While the screech-owl, sounding loud,
Puts the wretch1 that lies in woe2,
In remembrance of a shroud3.
Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping4 wide,
Every one lets out its sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide5.
MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM.
Before the gate of the palace the guards were now doubled. Everard demanded the reason of this from the corporal, whom he found in the hall with his soldiers, sitting or sleeping around a great fire, maintained at the expense of the carved chairs and benches with fragments of which it was furnished.
“Why, verily,” answered the man, “the corps-degarde, as your worship says, will be harassed6 to pieces by such duty; nevertheless, fear hath gone abroad among us, and no man will mount guard alone. We have drawn8 in, however, one or two of our outposts from Banbury and elsewhere, and we are to have a relief from Oxford9 tomorrow.”
Everard continued minute enquiries concerning the sentinels that were posted within as well as without the Lodge10; and found that, as they had been stationed under the eye of Harrison himself, the rules of prudent11 discipline had been exactly observed in the distribution of the posts. There remained nothing therefore for Colonel Everard to do, but, remembering his own adventure of the evening, to recommend that an additional sentinel should be placed, with a companion, if judged indispensable, in that vestibule, or ante-room, from which the long gallery where he had met with the rencontre, and other suites12 of apartments, diverged13. The corporal respectfully promised all obedience14 to his orders. The serving-men being called, appeared also in double force. Everard demanded to know whether the Commissioners15 had gone to bed, or whether he could get speech with them? “They are in their bedroom, forsooth,” replied one of the fellows; “but I think they be not yet undressed.”
“What!” said Everard, “are Colonel Desborough and Master Bletson both in the same sleeping apartment?”
“Their honours have so chosen it,” said the man; “and their honours’ secretaries remain upon guard all night.”
“It is the fashion to double guards all over the house,” said Wildrake. “Had I a glimpse of a tolerably good-looking house-maid now, I should know how to fall into the fashion.”
“Peace, fool!” said Everard. —“And where are the Mayor and Master Holdenough?”
“The Mayor is returned to the borough16 on horseback, behind the trooper, who goes to Oxford for the reinforcement; and the man of the steeple-house hath quartered himself in the chamber17 which Colonel Desborough had last night, being that in which he is most likely to meet the — your honour understands. The Lord pity us, we are a harassed family!”
“And where be General Harrison’s knaves,” said Tomkins, “that they do not marshal him to his apartment?”
“Here — here — here, Master Tomkins,” said three fellows, pressing forward, with the same consternation18 on their faces which seemed to pervade19 the whole inhabitants of Woodstock.
“Away with you, then,” said Tomkins; —“speak not to his worship — you see he is not in the humour.”
“Indeed,” observed Colonel Everard, “he looks singularly wan20 — his features seem writhen as by a palsy stroke; and though he was talking so fast while we came along, he hath not opened his mouth since we came to the light.”
“It is his manner after such visitations,” said Tomkins. —“Give his honour your arms, Zedekiah and Jonathan, to lead him off — I will follow instantly. — You, Nicodemus, tarry to wait upon me — it is not well walking alone in this mansion21.”
“Master Tomkins,” said Everard, “I have heard of you often as a sharp, intelligent man — tell me fairly, are you in earnest afraid of any thing supernatural haunting this house?”
“I would be loth to run the chance, sir,” said Tomkins very gravely; “by looking on my worshipful master, you may form a guess how the living look after they have spoken with the dead.” He bowed low, and took his leave. Everard proceeded to the chamber which the two remaining Commissioners had, for comfort’s sake, chosen to inhabit in company. They were preparing for bed as he went into their apartment. Both started as the door opened — both rejoiced when they saw it was only Everard who entered.
“Hark ye hither,” said Bletson, pulling him aside, “sawest thou ever ass7 equal to Desborough? — the fellow is as big as an ox, and as timorous23 as a sheep. He has insisted on my sleeping here, to protect him. Shall we have a merry night on’t, ha? We will, if thou wilt24 take the third bed, which was prepared for Harrison; but he is gone out, like a mooncalf, to look for the valley of Armageddon in the Park of Woodstock.”
“General Harrison has returned with me but now,” said Everard.
“Nay but, as I shall live, he comes not into our apartment,” said Desborough, overhearing his answer. “No man that has been supping, for aught I know, with the Devil, has a right to sleep among Christian26 folk.”
“He does not propose so,” said Everard; “he sleeps, as I understand, apart — and alone.”
“Not quite alone, I dare say,” said Desborough; “for Harrison hath a sort of attraction for goblins — they fly round him like moths27 about a candle:— But, I prithee, good Everard, do thou stay with us. I know not how it is, but although thou hast not thy religion always in thy mouth, nor speakest many hard words about it, like Harrison — nor makest long preachments, like a certain most honourable28 relation of mine who shall be nameless, yet somehow I feel myself safer in thy company than with any of them. As for this Bletson, he is such a mere29 blasphemer, that I fear the Devil will carry him away ere morning.”
“Did you ever hear such a paltry30 coward?” said Bletson, apart to Everard. “Do tarry, however, mine honoured Colonel — I know your zeal31 to assist the distressed32, and you see Desborough is in that predicament, that he will require near him more than one example to prevent him thinking of ghosts and fiends.”
“I am sorry I cannot oblige you, gentlemen,” said Everard; “but I have settled my mind to sleep in Victor Lee’s apartment, so I wish you good night; and, if you would repose33 without disturbance34, I would advise that you commend yourselves, during the watches of the night, to Him unto whom night is even as mid-day. I had intended to have spoke22 with you this evening on the subject of my being here; but I will defer35 the conference till tomorrow, when, I think, I will be able to show you excellent reasons for leaving Woodstock.”
“We have seen plenty such already,” said Desborough; “for one, I came here to serve the estate, with some moderate advantage to myself for my trouble; but if I am set upon my head again to-night, as I was the night before, I would not stay longer to gain a king’s crown; for I am sure my neck would be unfitted to bear the weight of it.”
“Good night,” exclaimed Everard; and was about to go, when Bletson again pressed close, and whispered to him, “Hark thee, Colonel — you know my friendship for thee — I do implore36 thee to leave the door of thy apartment open, that if thou meetest with any disturbance, I may hear thee call, and be with thee upon the very instant. Do this, dear Everard, my fears for thee will keep me awake else; for I know that, notwithstanding your excellent sense, you entertain some of those superstitious38 ideas which we suck in with our mother’s milk, and which constitute the ground of our fears in situations like the present; therefore leave thy door open, if you love me, that you may have ready assistance from me in case of need.”
“My master,” said Wildrake, “trusts, first, in his Bible, sir, and then in his good sword. He has no idea that the Devil can be baffled by the charm of two men lying in one room, still less that the foul39 fiend can be argued out of existence by the Nullifidians of the Rota.”
Everard seized his imprudent friend by the collar, and dragged him off as he was speaking, keeping fast hold of him till they were both in the chamber of Victor Lee, where they had slept on a former occasion. Even then he continued to hold Wildrake, until the servant had arranged the lights, and was dismissed from the room; then letting him go, addressed him with the upbraiding40 question, “Art thou not a prudent and sagacious person, who in times like these seek’st every opportunity to argue yourself into a broil41, or embroil42 yourself in an argument? Out on you!”
“Ay, out on me indeed,” said the cavalier; “out on me for a poor tame-spirited creature, that submits to be bandied about in this manner, by a man who is neither better born nor better bred than myself. I tell thee, Mark, you make an unfair use of your advantages over me. Why will you not let me go from you, and live and die after my own fashion?”
“Because, before we had been a week separate, I should hear of your dying after the fashion of a dog. Come, my good friend, what madness was it in thee to fall foul on Harrison, and then to enter into useless argument with Bletson?”
“Why, we are in the Devil’s house, I think, and I would willingly give the landlord his due wherever I travel. To have sent him Harrison, or Bletson now, just as a lunch to stop his appetite, till Crom”—
“Hush! stone walls have ears,” said Everard, looking around him. “Here stands thy night-drink. Look to thy arms, for we must be as careful as if the Avenger43 of Blood were behind us. Yonder is thy bed — and I, as thou seest, have one prepared in the parlour. The door only divides us.”
“Which I will leave open, in case thou shouldst holla for assistance, as yonder Nullifidian hath it — But how hast thou got all this so well put in order, good patron?”
“I gave the steward44 Tomkins notice of my purpose to sleep here.”
“A strange fellow that,” said Wildrake, “and, as I judge, has taken measure of every one’s foot — all seems to pass through his hands.”
“He is, I have understood,” replied Everard, “one of the men formed by the times — has a ready gift of preaching and expounding45, which keeps him in high terms with the Independents; and recommends himself to the more moderate people by his intelligence and activity.”
“Has his sincerity46 ever been doubted?” said Wildrake.
“Never, that I heard of,” said the Colonel; “on the contrary, he has been familiarly called Honest Joe, and Trusty Tomkins. For my part, I believe his sincerity has always kept pace with his interest. — But come, finish thy cup, and to bed. — What, all emptied at one draught47!”
“Adszookers, yes — my vow48 forbids me to make two on’t; but, never fear — the nightcap will only warm my brain, not clog49 it. So, man or devil, give me notice if you are disturbed, and rely on me in a twinkling.” So saying, the cavalier retreated into his separate apartment, and Colonel Everard, taking off the most cumbrous part of his dress, lay down in his hose and doublet, and composed himself to rest.
He was awakened51 from sleep by a slow and solemn strain of music, which died away as at a distance. He started up, and felt for his arms, which he found close beside him. His temporary bed being without curtains, he could look around him without difficulty; but as there remained in the chimney only a few red embers of the fire which he had arranged before he went to sleep, it was impossible he could discern any thing. He felt, therefore, in spite of his natural courage, that undefined and thrilling species of tremor52 which attends a sense that danger is near, and an uncertainty53 concerning its cause and character. Reluctant as he was to yield belief to supernatural occurrences, we have already said he was not absolutely incredulous; as perhaps, even in this more sceptical age, there are many fewer complete and absolute infidels on this particular than give themselves out for such. Uncertain whether he had not dreamed of these sounds which seemed yet in his ears, he was unwilling55 to risk the raillery of his friend by summoning him to his assistance. He sat up, therefore, in his bed, not without experiencing that nervous agitation56 to which brave men as well as cowards are subject; with this difference, that the one sinks under it, like the vine under the hailstorm, and the other collects his energies to shake it off, as the cedar57 of Lebanon is said to elevate its boughs58 to disperse59 the snow which accumulates upon them.
The story of Harrison, in his own absolute despite, and notwithstanding a secret suspicion which he had of trick or connivance60, returned on his mind at this dead and solitary61 hour. Harrison, he remembered, had described the vision by a circumstance of its appearance different from that which his own remark had been calculated to suggest to the mind of the visionary; — that bloody62 napkin, always pressed to the side, was then a circumstance present either to his bodily eye, or to that of his agitated63 imagination. Did, then, the murdered revisit the living haunts of those who had forced them from the stage with all their sins unaccounted for? And if they did, might not the same permission authorise other visitations of a similar nature, to warn — to instruct — to punish? Rash are they, was his conclusion, and credulous54, who receive as truth every tale of the kind; but no less rash may it be, to limit the power of the Creator over the works which he has made, and to suppose that, by the permission of the Author of Nature, the laws of Nature may not, in peculiar64 cases, and for high purposes, be temporarily suspended.
While these thoughts passed through Everard’s mind, feelings unknown to him, even when he stood first on the rough and perilous66 edge of battle, gained ground upon him. He feared he knew not what; and where an open and discernible peril65 would have drawn out his courage, the absolute uncertainty of his situation increased his sense of the danger. He felt an almost irresistible67 desire to spring from his bed and heap fuel on the dying embers, expecting by the blaze to see some strange sight in his chamber. He was also strongly tempted68 to awaken50 Wildrake; but shame, stronger than fear itself, checked these impulses. What! should it be thought that Markham Everard, held one of the best soldiers who had drawn a sword in this sad war — Markham Everard, who had obtained such distinguished69 rank in the army of the Parliament, though so young in years, was afraid of remaining by himself in a twilight-room at midnight? It never should be said.
This was, however, no charm for his unpleasant current of thought. There rushed on his mind the various traditions of Victor Lee’s chamber, which, though he had often despised them as vague, unauthenticated, and inconsistent rumours70, engendered71 by ancient superstition72, and transmitted from generation to generation by loquacious73 credulity, had something in them, which, did not tend to allay74 the present unpleasant state of his nerves. Then, when he recollected75 the events of that very afternoon, the weapon pressed against his throat, and the strong arm which threw him backward on the floor — if the remembrance served to contradict the idea of flitting phantoms76, and unreal daggers78, it certainly induced him to believe, that there was in some part of this extensive mansion a party of cavaliers, or malignants, harboured, who might arise in the night, overpower the guards, and execute upon them all, but on Harrison in particular, as one of the regicide judges, that vengeance79, which was so eagerly thirsted for by the attached followers80 of the slaughtered81 monarch82.
He endeavoured to console himself on this subject by the number and position of the guards, yet still was dissatisfied with himself for not having taken yet more exact precautions, and for keeping an extorted83 promise of silence, which might consign84 so many of his party to the danger of assassination85. These thoughts, connected with his military duties, awakened another train of reflections. He bethought himself, that all he could now do, was to visit the sentries86, and ascertain87 that they were awake, alert, on the watch, and so situated88, that in time of need they might be ready to support each other. —“This better befits me,” he thought, “than to be here like a child, frightening myself with the old woman’s legend, which I have laughed at when a boy. What although old Victor Lee was a sacrilegious man, as common report goes, and brewed89 ale in the font which he brought from the ancient palace of Holyrood, while church and building were in flames? And what although his eldest90 son was when a child scalded to death in the same vessel91? How many churches have been demolished92 since his time? How many fonts desecrated93? So many indeed, that were the vengeance of Heaven to visit such aggressions in a supernatural manner, no corner in England, no, not the most petty parish church, but would have its apparition94. — Tush, these are idle fancies, unworthy, especially, to be entertained by those educated to believe that sanctity resides in the intention and the act, not in the buildings or fonts, or the form of worship.”
As thus he called together the articles of his Calvinistic creed95, the bell of the great clock (a token seldom silent in such narratives) tolled96 three, and was immediately followed by the hoarse97 call of the sentinels through vault98 and gallery, up stairs and beneath, challenging and answering each other with the usual watch-word, All’s Well. Their voices mingled99 with the deep boom of the bell, yet ceased before that was silent, and when they had died away, the tingling100 echo of the prolonged knell101 was scarcely audible. Ere yet that last distant tingling had finally subsided102 into silence, it seemed as if it again was awakened; and Everard could hardly judge at first whether a new echo had taken up the falling cadence103, or whether some other and separate sound was disturbing anew the silence to which the deep knell had, as its voice ceased, consigned104 the ancient mansion and the woods around it.
But the doubt was soon cleared up. The musical tones which had mingled with the dying echoes of the knell, seemed at first to prolong, and afterwards to survive them. A wild strain of melody, beginning at a distance, and growing louder as it advanced, seemed to pass from room to room, from cabinet to gallery, from hall to bower105, through the deserted106 and dishonoured107 ruins of the ancient residence of so many sovereigns; and, as it approached, no soldier gave alarm, nor did any of the numerous guests of various degrees, who spent an unpleasant and terrified night in that ancient mansion, seem to dare to announce to each other the inexplicable108 cause of apprehension109.
Everard’s excited state of mind did not permit him to be so passive. The sounds approached so nigh, that it seemed they were performing, in the very next apartment, a solemn service for the dead, when he gave the alarm, by calling loudly to his trusty attendant and friend Wildrake, who slumbered110 in the next chamber with only a door betwixt them, and even that ajar. “Wildrake — Wildrake! — Up — Up! Dost thou not hear the alarm?” There was no answer from Wildrake, though the musical sounds, which now rung through the apartment, as if the performers had actually been, within its precincts, would have been sufficient to awaken a sleeping person, even without the shout of his comrade and patron.
“Alarm! — Roger Wildrake — alarm!” again called Everard, getting out of bed and grasping his weapons —“Get a light, and cry alarm!” There was no answer. His voice died away as the sound of the music seemed also to die; and the same soft sweet voice, which still to his thinking resembled that of Alice Lee, was heard in his apartment, and, as he thought, at no distance from him.
“Your comrade will not answer,” said the low soft voice. “Those only hear the alarm whose consciences feel the call!”
“Again this mummery!” said Everard. “I am better armed than I was of late; and but for the sound of that voice, the speaker had bought his trifling112 dear.”
It was singular, we may observe in passing, that the instant the distinct sounds of the human voice were heard by Everard, all idea of supernatural interference was at an end, and the charm by which he had been formerly113 fettered114 appeared to be broken; so much is the influence of imaginary or superstitious terror dependent (so far as respects strong judgments115 at least) upon what is vague or ambiguous; and so readily do distinct tones, and express ideas, bring such judgments back to the current of ordinary life. The voice returned answer, as addressing his thoughts as well as his words.
“We laugh at the weapons thou thinkest should terrify us — Over the guardians116 of Woodstock they have no power. Fire, if thou wilt, and try the effect of thy weapons. But know, it is not our purpose to harm thee — thou art of a falcon117 breed, and noble in thy disposition118, though, unreclaimed and ill-nurtured, thou hauntest with kites and carrion119 crows. Wing thy flight from hence on the morrow, for if thou tarriest with the bats, owls120, vultures and ravens121, which have thought to nestle here, thou wilt inevitably122 share their fate. Away then, that these halls may be swept and garnished123 for the reception of those who have a better right to inhabit them.”
Everard answered in a raised voice. —“Once more I warn you, think not to defy me in vain. I am no child to be frightened by goblins’ tales; and no coward, armed as I am, to be alarmed at the threats of banditti. If I give you a moment’s indulgence, it is for the sake of dear and misguided friends, who may be concerned with this dangerous gambol124. Know, I can bring a troop of soldiers round the castle, who will search its most inward recesses125 for the author of this audacious frolic; and if that search should fail, it will cost but a few barrels of gunpowder126 to make the mansion a heap of ruins, and bury under them the authors of such an ill-judged pastime.”
“You speak proudly, Sir Colonel,” said another voice, similar to that harsher and stronger tone by which he had been addressed in the gallery; “try your courage in this direction.”
“You should not dare me twice,” said Colonel Everard, “had I a glimpse of light to take aim by.”
As he spoke, a sudden gleam of light was thrown with a brilliancy which almost dazzled the speaker, showing distinctly a form somewhat resembling that of Victor Lee, as represented in his picture, holding in one hand a lady completely veiled, and in the other his leading-staff, or truncheon. Both figures were animated127, and, as it appeared, standing37 within six feet of him.
“Were it not for the woman,” said Everard, “I would not be thus mortally dared.”
“Spare not for the female form, but do your worst,” replied the same voice. “I defy you.”
“Repeat your defiance128 when I have counted thrice,” said Everard, “and take the punishment of your insolence129. Once — I have cocked my pistol — Twice — I never missed my aim — By all that is sacred, I fire if you do not withdraw. When I pronounce the next number, I will shoot you dead where you stand. I am yet unwilling to shed blood — I give you another chance of flight — once — twice — THRICE!”
Everard aimed at the bosom130, and discharged his pistol. The figure waved its arm in an attitude of scorn; and a loud laugh arose, during which the light, as gradually growing weaker, danced and glimmered131 upon the apparition of the aged25 knight132, and then disappeared. Everard’s life-blood ran cold to his heart —“Had he been of human mould,” he thought, “the bullet must have pierced him — but I have neither will nor power to fight with supernatural beings.”
The feeling of oppression was now so strong as to be actually sickening. He groped his way, however, to the fireside, and flung on the embers which were yet gleaming, a handful of dry fuel. It presently blazed, and afforded him light to see the room in every direction. He looked cautiously, almost timidly, around, and half expected some horrible phantom77 to become visible. But he saw nothing save the old furniture, the reading desk, and other articles, which had been left in the same state as when Sir Henry Lee departed. He felt an uncontrollable desire, mingled with much repugnance133, to look at the portrait of the ancient knight, which the form he had seen so strongly resembled. He hesitated betwixt the opposing feelings, but at length snatched, with desperate resolution, the taper134 which he had extinguished, and relighted it, ere the blaze of the fuel had again died away. He held it up to the ancient portrait of Victor Lee, and gazed on it with eager curiosity, not unmingled with fear. Almost the childish terrors of his earlier days returned, and he thought the severe pale eye of the ancient warrior135 followed his, and menaced him with its displeasure. And although he quickly argued himself out of such an absurd belief, yet the mixed feelings of his mind were expressed in words that seemed half addressed to the ancient portrait.
“Soul of my mother’s ancestor,” he said, “be it for weal or for woe, by designing men, or by supernatural beings, that these ancient halls are disturbed, I am resolved to leave them on the morrow.”
“I rejoice to hear it, with all my soul,” said a voice behind him.
He turned, saw a tall figure in white, with a sort of turban upon its head, and dropping the candle in the exertion136, instantly grappled with it.
“Thou at least art palpable,” he said.
“Palpable?” answered he whom he grasped so strongly —”‘Sdeath, methinks you might know that — without the risk of choking me; and if you loose me not, I’ll show you that two can play at the game of wrestling.”
“Roger Wildrake!” said Everard, letting the cavalier loose, and stepping back.
“Roger Wildrake? ay, truly. Did you take me for Roger Bacon, come to help you raise the devil? — for the place smells of sulphur consumedly.”
“It is the pistol I fired — Did you not hear it?”
“Why, yes, it was the first thing waked me — for that nightcap which I pulled on, made me sleep like a dormouse — Pshaw, I feel my brains giddy with it yet.”
“And wherefore came you not on the instant? — I never needed help more.”
“I came as fast as I could,” answered Wildrake; “but it was some time ere I got my senses collected, for I was dreaming of that cursed field at Naseby — and then the door of my room was shut, and hard to open, till I played the locksmith with my foot.”
“How! it was open when I went to bed,” said Everard.
“It was locked when I came out of bed, though,” said Wildrake, “and I marvel137 you heard me not when I forced it open.”
“My mind was occupied otherwise,” said Everard.
“Well,” said Wildrake, “but what has happened? — Here am I bolt upright, and ready to fight, if this yawning fit will give me leave — Mother Redcap’s mightiest138 is weaker than I drank last night, by a bushel to a barleycorn — I have quaffed139 the very elixir140 of malt — Ha — yaw.”
“And some opiate besides, I should think,” said Everard.
“Very like — very like — less than the pistol-shot would not waken me; even me, who with but an ordinary grace-cup, sleep as lightly as a maiden141 on the first of May, when she watches for the earliest beam to go to gather dew. But what are you about to do next?”
“Nothing,” answered Everard.
“Nothing?” said Wildrake, in surprise.
“I speak it,” said Colonel Everard, “less for your information, than for that of others who may hear me, that I will leave the Lodge this morning, and, if it is possible, remove the Commissioners.”
“Hark,” said Wildrake, “do you not hear some noise like the distant sound of the applause of a theatre? The goblins of the place rejoice in your departure.”
“I shall leave Woodstock,” said Everard, “to the occupation of my uncle Sir Henry Lee, and his family, if they choose to resume it; not that I am frightened into this as a concession142 to the series of artifices143 which have been played off on this occasion, but solely144 because such was my intention from the beginning. But let me warn,” (he added, raising his voice,)—“let me warn the parties concerned in this combination, that though it may pass off successfully on a fool like Desborough, a visionary like Harrison, a coward like Bletson”—
Here a voice distinctly spoke, as standing near them —“or a wise, moderate, and resolute145 person, like Colonel Everard.”
“By Heaven, the voice came from the picture,” said Wildrake, drawing his sword; “I will pink his plated armour146 for him.”
“Offer no violence,” said Everard, startled at the interruption, but resuming with firmness what he was saying —“Let those engaged be aware, that however this string of artifices may be immediately successful, it must, when closely looked into, be attended with the punishment of all concerned — the total demolition147 of Woodstock, and the irremediable downfall of the family of Lee. Let all concerned think of this, and desist in time.”
He paused, and almost expected a reply, but none such came.
“It is a very odd thing,” said Wildrake; “but — yaw-ha — my brain cannot compass it just now; it whirls round like a toast in a bowl of muscadine; I must sit down — haw-yaw — and discuss it at leisure — Gramercy, good elbow-chair.”
So saying, he threw himself, or rather sank gradually down on a large easy-chair which had been often pressed by the weight of stout148 Sir Henry Lee, and in an instant was sound asleep. Everard was far from feeling the same inclination149 for slumber111, yet his mind was relieved of the apprehension of any farther visitation that night; for he considered his treaty to evacuate150 Woodstock as made known to, and accepted in all probability by, those whom the intrusion of the Commissioners had induced to take such singular measures for expelling them. His opinion, which had for a time bent151 towards a belief in something supernatural in the disturbances152, had now returned to the more rational mode of accounting153 for them by dexterous154 combination, for which such a mansion as Woodstock afforded so many facilities.
He heaped the hearth155 with fuel, lighted the candle, and examining poor Wildrake’s situation, adjusted him as easily in the chair as he could, the cavalier stirring his limbs no more than an infant. His situation went far, in his patron’s opinion, to infer trick and confederacy, for ghosts have no occasion to drug men’s possets. He threw himself on the bed, and while he thought these strange circumstances over, a sweet and low strain of music stole through the chamber, the words “Good night — good night — good night,” thrice repeated, each time in a softer and more distant tone, seeming to assure him that the goblins and he were at truce156, if not at peace, and that he had no more disturbance to expect that night. He had scarcely the courage to call out a “good night;” for, after all his conviction of the existence of a trick, it was so well performed as to bring with it a feeling of fear, just like what an audience experience during the performance of a tragic157 scene, which they know to be unreal, and which yet affects their passions by its near approach to nature. Sleep overtook him at last, and left him not till broad daylight on the ensuing morning.
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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4
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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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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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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11
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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12
suites
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| n.套( suite的名词复数 )；一套房间；一套家具；一套公寓 | |
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13
diverged
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| 分开( diverge的过去式和过去分词 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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14
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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15
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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16
borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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17
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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18
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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19
pervade
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| v.弥漫，遍及，充满，渗透，漫延 | |
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20
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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21
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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22
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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23
timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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24
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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25
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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26
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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27
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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28
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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29
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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30
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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31
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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32
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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33
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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34
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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35
defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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36
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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37
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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38
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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39
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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40
upbraiding
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| adj.& n.谴责（的）v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的现在分词 ) | |
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41
broil
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| v.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂；n.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂 | |
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42
embroil
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| vt.拖累；牵连；使复杂 | |
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43
avenger
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| n. 复仇者 | |
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44
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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45
expounding
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| 论述，详细讲解( expound的现在分词 ) | |
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46
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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47
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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48
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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49
clog
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| vt.塞满，阻塞；n.[常pl.]木屐 | |
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50
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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51
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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52
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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53
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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54
credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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55
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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56
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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57
cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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58
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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59
disperse
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|
| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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60
connivance
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| n.纵容；默许 | |
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61
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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62
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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63
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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64
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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65
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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66
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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67
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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68
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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69
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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70
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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71
engendered
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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73
loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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74
allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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75
recollected
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|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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77
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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78
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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79
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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80
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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81
slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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83
extorted
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| v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 )；曲解 | |
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84
consign
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| vt.寄售（货品），托运，交托，委托 | |
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85
assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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86
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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87
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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88
situated
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|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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89
brewed
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| 调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 )； 酝酿； 沏（茶）； 煮（咖啡） | |
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90
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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91
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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92
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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93
desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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95
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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96
tolled
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| 鸣钟（toll的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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97
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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98
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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99
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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100
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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101
knell
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| n.丧钟声；v.敲丧钟 | |
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102
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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103
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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104
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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105
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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106
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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107
dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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108
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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109
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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110
slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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111
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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112
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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113
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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114
fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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116
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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117
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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118
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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119
carrion
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| n.腐肉 | |
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120
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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121
ravens
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| n.低质煤；渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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122
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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123
garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
gambol
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| v.欢呼，雀跃 | |
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125
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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126
gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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127
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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128
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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129
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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130
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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131
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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133
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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134
taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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135
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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136
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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137
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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138
mightiest
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| adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 )；巨大的；强有力的；浩瀚的 | |
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139
quaffed
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| v.痛饮( quaff的过去式和过去分词 )；畅饮；大口大口将…喝干；一饮而尽 | |
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140
elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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141
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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142
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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143
artifices
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| n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 )；诡计；巧妙办法；虚伪行为 | |
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144
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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145
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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146
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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147
demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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149
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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150
evacuate
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| v.遣送；搬空；抽出；排泄；大(小)便 | |
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151
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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152
disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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153
accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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154
dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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155
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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156
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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157
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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