89
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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90
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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91
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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93
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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94
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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95
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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96
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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97
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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98
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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99
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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100
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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101
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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102
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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103
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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104
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
dreariest
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| 使人闷闷不乐或沮丧的( dreary的最高级 )； 阴沉的； 令人厌烦的； 单调的 | |
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106
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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107
redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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108
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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109
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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110
strata
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| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
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111
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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112
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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113
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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114
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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116
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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117
fowling
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| 捕鸟，打鸟 | |
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118
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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119
quartz
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| n.石英 | |
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120
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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121
larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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122
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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123
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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124
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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125
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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126
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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