Distant down the hollow wind;
War and terror fled before,
Wounds and death were left behind.
Penrose.
The autumn of the year was well advanced, when the Earl of Morton, one morning, rather unexpectedly, entered the antechamber of Murray, in which Halbert Glendinning was in waiting.
“Call your master, Halbert,” said the Earl; “I have news for him from Teviotdale; and for you too, Glendinning. — News! news! my Lord of Murray!” he exclaimed at the door of the Earl’s bedroom; “come forth2 instantly.” The Earl appeared, and greeted his ally, demanding eagerly his tidings.
“I have had a sure friend with me from the south,” said Morton; “he has been at Saint Mary’s Monastery3, and brings important tidings.” “Of what complexion4?” said Murray, “and can you trust the bearer?” “He is faithful, on my life,” said Morton; “I wish all around your Lordship may prove equally so.”
“At what, and whom, do you point?” demanded Murray.
“Here is the Egyptian of trusty Halbert Glendinning, our Southland Moses, come alive again, and flourishing, gay and bright as ever, in that Teviotdale Goshen, the Halidome of Kennaquhair.”
“What mean you, my lord?” said Murray.
“Only that your new henchman has put a false tale upon you. Piercie Shafton is alive and well; by the same token that the gull5 is thought to be detained there by love to a miller’s daughter, who roamed the country with him in disguise.”
“Glendinning,” said Murray, bending his brow into his darkest frown, “thou hast not, I trust, dared to bring me a lie in thy mouth, in order to win my confidence?”
“My lord,” said Halbert, “I am incapable6 of a lie. I should choke on one were my life to require that I pronounced it. I say, that this sword of my father was through the body — the point came out behind his back — the hilt pressed upon his breast-bone. And I will plunge7 it as deep in the body of any one who shall dare to charge me with falsehood.”
“How, fellow!” said Morton, “wouldst thou beard a nobleman?”
“Be silent, Halbert,” said Murray, “and you, my Lord of Morton, forbear him. I see truth written on his brow.”
“I wish the inside of the manuscript may correspond with the superscription,” replied his more suspicious ally. “Look to it, my lord, you will one day lose your life by too much confidence.”
“And you will lose your friends by being too readily suspicious,” answered Murray. “Enough of this — let me hear thy tidings.”
“Sir John Foster,” said Morton, “is about to send a party into Scotland to waste the Halidome.”
“How! without waiting my presence and permission?” said Murray —“he is mad — will he come as an enemy into the Queen’s country?”
“He has Elizabeth’s express orders,” answered Morton, “and they are not to be trifled with. Indeed, his march has been more than once projected and laid aside during the time we have been here, and has caused much alarm at Kennaquhair. Boniface, the old Abbot, has resigned, and whom think you they have chosen in his place?”
“No one surely,” said Murray; “they would presume to hold no election until the Queen’s pleasure and mine were known?”
Morton shrugged8 his shoulders —“They have chosen the pupil of old Cardinal9 Beatoun, that wily determined10 champion of Rome, the bosom11-friend of our busy Primate12 of Saint Andrews. Eustace, late the Sub-Prior of Kennaquhair, is now its Abbot, and, like a second Pope Julius, is levying13 men and making musters14 to fight with Foster if he comes forward.”
“We must prevent that meeting,” said Murray, hastily; “whichever party wins the day, it were a fatal encounter for us — Who commands the troop of the Abbot?”
“Our faithful old friend, Julian Avenel, nothing less,” answered Morton.
“Glendinning,” said Murray, “sound trumpets16 to horse directly, and let all who love us get on horseback without delay — Yes, my lord, this were indeed a fatal dilemma17. If we take part with our English friends, the country will cry shame on us — the very old wives will attack us with their rocks and spindles — the very stones of the street will rise up against us — we cannot set our face to such a deed of infamy18. And my sister, whose confidence I already have such difficulty in preserving, will altogether withdraw it from me. Then, were we to oppose the English Warden19, Elizabeth would call it a protecting of her enemies and what not, and we should lose her.”
“The she-dragon,” said Morton, “is the best card in our pack; and yet I would not willingly stand still and see English blades carve Scots flesh — What say you to loitering by the way, marching far and easy for fear of spoiling our horses? They might then fight dog fight bull, fight Abbot fight archer20, and no one could blame us for what chanced when we were not present.”
“All would blame us, James Douglas,” replied Murray; “we should lose both sides — we had better advance with the utmost celerity, and do what we can to keep the peace betwixt them. — I would the nag21 that brought Piercie Shafton hither had broken his neck over the highest heuch in Northumberland! — He is a proper coxcomb22 to make all this bustle23 about, and to occasion perhaps a national war!”
“Had we known in time,” said Douglas, “we might have had him privily24 waited upon as he entered the Borders; there are strapping25 lads enough would have rid us of him for the lucre26 of his spur-whang. 70 But to the saddle, James Stewart, since so the phrase goes. I hear your trumpets. Bound to horse and away — we shall soon see which nag is best breathed.”
Followed by a train of about three hundred well-mounted men-at-arms, these two powerful barons28 directed their course to Dumfries, and from thence eastward29 to Teviotdale, marching at a rate which, as Morton had foretold30, soon disabled a good many of their horses, so that when they approached the scene of expected action, there were not above two hundred of their train remaining in a body, and of these most were mounted on steeds which had been sorely jaded31.
They had hitherto been amused and agitated32 by various reports concerning the advance of the English soldiers, and the degree of resistance which the Abbot was able to oppose to them. But when they were six or seven miles from Saint Mary’s of Kennaquhair, a gentleman of the country, whom Murray had summoned to attend him, and on whose intelligence he knew he could rely, arrived at the head of two or three servants, “bloody with spurring, fiery33 red with haste.” According to his report, Sir John Foster, after several times announcing, and as often delaying, his intended incursion, had at last been so stung with the news that Piercie Shafton was openly residing within the Halidome, that he determined to execute the commands of his mistress, which directed him, at every risk, to make himself master of the Euphuist’s person. The Abbot’s unceasing exertions34 had collected a body of men almost equal in number to those of the English Warden, but less practised in arms. They were united under the command of Julian Avenel, and it was apprehended35 they would join battle upon the banks of a small stream which forms the verge36 of the Halidome.
“Who knows the place?” said Murray.
“I do, my lord,” answered Glendinning.
“’Tis well,” said the Earl; “take a score of the best-mounted horse — make what haste thou canst, and announce to them that I am coming up instantly with a strong power, and will cut to pieces, without mercy, whichever party strikes the first blow. — Davidson,” said he to the gentleman who brought the intelligence, “thou shalt be my guide. — Hie thee on, Glendinning — Say to Foster, I conjure37 him, as he respects his mistress’s service, that he will leave the matter in my hands. Say to the Abbot, I will burn the Monastery over his head, if he strikes a stroke till I come — Tell the dog, Julian Avenel, that he hath already one deep score to settle with me — I will set his head on the top of the highest pinnacle38 of Saint Mary’s, if he presume to open another. Make haste, and spare not the spur for fear of spoiling horse-flesh.”
“Your bidding shall be obeyed, my lord,” said Glendinning; and choosing those whose horses were in best plight39 to be his attendants, he went off as fast as the jaded state of their cavalry40 permitted. Hill and hollow vanished from under the feet of the chargers.
They had not ridden half the way, when they met stragglers coming off from the field, whose appearance announced that the conflict was begun. Two supported in their arms a third, their elder brother, who was pierced with an arrow through the body. Halbert, who knew them to belong to the Halidome, called them by their names, and questioned them of the state of the affray; but just then, in spite of their efforts to retain him in the saddle, their brother dropped from the horse, and they dismounted in haste to receive his last breath. From men thus engaged, no information was to be obtained. Glendinning, therefore, pushed on with his little troop, the more anxiously, as he perceived other stragglers, bearing Saint Andrew’s cross upon their caps and corslets, flying apparently42 from the field of battle. Most of these, when they were aware of a body of horsemen approaching on the road, held to the one hand or the other, at such a distance as precluded43 coming to speech of them. Others, whose fear was more intense, kept the onward44 road, galloping45 wildly as fast as their horses could carry them, and when questioned, only glared without reply on those who spoke46 to them, and rode on without drawing bridle47. Several of these were also known to Halbert, who had therefore no doubt, from the circumstances in which he met them, that the men of the Halidome were defeated. He became now unspeakably anxious concerning the fate of his brother, who, he could not doubt, must have been engaged in the affray. He therefore increased the speed of his horse, so that not above five or six of his followers48 could keep up with him. At length he reached a little hill, at the descent of which, surrounded by a semi-circular sweep of a small stream, lay the plain which had been the scene of the skirmish.
It was a melancholy50 spectacle. War and terror, to use the expression of the poet, had rushed on to the field, and left only wounds and death behind them. The battle had been stoutly51 contested, as was almost always the case with these Border skirmishes, where ancient hatred52, and mutual53 injuries, made men stubborn in maintaining the cause of their conflict. Towards the middle of the plain, there lay the bodies of several men who had fallen in the very act of grappling with the enemy; and there were seen countenances54 which still bore the stern expression of unextinguishable hate and defiance55, hands which clasped the hilt of the broken falchion, or strove in vain to pluck the deadly arrow from the wound. Some were wounded, and, cowed of the courage they had lately shown, were begging aid, and craving56 water, in a tone of melancholy depression, while others tried to teach the faltering57 tongue to pronounce some half-forgotten prayer, which, even when first learned, they had but half understood. Halbert, uncertain what course he was next to pursue, rode through the plain to see if, among the dead or wounded, he could discover any traces of his brother Edward. He experienced no interruption from the English. A distant cloud of dust announced that they were still pursuing the scattered58 fugitives59, and he guessed, that to approach them with his followers, until they were again under some command, would be to throw away his own life, and that of his men, whom the victors would instantly confound with the Scots, against whom they had been successful. He resolved, therefore, to pause until Murray came up with his forces, to which he was the more readily moved, as he heard the trumpets of the English Warden sounding the retreat, and recalling from the pursuit. He drew his men together, and made a stand in an advantageous60 spot of ground, which had been occupied by the Scots in the beginning of the action, and most fiercely disputed while the skirmish lasted.
While he stood here, Halbert’s ear was assailed61 by the feeble moan of a woman, which he had not expected to hear amid that scene, until the retreat of the foes62 had permitted the relations of the slain63 to approach, for the purpose of paying them the last duties. He looked with anxiety, and at length observed, that by the body of a knignt in bright armour64, whose crest65, though soiled and broken, still showed the marks of rank and birth, there sat a female wrapped in a horseman’s cloak, and holding something pressed against her bosom, which he soon discovered to be a child. He glanced towards the English. They advanced not, and the continued and prolonged sound of their trumpets, with the shouts of the leaders, announced that their powers would not be instantly re-assembled. He had, therefore, a moment to look after this unfortunate woman. He gave his horse to a spearman as he dismounted, and, approaching the unhappy female, asked her, in the most soothing66 tone he could assume, whether he could assist her in her distress67. The mourner made him no direct answer; but endeavouring, with a trembling and unskilful hand, to undo68 the springs of the visor and gorget, said, in a tone of impatient grief, “Oh, he would recover instantly could I but give him air — land and living, life and honour, would I give for the power of undoing69 these cruel iron platings that suffocate70 him!” He that would soothe71 sorrow must not argue on the vanity of the most deceitful hopes. The body lay as that of one whose last draught72 of vital air had been drawn73, and who must never more have concern with the nether74 sky. But Halbert Glendinning failed not to raise the visor and cast loose the gorget, when, to his great surprise, he recognized the pale face of Julian Avenel. His last fight was over, the fierce and turbid75 spirit had departed in the strife76 in which it had so long delighted.
“Alas! he is gone,” said Halbert, speaking to the young woman, in whom he had now no difficulty of knowing the unhappy Catherine.
“Oh, no, no, no!” she reiterated77, “do not say so — he is not dead — he is but in a swoon. I have lain as long in one myself — and then his voice would arouse me, when he spoke kindly78, and said, Catherine, look up for my sake — And look up, Julian, for mine!” she said, addressing the senseless corpse79; “I know you do but counterfeit80 to frighten me, but I am not frightened,” she added, with an hysterical81 attempt to laugh; and then instantly changing her tone, entreated82 him to “speak, were it but to curse my folly83. Oh, the rudest word you ever said to me would now sound like the dearest you wasted on me before I gave you all. Lift him up,” she said, “lift him up, for God’s sake! — have you no compassion84? He promised to wed27 me if I bore him a boy, and this child is so like to its father! — How shall he keep his word, if you do not help me to awaken85 him? — Christie of the Clinthill, Rowley, Hutcheon! ye were constant at his feast, but ye fled from him at the fray41, false villains86 as ye are!”
“Not I, by Heaven!” said a dying man, who made some shift to raise himself on his elbow, and discovered to Halbert the well-known features of Christie; “I fled not a foot, and a man can but fight while his breath lasts — mine is going fast. — So, youngster,” said he, looking at Glendinning, and seeing his military dress, “thou hast ta’en the basnet at last? it is a better cap to live in than die in. I would chance had sent thy brother here instead — there was good in him — but thou art as wild, and wilt87 soon be as wicked as myself.”
“God forbid!” said Halbert, hastily.
“Marry, and amen, with all my heart,” said the wounded man, “there will be company enow without thee where I am going. But God be praised I had no hand in that wickedness,” said he, looking to poor Catherine; and with some exclamation88 in his mouth, that sounded betwixt a prayer and a curse, the soul of Christie of the Clinthill took wing to the last account.
Deeply wrapt in the painful interest which these shocking events had excited, Glendinning forgot for a moment his own situation and duties, and was first recalled to them by a trampling89 of horse, and the cry of Saint George for England, which the English soldiers still continued to use. His handful of men, for most of the stragglers had waited for Murray’s coming up, remained on horseback, holding their lances upright, having no command either to submit or resist.
“There stands our Captain,” said one of them, as a strong party of English came up, the vanguard of Foster’s troop.
“Your Captain! with his sword sheathed90, and on foot in the presence of his enemy? a raw soldier, I warrant him,” said the English leader. “So! ho! young man, is your dream out, and will you now answer me if you will fight or fly?”
“Neither,” answered Halbert Glendinning, with great tranquillity91.
“Then throw down thy sword and yield thee,” answered the Englishman.
“Not till I can help myself no otherwise,” said Halbert, with the same moderation of tone and manner.
“Art thou for thine own hand, friend, or to whom dost thou owe service?” demanded the English Captain.
“To the noble Earl of Murray.”
“Then thou servest,” said the Southron, “the most disloyal nobleman who breathes — false both to England and Scotland.”
“Thou liest,” said Glendinning, regardless of all consequences.
“Ha! art thou so hot how, and wert so cold but a minute since? I lie, do I? Wilt thou do battle with me on that quarrel?”
“With one to one — one to two — or two to five, as you list,” said Halbert Glendinning; “grant me but a fair field.”
“That thou shalt have. — Stand back, my mates,” said the brave Englishman. “If I fall, give him fair play, and let him go off free with his people.”
“Long life to the noble Captain!” cried the soldiers, as impatient to see the duel92, as if it had been a bull-baiting.
“He will have a short life of it, though,” said the sergeant93, “if he, an old man of sixty, is to fight, for any reason, or for no reason, with every man he meets, and especially the young fellows he might be father to. — And here comes the Warden besides to see the sword-play.”
In fact, Sir John Foster came up with a considerable body of his horsemen, just as his Captain, whose age rendered him unequal to the combat with so strong and active a youth as Glendinning, was deprived of his sword.
“Take it up for shame, old Stawarth Bolton,” said the English Warden; “and thou, young man, tell me who and what thou art?”
“A follower49 of the Earl of Murray, who bore his will to your honour,” answered Glendinning — “but here he comes to say it himself; I see the van of his horsemen come over the hills.”
“Get into order, my masters,” said Sir John Foster to his followers; “you that have broken your spears, draw your swords. We are something unprovided for a second field, but if yonder dark cloud on the hill edge bring us foul94 weather, we must bear as bravely as our broken cloaks will bide95 it. Meanwhile, Stawarth, we have got the deer we have hunted for — here is Piercie Shafton hard and fast betwixt two troopers.”
“Who, that lad?” said Bolton; “he is no more Piercie Shafton than I am. He hath his gay cloak indeed — but Piercie Shafton is a round dozen of years older than that slip of roguery. I have known him since he was thus high. Did you never see him in the tilt-yard or in the presence?”
“To the devil with such vanities!” said Sir John Foster; “when had I leisure for them or any thing else? During my whole life has she kept me to this hangman’s office, chasing thieves one day and traitors96 another, in daily fear of my life; the lance never hung up in the hall, the foot never out of the stirrup, the saddles never off my nags’ backs; and now, because I have been mistaken in the person of a man I never saw, I warrant me, the next letters from the Privy97 Council will rate me as I were a dog — a man were better dead than thus slaved and harassed99.”
A trumpet15 interrupted Foster’s complaints, and a Scottish pursuivant who attended, declared “that the noble Earl of Murray desired, in all honour and safety, a personal conference with Sir John Foster, midway between their parties, with six of company in each, and ten free minutes to come and go.”
“And now,” said the Englishman, “comes another plague. I must go speak with yonder false Scot, and he knows how to frame his devices, to cast dust in the eyes of a plain man, as well as ever a knave100 in the north. I am no match for him in words, and for hard blows we are but too ill provided. — Pursuivant, we grant the conference — and you, Sir Swordsman,” (speaking to young Glendinning,) “draw off with your troopers to your own party — march — attend your Earl’s trumpet. — Stawarth Bolton, put our troop in order, and be ready to move forward at the wagging of a finger. — Get you gone to your own friends, I tell you, Sir Squire101, and loiter not here.”
Notwithstanding this peremptory102 order, Halbert Glendinning could not help stopping to cast a look upon the unfortunate Catherine, who lay insensible of the danger and of the trampling of so many horses around her, insensible, as the second glance assured him, of all and forever. Glendinning almost rejoiced when he saw that the last misery103 of life was over, and that the hoofs104 of the war-horses, amongst which he was compelled to leave her, could only injure and deface a senseless corpse. He caught the infant from her arms, half ashamed of the shout of laughter which rose on all sides, at seeing an armed man in such a situation assume such an unwonted and inconvenient105 burden.
“Shoulder your infant!” cried a harquebusier.
“Port your infant!” said a pikeman.
“Peace, ye brutes,” said Stawarth Bolton, “and respect humanity in others if you have none yourselves. I pardon the lad having done some discredit106 to my gray hairs, when I see him take care of that helpless creature, which ye would have trampled107 upon as if ye had been littered of bitch-wolves, not born of women.”
While this passed, the leaders on either side met in the neutral space betwixt the forces of either, and the Earl accosted108 the English Warden:
“Is this fair or honest usage, Sir John, or for whom do you hold the Earl of Morton and myself, that you ride in Scotland with arrayed banner, fight, slay109, and make prisoners at your own pleasure? Is it well done, think you, to spoil our land and shed our blood, after the many proofs we have given to your mistress of our devotion due to her will, saving always the allegiance due to our own sovereign?”
“My Lord of Murray,” answered Foster, “all the world knows you to be a man of quick ingine and deep wisdom, and these several weeks you have held me in hand with promising110 to arrest my sovereign mistress’s rebel, this Piercie Shafton of Wilverton, and you have never kept your word, alleging111 turmoils112 in the west, and I wot not what other causes of hinderance. Now, since he has had the insolence113 to return hither, and live openly within ten miles of England, I could no longer, in plain duty to my mistress and queen, tarry upon your successive delays, and therefore I have used her force to take her rebel, by the strong hand, wherever I can find him.”
“And is Piercie Shafton in your hands, then?” said the Earl of Murray. “Be aware that I may not, without my own great shame, suffer you to remove him hence without doing battle.”
“Will you, Lord Earl, after all the advantages you have received at the hands of the Queen of England, do battle in the cause of her rebel?” said Sir John Foster.
“Not so, Sir John,” answered the Earl, “but I will fight to the death in defence of the liberties of our free kingdom of Scotland.”
“By my faith,” said Sir John Foster, “I am well content — my sword is not blunted with all it has done yet this day.”
“By my honour, Sir John,” said Sir George Heron of Chipchase, “there is but little reason we should fight these Scottish Lords e’en now, for I hold opinion with old Stawarth Bolton, and believe yonder prisoner to be no more Piercie Shafton than he is the Earl of Northumberland; and you were but ill advised to break the peace betwixt the countries for a prisoner of less consequence than that gay mischief114-maker.”
“Sir George,” replied Foster, “I have often heard you herons are afraid of hawks115 — Nay116, lay not hand on sword, man — I did but jest; and for this prisoner, let him be brought up hither, that we may see who or what he is — always under assurance, my Lords,” he continued, addressing the Scots.
“Upon our word and honour,” said Morton, “we will offer no violence.”
The laugh turned against Sir John Foster considerably117, when the prisoner, being brought up, proved not only a different person from Sir Piercie Shafton, but a female in man’s attire118.
“Pluck the mantle119 from the quean’s face, and cast her to the horse-boys,” said Foster; “she has kept such company ere now, I warrant.”
Even Murray was moved to laughter, no common thing with him, at the disappointment of the English Warden; but he would not permit any violence to be offered to the fair Molinara, who had thus a second time rescued Sir Piercie Shafton at her own personal risk.
“You have already done more mischief than you can well answer,” said the Earl to the English Warden, “and it were dishonour120 to me should I permit you to harm a hair of this young woman’s head.”
“My lord,” said Morton, “if Sir John will ride apart with me but for one moment, I will show him such reasons as shall make him content to depart, and to refer this unhappy day’s work to the judgment121 of the Commissioners122 nominated to try offences on the Border.”
He then led Sir John Foster aside, and spoke to him in this manner:—“Sir John Foster, I much marvel123 that a man who knows your Queen Elizabeth as you do, should not know that, if you hope any thing from her, it must be for doing her useful service, not for involving her in quarrels with her neighbours without any advantage. Sir Knight124, I will speak frankly125 what I know to be true. Had you seized the true Piercie Shafton by this ill-advised inroad; and had your deed threatened, as most likely it might, a breach126 betwixt the countries, your politic127 princess and her politic council would rather have disgraced Sir John Foster than entered into war in his behalf. But now that you have stricken short of your aim, you may rely on it you will have little thanks for carrying the matter farther. I will work thus far on the Earl of Murray, that he will undertake to dismiss Sir Piercie Shafton from the realm of Scotland. — Be well advised, and let the matter now pass off — you will gain nothing by farther violence, for if we fight, you as the fewer and the weaker through your former action, will needs have the worse.”
Sir John Foster listened with his head declining on his breast-plate.
“It is a cursed chance,” he said, “and I shall have little thanks for my day’s work.”
He then rode up to Murray, and said, that, in deference128 to his Lordship’s presence and that of my Lord of Morton, he had come to the resolution of withdrawing himself, with his power, without farther proceedings129.
“Stop there, Sir John Foster,” said Murray; “I cannot permit you to retire in safety, unless you leave some one who may be surety to Scotland, that the injuries you have at present done us may be fully130 accounted for — you will reflect, that by permitting your retreat, I become accountable to my Sovereign, who will demand a reckoning of me for the blood of her subjects, if I suffer those who shed it to depart so easily.”
“It shall never be told in England,” said the Warden, “that John Foster gave pledges like a subdued131 man, and that on the very field on which he stands victorious132. — But,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “if Stawarth Bolton wills to abide133 with you on his own free choice, I will say nothing against it; and, as I bethink me, it were better he should stay to see the dismissal of this same Piercie Shafton.”
“I receive him as your hostage, nevertheless, and shall treat him as such,” said the Earl of Murray. But Foster, turning away as if to give directions to Bolton and his men, affected134 not to hear this observation.
“There rides a faithful servant of his most beautiful and Sovereign Lady,” said Murray aside to Morton. “Happy man! he knows not whether the execution of her commands may not cost him his head; and yet he is most certain that to leave them unexecuted will bring disgrace and death without reprieve135. Happy are they who are not only subjected to the caprices of Dame136 Fortune, but held bound to account and be responsible for them, and that to a sovereign as moody137 and fickle138 as her humorous ladyship herself!”
“We also have a female Sovereign, my lord,” said Morton.
“We have so, Douglas,” said the Earl — with a suppressed sigh; “but it remains139 to be seen how long a female hand can hold the reins140 of power in a realm so wild as ours. We will now go on to Saint Mary’s, and see ourselves after the state of that House. — Glendinning, look to that woman, and protect her. — What the fiend, man, hast thou got in thine arms? — an infant as I live! — where couldst thou find such a charge, at such a place and moment?”
Halbert Glendinning briefly141 told the story. The Earl rode forward to the place where the body of Julian Avenel lay, with his unhappy companion’s arms wrapped around him like the trunk of an uprooted142 oak borne down by the tempest with all its ivy98 garlands. Both were cold dead. Murray was touched in an unwonted degree, remembering, perhaps, his own birth. “What have they to answer for, Douglas,” he said, “who thus abuse the sweetest gifts of affection?”
The Earl of Morton, unhappy in his marriage, was a libertine143 in his amours.
“You must ask that question of Henry Warden, my lord, or of John Knox — I am but a wild counsellor in women’s matters.”
“Forward to Saint Mary’s,” said the Earl; “pass the word on — Glendinning, give the infant to this same female cavalier, and let it be taken charge of. Let no dishonour be done to the dead bodies, and call on the country to bury or remove them. — Forward, I say, my masters!”
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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forth
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monastery
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complexion
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gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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incapable
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plunge
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shrugged
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cardinal
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determined
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bosom
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primate
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| n.灵长类（目）动物，首席主教；adj.首要的 | |
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13
levying
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| 征（兵）( levy的现在分词 )； 索取； 发动（战争）； 征税 | |
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14
musters
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的第三人称单数 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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15
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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16
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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17
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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18
infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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19
warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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20
archer
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| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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21
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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22
coxcomb
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| n.花花公子 | |
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23
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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24
privily
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| adv.暗中，秘密地 | |
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25
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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26
lucre
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| n.金钱，财富 | |
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27
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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28
barons
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| 男爵( baron的名词复数 )； 巨头； 大王； 大亨 | |
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29
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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30
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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32
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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33
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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34
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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35
apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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36
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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37
conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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38
pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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39
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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40
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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41
fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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42
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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43
precluded
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| v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 )；排除；妨碍；使…行不通 | |
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44
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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45
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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46
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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47
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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48
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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49
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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50
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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51
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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52
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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53
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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54
countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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55
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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56
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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57
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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58
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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59
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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60
advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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61
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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62
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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63
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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64
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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65
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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66
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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67
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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68
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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69
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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70
suffocate
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| vt.使窒息，使缺氧，阻碍；vi.窒息，窒息而亡，阻碍发展 | |
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71
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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72
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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73
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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74
nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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75
turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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76
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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77
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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79
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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80
counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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81
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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82
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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84
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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85
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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86
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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87
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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88
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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89
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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90
sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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91
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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92
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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93
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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94
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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95
bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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96
traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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97
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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98
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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99
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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100
knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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101
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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102
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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103
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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104
hoofs
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| 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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105
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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106
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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107
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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108
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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109
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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110
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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111
alleging
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| 断言，宣称，辩解( allege的现在分词 ) | |
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112
turmoils
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| n.混乱( turmoil的名词复数 )；焦虑 | |
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113
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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114
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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115
hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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116
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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117
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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118
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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119
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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120
dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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121
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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122
commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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123
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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124
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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125
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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126
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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127
politic
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| adj.有智虑的；精明的；v.从政 | |
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128
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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129
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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130
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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131
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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132
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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133
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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134
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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135
reprieve
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| n.暂缓执行（死刑）；v.缓期执行；给…带来缓解 | |
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136
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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137
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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138
fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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139
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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140
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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141
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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142
uprooted
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| v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的过去式和过去分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
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143
libertine
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| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
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