The path went down and down into the marsh5, till he lost sight of all the neighbouring landmarks6 but Kettley windmill on the knoll7 behind him, and the extreme top of Tunstall Forest far before. On either hand there were great fields of blowing reeds and willows, pools of water shaking in the wind, and treacherous8 bogs9, as green as emerald, to tempt10 and to betray the traveller. The path lay almost straight through the morass11. It was already very ancient; its foundation had been laid by Roman soldiery; in the lapse12 of ages much of it had sunk, and every here and there, for a few hundred yards, it lay submerged below the stagnant13 waters of the fen.
About a mile from Kettley, Dick came to one such break in the plain line of causeway, where the reeds and willows grew dispersedly like little islands and confused the eye. The gap, besides, was more than usually long; it was a place where any stranger might come readily to mischief14; and Dick bethought him, with something like a pang15, of the lad whom he had so imperfectly directed. As for himself, one look backward to where the windmill sails were turning black against the blue of heaven—one look forward to the high ground of Tunstall Forest, and he was sufficiently16 directed and held straight on, the water washing to his horse’s knees, as safe as on a highway.
Half-way across, and when he had already sighted the path rising high and dry upon the farther side, he was aware of a great splashing on his right, and saw a grey horse, sunk to its belly17 in the mud, and still spasmodically struggling. Instantly, as though it had divined the neighbourhood of help, the poor beast began to neigh most piercingly. It rolled, meanwhile, a blood-shot eye, insane with terror; and as it sprawled18 wallowing in the quag, clouds of stinging insects rose and buzzed about it in the air.
“Alack!” thought Dick, “can the poor lad have perished? There is his horse, for certain—a brave grey! Nay19, comrade, if thou criest to me so piteously, I will do all man can to help thee. Shalt not lie there to drown by inches!”
And he made ready his crossbow, and put a quarrel through the creature’s head.
Dick rode on after this act of rugged20 mercy, somewhat sobered in spirit, and looking closely about him for any sign of his less happy predecessor21 in the way. “I would I had dared to tell him further,” he thought; “for I fear he has miscarried in the slough22.”
And just as he was so thinking, a voice cried upon his name from the causeway side, and, looking over his shoulder, he saw the lad’s face peering from a clump23 of reeds.
“Are ye there?” he said, reining24 in. “Ye lay so close among the reeds that I had passed you by. I saw your horse bemired, and put him from his agony; which, by my sooth! an ye had been a more merciful rider, ye had done yourself. But come forth25 out of your hiding. Here be none to trouble you.”
“Nay, good boy, I have no arms, nor skill to use them if I had,” replied the other, stepping forth upon the pathway.
“Why call me ‘boy’?” cried Dick. “Y’ are not, I trow, the elder of us twain.”
“Good Master Shelton,” said the other, “prithee forgive me. I have none the least intention to offend. Rather I would in every way beseech26 your gentleness and favour, for I am now worse bested than ever, having lost my way, my cloak, and my poor horse. To have a riding-rod and spurs, and never a horse to sit upon! And before all,” he added, looking ruefully upon his clothes—“before all, to be so sorrily besmirched27!”
“Tut!” cried Dick. “Would ye mind a ducking? Blood of wound or dust of travel—that’s a man’s adornment28.”
“Nay, then, I like him better plain,” observed the lad. “But, prithee, how shall I do? Prithee, good Master Richard, help me with your good counsel. If I come not safe to Holywood, I am undone29.”
“Nay,” said Dick, dismounting, “I will give more than counsel. Take my horse, and I will run awhile, and when I am weary we shall change again, that so, riding and running, both may go the speedier.”
So the change was made, and they went forward as briskly as they durst on the uneven30 causeway, Dick with his hand upon the other’s knee.
“How call ye your name?” asked Dick.
“Call me John Matcham,” replied the lad.
“And what make ye to Holywood?” Dick continued.
“I seek sanctuary31 from a man that would oppress me,” was the answer. “The good Abbot of Holywood is a strong pillar to the weak.”
“And how came ye with Sir Daniel, Master Matcham?” pursued Dick.
“Nay,” cried the other, “by the abuse of force! He hath taken me by violence from my own place; dressed me in these weeds; ridden with me till my heart was sick; gibed32 me till I could ’a’ wept; and when certain of my friends pursued, thinking to have me back, claps me in the rear to stand their shot! I was even grazed in the right foot, and walk but lamely33. Nay, there shall come a day between us; he shall smart for all!”
“Would ye shoot at the moon with a hand-gun?” said Dick. “’Tis a valiant34 knight35, and hath a hand of iron. An he guessed I had made or meddled36 with your flight, it would go sore with me.”
“Ay, poor boy,” returned the other, “y’ are his ward2, I know it. By the same token, so am I, or so he saith; or else he hath bought my marriage—I wot not rightly which; but it is some handle to oppress me by.”
“Boy again!” said Dick.
“Nay, then, shall I call you girl, good Richard?” asked Matcham.
“Ye speak boyishly,” said the other. “Ye think more of them than ye pretend.”
“Not I,” said Dick, stoutly38. “They come not in my mind. A plague of them, say I! Give me to hunt and to fight and to feast, and to live with jolly foresters. I never heard of a maid yet that was for any service, save one only; and she, poor shrew, was burned for a witch and the wearing of men’s clothes in spite of nature.”
Master Matcham crossed himself with fervour, and appeared to pray.
“What make ye?” Dick inquired.
“I pray for her spirit,” answered the other, with a somewhat troubled voice.
“For a witch’s spirit?” Dick cried. “But pray for her, an ye list; she was the best wench in Europe, was this Joan of Arc. Old Appleyard the archer39 ran from her, he said, as if she had been Mahoun. Nay, she was a brave wench.”
“Well, but, good Master Richard,” resumed Matcham, “an ye like maids so little, y’ are no true natural man; for God made them twain by intention, and brought true love into the world, to be man’s hope and woman’s comfort.”
“Faugh!” said Dick. “Y’ are a milk-sopping baby, so to harp40 on women. An ye think I be no true man, get down upon the path, and whether at fists, back-sword, or bow and arrow, I will prove my manhood on your body.”
“Nay, I am no fighter,” said Matcham, eagerly. “I mean no tittle of offence. I meant but pleasantry. And if I talk of women, it is because I heard ye were to marry.”
“I to marry!” Dick exclaimed. “Well, it is the first I hear of it. And with whom was I to marry?”
“One Joan Sedley,” replied Matcham, colouring. “It was Sir Daniel’s doing; he hath money to gain upon both sides; and, indeed, I have heard the poor wench bemoaning42 herself pitifully of the match. It seems she is of your mind, or else distasted to the bridegroom.”
“Well! marriage is like death, it comes to all,” said Dick, with resignation. “And she bemoaned43 herself? I pray ye now, see there how shuttle-witted are these girls: to bemoan41 herself before that she had seen me! Do I bemoan myself? Not I. An I be to marry, I will marry dry-eyed! But if ye know her, prithee, of what favour is she? fair or foul44? And is she shrewish or pleasant?”
“Nay, what matters it?” said Matcham. “An y’ are to marry, ye can but marry. What matters foul or fair? These be but toys. Y’ are no milksop, Master Richard; ye will wed45 with dry eyes, anyhow.”
“It is well said,” replied Shelton. “Little I reck.”
“Your lady wife is like to have a pleasant lord,” said Matcham.
“She shall have the lord Heaven made her for,” returned Dick. “It trow there be worse as well as better.”
“Ah, the poor wench!” cried the other.
“And why so poor?” asked Dick.
“To wed a man of wood,” replied his companion. “O me, for a wooden husband!”
“I think I be a man of wood, indeed,” said Dick, “to trudge46 afoot the while you ride my horse; but it is good wood, I trow.”
“Good Dick, forgive me,” cried the other. “Nay, y’ are the best heart in England; I but laughed. Forgive me now, sweet Dick.”
“Nay, no fool words,” returned Dick, a little embarrassed by his companion’s warmth. “No harm is done. I am not touchy47, praise the saints.”
And at that moment the wind, which was blowing straight behind them as they went, brought them the rough flourish of Sir Daniel’s trumpeter.
“Hark!” said Dick, “the tucket soundeth.”
“Ay,” said Matcham, “they have found my flight, and now I am unhorsed!” and he became pale as death.
“Nay, what cheer!” returned Dick. “Y’ have a long start, and we are near the ferry. And it is I, methinks, that am unhorsed.”
“Alack, I shall be taken!” cried the fugitive48. “Dick, kind Dick, beseech ye help me but a little!”
“Why, now, what aileth thee?” said Dick. “Methinks I help you very patently. But my heart is sorry for so spiritless a fellow! And see ye here, John Matcham—sith John Matcham is your name—I, Richard Shelton, tide what betideth, come what may, will see you safe in Holywood. The saints so do to me again if I default you. Come, pick me up a good heart, Sir White-face. The way betters here; spur me the horse. Go faster! faster! Nay, mind not for me; I can run like a deer.”
So, with the horse trotting49 hard, and Dick running easily alongside, they crossed the remainder of the fen, and came out upon the banks of the river by the ferryman’s hut.
点击收听单词发音
1 fen | |
n.沼泽,沼池 | |
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2 ward | |
n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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3 willows | |
n.柳树( willow的名词复数 );柳木 | |
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4 rippling | |
起涟漪的,潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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5 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
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6 landmarks | |
n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 );目标;(标志重要阶段的)里程碑 ~ (in sth);有历史意义的建筑物(或遗址) | |
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7 knoll | |
n.小山,小丘 | |
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8 treacherous | |
adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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9 bogs | |
n.沼泽,泥塘( bog的名词复数 );厕所v.(使)陷入泥沼, (使)陷入困境( bog的第三人称单数 );妨碍,阻碍 | |
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10 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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11 morass | |
n.沼泽,困境 | |
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12 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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13 stagnant | |
adj.不流动的,停滞的,不景气的 | |
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14 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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15 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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16 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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17 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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18 sprawled | |
v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词);蔓延;杂乱无序地拓展;四肢伸展坐着(或躺着) | |
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19 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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20 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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21 predecessor | |
n.前辈,前任 | |
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22 slough | |
v.蜕皮,脱落,抛弃 | |
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23 clump | |
n.树丛,草丛;vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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24 reining | |
勒缰绳使(马)停步( rein的现在分词 ); 驾驭; 严格控制; 加强管理 | |
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25 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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26 beseech | |
v.祈求,恳求 | |
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27 besmirched | |
v.弄脏( besmirch的过去式和过去分词 );玷污;丑化;糟蹋(名誉等) | |
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28 adornment | |
n.装饰;装饰品 | |
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29 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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30 uneven | |
adj.不平坦的,不规则的,不均匀的 | |
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31 sanctuary | |
n.圣所,圣堂,寺庙;禁猎区,保护区 | |
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32 gibed | |
v.嘲笑,嘲弄( gibe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33 lamely | |
一瘸一拐地,不完全地 | |
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34 valiant | |
adj.勇敢的,英勇的;n.勇士,勇敢的人 | |
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35 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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36 meddled | |
v.干涉,干预(他人事务)( meddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37 abjure | |
v.发誓放弃 | |
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38 stoutly | |
adv.牢固地,粗壮的 | |
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39 archer | |
n.射手,弓箭手 | |
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40 harp | |
n.竖琴;天琴座 | |
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41 bemoan | |
v.悲叹,哀泣,痛哭;惋惜,不满于 | |
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42 bemoaning | |
v.为(某人或某事)抱怨( bemoan的现在分词 );悲悼;为…恸哭;哀叹 | |
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43 bemoaned | |
v.为(某人或某事)抱怨( bemoan的过去式和过去分词 );悲悼;为…恸哭;哀叹 | |
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44 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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45 wed | |
v.娶,嫁,与…结婚 | |
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46 trudge | |
v.步履艰难地走;n.跋涉,费力艰难的步行 | |
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47 touchy | |
adj.易怒的;棘手的 | |
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48 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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49 trotting | |
小跑,急走( trot的现在分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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