There were two courses open to Dick; either to continue to follow in the knight1’s trail, and, if he were able, to fall upon him that very night in camp, or to strike out a path of his own, and seek to place himself between Sir Daniel and his destination.
Either scheme was open to serious objection, and Dick, who feared to expose Joanna to the hazards of a fight, had not yet decided2 between them when he reached the borders of the wood.
At this point Sir Daniel had turned a little to his left, and then plunged3 straight under a grove4 of very lofty timber. His party had then formed to a narrower front, in order to pass between the trees, and the track was trod proportionally deeper in the snow. The eye followed it under the leafless tracery of the oaks, running direct and narrow; the trees stood over it, with knotty6 joints7 and the great, uplifted forest of their boughs8; there was no sound, whether of man or beast—not so much as the stirring of a robin9; and over the field of snow the winter sun lay golden among netted shadows.
“How say ye,” asked Dick of one of the men, “to follow straight on, or strike across for Tunstall?”
“Ye are, doubtless, right,” returned Dick; “but we came right hastily upon the errand, even as the time commanded. Here are no houses, neither for food nor shelter, and by the morrow’s dawn we shall know both cold fingers and an empty belly11. How say ye, lads? Will ye stand a pinch for expedition’s sake, or shall we turn by Holywood and sup with Mother Church? The case being somewhat doubtful, I will drive no man; yet if ye would suffer me to lead you, ye would choose the first.”
The men answered, almost with one voice, that they would follow Sir Richard where he would.
And Dick, setting spur to his horse, began once more to go forward.
The snow in the trail had been trodden very hard, and the pursuers had thus a great advantage over the pursued. They pushed on, indeed, at a round trot12, two hundred hoofs13 beating alternately on the dull pavement of the snow, and the jingle14 of weapons and the snorting of horses raising a warlike noise along the arches of the silent wood.
Presently, the wide slot of the pursued came out upon the high road from Holywood; it was there, for a moment, indistinguishable; and, where it once more plunged into the unbeaten snow upon the farther side, Dick was surprised to see it narrower and lighter15 trod. Plainly, profiting by the road, Sir Daniel had begun already to scatter his command.
At all hazards, one chance being equal to another, Dick continued to pursue the straight trail; and that, after an hour’s riding, in which it led into the very depths of the forest, suddenly split, like a bursting shell, into two dozen others, leading to every point of the compass.
Dick drew bridle16 in despair. The short winter’s day was near an end; the sun, a dull red orange, shorn of rays, swam low among the leafless thickets17; the shadows were a mile long upon the snow; the frost bit cruelly at the finger-nails; and the breath and steam of the horses mounted in a cloud.
“Well, we are outwitted,” Dick confessed. “Strike we for Holywood, after all. It is still nearer us than Tunstall—or should be by the station of the sun.”
So they wheeled to their left, turning their backs on the red shield of sun, and made across country for the abbey. But now times were changed with them; they could no longer spank18 forth19 briskly on a path beaten firm by the passage of their foes20, and for a goal to which that path itself conducted them. Now they must plough at a dull pace through the encumbering21 snow, continually pausing to decide their course, continually floundering in drifts. The sun soon left them; the glow of the west decayed; and presently they were wandering in a shadow of blackness, under frosty stars.
Presently, indeed, the moon would clear the hilltops, and they might resume their march. But till then, every random22 step might carry them wider of their march. There was nothing for it but to camp and wait.
Sentries23 were posted; a spot of ground was cleared of snow, and, after some failures, a good fire blazed in the midst. The men-at-arms sat close about this forest hearth24, sharing such provisions as they had, and passing about the flask25; and Dick, having collected the most delicate of the rough and scanty26 fare, brought it to Lord Risingham’s niece, where she sat apart from the soldiery against a tree.
She sat upon one horse-cloth, wrapped in another, and stared straight before her at the firelit scene. At the offer of food she started, like one wakened from a dream, and then silently refused.
“Madam,” said Dick, “let me beseech27 you, punish me not so cruelly. Wherein I have offended you, I know not; I have, indeed, carried you away, but with a friendly violence; I have, indeed, exposed you to the inclemency28 of night, but the hurry that lies upon me hath for its end the preservation29 of another, who is no less frail30 and no less unfriended than yourself. At least, madam, punish not yourself; and eat, if not for hunger, then for strength.”
“Dear madam,” Dick cried, “I swear to you upon the rood I touched him not.”
“Swear to me that he still lives,” she returned.
“I will not palter with you,” answered Dick. “Pity bids me to wound you. In my heart I do believe him dead.”
“And ye ask me to eat!” she cried. “Ay, and they call you ‘sir!’ Y’ have won your spurs by my good kinsman’s murder. And had I not been fool and traitor33 both, and saved you in your enemy’s house, ye should have died the death, and he—he that was worth twelve of you—were living.”
“I did but my man’s best, even as your kinsman did upon the other party,” answered Dick. “Were he still living—as I vow34 to Heaven I wish it!—he would praise, not blame me.”
“Sir Daniel hath told me,” she replied. “He marked you at the barricade35. Upon you, he saith, their party foundered36; it was you that won the battle. Well, then, it was you that killed my good Lord Risingham, as sure as though ye had strangled him. And ye would have me eat with you—and your hands not washed from killing37? But Sir Daniel hath sworn your downfall. He ’tis that will avenge38 me!”
The unfortunate Dick was plunged in gloom. Old Arblaster returned upon his mind, and he groaned39 aloud.
“Do ye hold me so guilty?” he said; “you that defended me—you that are Joanna’s friend?”
“What made ye in the battle?” she retorted. “Y’ are of no party; y’ are but a lad—but legs and body, without government of wit or counsel! Wherefore did ye fight? For the love of hurt, pardy!”
“Nay40,” cried Dick, “I know not. But as the realm of England goes, if that a poor gentleman fight not upon the one side, perforce he must fight upon the other. He may not stand alone; ’tis not in nature.”
“They that have no judgment41 should not draw the sword,” replied the young lady. “Ye that fight but for a hazard, what are ye but a butcher? War is but noble by the cause, and y’ have disgraced it.”
“Madam,” said the miserable42 Dick, “I do partly see mine error. I have made too much haste; I have been busy before my time. Already I stole a ship—thinking, I do swear it, to do well—and thereby43 brought about the death of many innocent, and the grief and ruin of a poor old man whose face this very day hath stabbed me like a dagger44. And for this morning, I did but design to do myself credit, and get fame to marry with, and, behold45! I have brought about the death of your dear kinsman that was good to me. And what besides, I know not. For, alas46! I may have set York upon the throne, and that may be the worser cause, and may do hurt to England. O, madam, I do see my sin. I am unfit for life. I will, for penance47 sake and to avoid worse evil, once I have finished this adventure, get me to a cloister48. I will forswear Joanna and the trade of arms. I will be a friar, and pray for your good kinsman’s spirit all my days.”
It appeared to Dick, in this extremity49 of his humiliation50 and repentance51, that the young lady had laughed.
Raising his countenance52, he found her looking down upon him, in the fire-light, with a somewhat peculiar53 but not unkind expression.
“Madam,” he cried, thinking the laughter to have been an illusion of his hearing, but still, from her changed looks, hoping to have touched her heart, “madam, will not this content you? I give up all to undo54 what I have done amiss; I make heaven certain for Lord Risingham. And all this upon the very day that I have won my spurs, and thought myself the happiest young gentleman on ground.”
“O boy,” she said—“good boy!”
And then, to the extreme surprise of Dick, she first very tenderly wiped the tears away from his cheeks, and then, as if yielding to a sudden impulse, threw both her arms about his neck, drew up his face, and kissed him. A pitiful bewilderment came over simple-minded Dick.
“But come,” she said, with great cheerfulness, “you that are a captain, ye must eat. Why sup ye not?”
“Dear Mistress Risingham,” replied Dick, “I did but wait first upon my prisoner; but, to say truth, penitence55 will no longer suffer me to endure the sight of food. I were better to fast, dear lady, and to pray.”
“Call me Alicia,” she said; “are we not old friends? And now, come, I will eat with you, bit for bit and sup for sup; so if ye eat not, neither will I; but if ye eat hearty56, I will dine like a ploughman.”
So there and then she fell to; and Dick, who had an excellent stomach, proceeded to bear her company, at first with great reluctance57, but gradually, as he entered into the spirit, with more and more vigour58 and devotion: until, at last, he forgot even to watch his model, and most heartily59 repaired the expenses of his day of labour and excitement.
“Lion-driver,” she said, at length, “ye do not admire a maid in a man’s jerkin?”
The moon was now up; and they were only waiting to repose60 the wearied horses. By the moon’s light, the still penitent61 but now well-fed Richard beheld62 her looking somewhat coquettishly down upon him.
“Nay,” she interrupted, “it skills not to deny; Joanna hath told me, but come, Sir Lion-driver, look at me—am I so homely—come!”
And she made bright eyes at him.
“Ye are something smallish, indeed”—began Dick.
And here again she interrupted him, this time with a ringing peal64 of laughter that completed his confusion and surprise.
“Smallish!” she cried. “Nay, now, be honest as ye are bold; I am a dwarf65, or little better; but for all that—come, tell me!—for all that, passably fair to look upon; is’t not so?”
“Nay, madam, exceedingly fair,” said the distressed66 knight, pitifully trying to seem easy.
“O, madam, right glad!” agreed Dick.
“Call me Alicia,” said she.
“Alicia,” quoth Sir Richard.
“Well, then, lion-driver,” she continued, “sith that ye slew my kinsman, and left me without stay, ye owe me, in honour, every reparation; do ye not?”
“I do, madam,” said Dick. “Although, upon my heart, I do hold me but partially67 guilty of that brave knight’s blood.”
“Madam, not so. I have told you; at your bidding, I will even turn me a monk,” said Richard.
“Then, in honour, ye belong to me?” she concluded.
“In honour, madam, I suppose”—began the young man.
“Go to!” she interrupted; “ye are too full of catches. In honour do ye belong to me, till ye have paid the evil?”
“In honour, I do,” said Dick.
“Hear, then,” she continued; “Ye would make but a sad friar, methinks; and since I am to dispose of you at pleasure, I will even take you for my husband. Nay, now, no words!” cried she. “They will avail you nothing. For see how just it is, that you who deprived me of one home, should supply me with another. And as for Joanna, she will be the first, believe me, to commend the change; for, after all, as we be dear friends, what matters it with which of us ye wed? Not one whit69!”
“Madam,” said Dick, “I will go into a cloister, an ye please to bid me; but to wed with anyone in this big world besides Joanna Sedley is what I will consent to neither for man’s force nor yet for lady’s pleasure. Pardon me if I speak my plain thoughts plainly; but where a maid is very bold, a poor man must even be the bolder.”
“Dick,” she said, “ye sweet boy, ye must come and kiss me for that word. Nay, fear not, ye shall kiss me for Joanna; and when we meet, I shall give it back to her, and say I stole it. And as for what ye owe me, why, dear simpleton, methinks ye were not alone in that great battle; and even if York be on the throne, it was not you that set him there. But for a good, sweet, honest heart, Dick, y’ are all that; and if I could find it in my soul to envy your Joanna anything, I would even envy her your love.”
点击收听单词发音
1 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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2 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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3 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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4 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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5 wed | |
v.娶,嫁,与…结婚 | |
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6 knotty | |
adj.有结的,多节的,多瘤的,棘手的 | |
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7 joints | |
接头( joint的名词复数 ); 关节; 公共场所(尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所) (非正式); 一块烤肉 (英式英语) | |
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8 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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9 robin | |
n.知更鸟,红襟鸟 | |
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10 scatter | |
vt.撒,驱散,散开;散布/播;vi.分散,消散 | |
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11 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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12 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 | |
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13 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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14 jingle | |
n.叮当声,韵律简单的诗句;v.使叮当作响,叮当响,押韵 | |
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15 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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16 bridle | |
n.笼头,束缚;vt.抑制,约束;动怒 | |
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17 thickets | |
n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 );丛状物 | |
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18 spank | |
v.打,拍打(在屁股上) | |
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19 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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20 foes | |
敌人,仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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21 encumbering | |
v.妨碍,阻碍,拖累( encumber的现在分词 ) | |
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22 random | |
adj.随机的;任意的;n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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23 sentries | |
哨兵,步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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24 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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25 flask | |
n.瓶,火药筒,砂箱 | |
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26 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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27 beseech | |
v.祈求,恳求 | |
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28 inclemency | |
n.险恶,严酷 | |
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29 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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30 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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31 slew | |
v.(使)旋转;n.大量,许多 | |
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32 kinsman | |
n.男亲属 | |
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33 traitor | |
n.叛徒,卖国贼 | |
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34 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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35 barricade | |
n.路障,栅栏,障碍;vt.设路障挡住 | |
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36 foundered | |
v.创始人( founder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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38 avenge | |
v.为...复仇,为...报仇 | |
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39 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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40 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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41 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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42 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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43 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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44 dagger | |
n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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45 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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46 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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47 penance | |
n.(赎罪的)惩罪 | |
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48 cloister | |
n.修道院;v.隐退,使与世隔绝 | |
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49 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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50 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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51 repentance | |
n.懊悔 | |
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52 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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53 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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54 undo | |
vt.解开,松开;取消,撤销 | |
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55 penitence | |
n.忏悔,赎罪;悔过 | |
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56 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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57 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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58 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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59 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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60 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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61 penitent | |
adj.后悔的;n.后悔者;忏悔者 | |
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62 beheld | |
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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63 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64 peal | |
n.钟声;v.鸣响 | |
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65 dwarf | |
n.矮子,侏儒,矮小的动植物;vt.使…矮小 | |
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66 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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67 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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68 evade | |
vt.逃避,回避;避开,躲避 | |
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69 whit | |
n.一点,丝毫 | |
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