With shawl-girt head, and ornamented1 gun,
And gold-embroider’d garments, fair to see;
The crimson-scarfed man of Macedon.”
—Lord Byron.
The Moreot, Katusthius Ziani, travelled wearily, and in fear of its robber-inhabitants, through the pashalik of Yannina; yet he had no cause for dread2. Did he arrive, tired and hungry, in a solitary3 village,—did he find himself in the uninhabited wilds suddenly surrounded by a band of klephts,—or in the larger towns did he shrink at finding himself, sole of his race, among the savage4 mountaineers and despotic Turk,—as soon as he announced himself the Pobratimo[1] of Dmitri of the Evil Eye, every hand was held out, every voice spoke5 welcome.
1. In Greece, especially in Illyria and Epirus, it is no uncommon6 thing for persons of the same sex to swear friendship. The Church contains a ritual to consecrate7 this vow8. Two men thus united are called pobratimi, the women posestrime.
The Albanian, Dmitri, was a native of the village of Korvo. Among the savage mountains of the district between Yannina and Terpellenè, the deep broad stream of Argyro-Castro flows; bastioned to the west by abrupt9 wood-covered precipices10, shadowed to the east by elevated mountains. The highest among these is Mount Trebucci; and in a romantic folding of that hill, distinct with minarets12, crowned by a dome13 rising from out a group of pyramidal cypresses14, is the picturesque15 village of Korvo. Sheep and goats form the apparent treasure of its inhabitants; their guns and yataghans, their warlike habits, and, with them, the noble profession of robbery, are sources of still greater wealth. Among a race renowned16 for dauntless courage and sanguinary enterprise, Dmitri was distinguished17.
It was said that in his youth this klepht was remarkable18 for a gentler disposition19 and more refined taste than is usual with his countrymen. He had been a wanderer, and had learned European arts, of which he was not a little proud. He could read and write Greek, and a book was often stowed beside his pistols in his girdle. He had spent several years in Scio, the most civilised of the Greek islands, and had married a Sciote girl. The Albanians are characterized as despisers of women; but Dmitri, in becoming the husband of Helena, enlisted20 under a more chivalrous21 rule, and became the proselyte of a better creed22. Often he returned to his native hills, and fought under the banner of the renowned Ali, and then came back to his island home. The love of the tamed barbarian23 was concentrated, burning, and something beyond this: it was a portion of his living, beating heart,—the nobler part of himself,—the diviner mould in which his rugged24 nature had been recast.
On his return from one of his Albanian expeditions he found his home ravaged25 by the Mainotes. Helena—they pointed27 to her tomb, nor dared tell him how she died; his only child, his lovely infant daughter, was stolen; his treasure-house of love and happiness was rifled, its gold-excelling wealth changed to blank desolation. Dmitri spent three years in endeavours to recover his lost offspring. He was exposed to a thousand dangers, underwent incredible hardships. He dared the wild beast in his lair28, the Mainote in his port of refuge; he attacked, and was attacked by them. He wore the badge of his daring in a deep gash29 across his eyebrow30 and cheek. On this occasion he had died, but that Katusthius, seeing a scuffle on shore and a man left for dead, disembarked from a Moreot sacovela, carried him away, tended and cured him. They exchanged vows33 of friendship, and for some time the Albanian shared his brother’s toils34; but they were too pacific to suit his taste, and he returned to Korvo.
Who in the mutilated savage could recognise the handsomest amongst the Arnaoots? His habits kept pace with his change of physiognomy: he grew ferocious35 and hardhearted; he only smiled when engaged in dangerous enterprise. He had arrived at that worst state of ruffian feeling, the taking delight in blood. He grew old in these occupations; his mind became reckless, his countenance36 more dark; men trembled before his glance, women and children exclaimed in terror, “The Evil Eye!” The opinion became prevalent; he shared it himself; he gloried in the dread privilege; and when his victim shivered and withered37 beneath the mortal influence, the fiendish laugh with which he hailed this demonstration38 of his power struck with worse dismay the failing heart of the fascinated person. But Dmitri could command the arrows of his sight; and his comrades respected him the more for his supernatural attribute since they did not fear the exercise of it on themselves.
Dmitri had just returned from an expedition beyond Prevesa. He and his comrades were laden39 with spoil. They killed and roasted a goat whole for their repast; they drank dry several wine skins; then, round the fire in the court, they abandoned themselves to the delights of the kerchief dance, roaring out the chorus as they dropped upon and then rebounded40 from their knees, and whirled round and round with an activity all their own. The heart of Dmitri was heavy; he refused to dance, and sat apart, at first joining in the song with his voice and lute41, till the air changed to one that reminded him of better days. His voice died away, his instrument dropped from his hands, and his head sank upon his breast.
At the sound of stranger footsteps he started up; in the form before him he surely recognised a friend—he was not mistaken. With a joyful42 exclamation43 he welcomed Katusthius Ziani, clasping his hand and kissing him on the cheek. The traveller was weary, so they retired44 to Dmitri’s own home,—a neatly45 plastered, white-washed cottage, whose earthen floor was perfectly46 dry and clean, and the walls hung with arms—some richly ornamented—and other trophies47 of his klephtic triumphs. A fire was kindled48 by his aged26 female attendant; the friends reposed49 on mats of white rushes while she prepared the pilaf and seethed51 flesh of kid. She placed a bright tin-tray on a block of wood before them, and heaped upon it cakes of Indian corn, goat’s-milk cheese, eggs, and olives; a jar of water from their purest spring, and skin of wine, served to refresh and cheer the thirsty traveller.
After supper the guest spoke of the object of his visit.
“I come to my pobratimo,” he said, “to claim the performance of his vow. When I rescued you from the savage Kakovougnis of Boularias, you pledged to me your gratitude52 and faith; do you disclaim53 the debt?”
Dmitri’s brow darkened. “My brother,” he cried, “need not remind me of what I owe. Command my life; in what can the mountain klepht aid the son of the wealthy Ziani!”
“The son of Ziani is a beggar,” rejoined Katusthius, “and must perish if his brother deny his assistance.”
The Moreot then told his tale. He had been brought up as the only son of a rich merchant of Corinth. He had often sailed as caravokeiri[2] of his father’s vessels54 to Stamboul, and even to Calabria. Some years before he had been boarded and taken by a Barbary corsair. His life since then had been adventurous56, he said; in truth, it had been a guilty one;—he had become a renegade,—and won regard from his new allies, not by his superior courage, for he was cowardly, but by the frauds that make men wealthy. In the midst of this career some superstition57 had influenced him, and he had returned to his ancient religion. He escaped from Africa, wandered through Syria, crossed to Europe, found occupation in Constantinople; and thus years passed. At last, as he was on the point of marriage with a Fanariote beauty, he fell again into poverty, and he returned to Corinth to see if his father’s fortunes had prospered59 during his long wanderings. He found that while these had improved to a wonder, they were lost to him for ever. His father, during his protracted60 absence, acknowledged another son as his; and, dying a year before, had left all to him. Katusthius found this unknown kinsman61, with his wife and child, in possession of his expected inheritance. Cyril divided with him, it is true, their parent’s property, but Katusthius grasped at all, and resolved to obtain it. He brooded over a thousand schemes of murder and revenge; yet the blood of a brother was sacred to him, and Cyril, beloved and respected at Corinth, could only be attacked with considerable risk. Then his child was a fresh obstacle. As the best plan that presented itself, he hastily embarked32 for Butrinto, and came to claim the advice and assistance of the Arnaoot whose life he had saved, whose pobratimo he was. Not thus barely did he tell his tale, but glossed62 it over; so that had Dmitri needed the incitement63 of justice, which was not at all a desideratum with him, he would have been satisfied that Cyril was a base interloper, and that the whole transaction was one of imposture64 and villainy.
2. Master of a merchant ship.
All night these men discussed a variety of projects, whose aim was, that the deceased Ziani’s wealth should pass undivided into his elder son’s hands. At morning’s dawn Katusthius departed, and two days afterwards Dmitri quitted his mountain-home. His first care had been to purchase a horse, long coveted65 by him on account of its beauty and fleetness; he provided cartridges66 and replenished67 his powder-horn. His accoutrements were rich, his dress gay; his arms glittered in the sun. His long hair fell straight from under the shawl twisted round his cap, even to his waist; a shaggy white capote hung from his shoulder; his face wrinkled and puckered68 by exposure to the seasons; his brow furrowed70 with care; his mustachios long and jet-black; his scarred face; his wild, savage eyes;—his whole appearance, not deficient71 in barbaric grace, but stamped chiefly with ferocity and bandit pride, inspired, and we need not wonder, the superstitious72 Greek with a belief that a supernatural spirit of evil dwelt in his aspect, blasting and destroying. Now prepared for his journey, he departed from Korvo, crossing the woods of Acarnania, on his way to Morea.
“Wherefore does Zella tremble, and press her boy to her bosom73, as if fearful of evil?” Thus asked Cyril Ziani, returning from the city of Corinth to his own rural abode74. It was a home of beauty. The abruptly75 broken hills covered with olives, or brighter plantations76 of orange-trees, overlooked the blue waves of the Gulf77 of Egina. A myrtle underwood spread sweet scent78 around, and dipped its dark shining leaves into the sea itself. The low-roofed house was shaded by two enormous fig-trees, while vineyards and corn-land stretched along the gentle upland to the north. When Zella saw her husband she smiled, though her cheek was still pale and her lips quivering. “Now you are near to guard us,” she said, “I dismiss fear; but danger threatens our Constans, and I shudder79 to remember that an Evil Eye has been upon him.”
Cyril caught up his child. “By my head!” he cried, “thou speakest of an ill thing. The Franks call this superstition; but let us beware. His cheek is still rosy80; his tresses flowing gold. Speak, Constans; hail thy father, my brave fellow!”
It was but a short-lived fear; no ill ensued, and they soon forgot an incident which had causelessly made their hearts to quail81. A week afterwards Cyril returned, as he was wont82, from shipping83 a cargo84 of currants, to his retreat on the coast. It was a beautiful summer evening: the creaking water-wheel, which produced the irrigation of the land, chimed in with the last song of the noisy cicala; the rippling85 waves spent themselves almost silently among the shingles86. This was his home; but where its lovely flower? Zella did not come forth87 to welcome him. A domestic pointed to a chapel88 on a neighbouring acclivity, and there he found her; his child (nearly three years of age) was in his nurse’s arms; his wife was praying fervently89, while the tears streamed down her cheeks. Cyril demanded anxiously the meaning of this scene; but the nurse sobbed90; Zella continued to pray and weep; and the boy, from sympathy, began to cry. This was too much for man to endure. Cyril left the chapel; he leant against a walnut-tree. His first exclamation was a customary Greek one, “Welcome this misfortune, so that it come single!” But what was the ill that had occurred? Unapparent was it yet; but the spirit of evil is most fatal when unseen. He was happy,—a lovely wife, a blooming child, a peaceful home, competence91, and the prospect92 of wealth; these blessings93 were his: yet how often does Fortune use such as her decoys? He was a slave in an enslaved land, a mortal subject to the high destinies, and ten thousand were the envenomed darts94 which might be hurled95 at his devoted96 head. Now, timid and trembling, Zella came from the chapel: her explanation did not calm his fears. Again the Evil Eye had been on his child, and deep malignity97 lurked98 surely under this second visitation. The same man, an Arnaoot, with glittering arms, gay attire99, mounted on a black steed, came from the neighbouring ilex grove100, and, riding furiously up to the door, suddenly checked and reined101 in his horse at the very threshold. The child ran towards him: the Arnaoot bent102 his sinister103 eyes upon him:—“Lovely art thou, bright infant,” he cried; “thy blue eyes are beaming, thy golden tresses fair to see; but thou art a vision fleeting104 as beautiful;—look at me!” The innocent looked up, uttered a shriek105, and fell gasping106 on the ground. The women rushed forward to seize him; the Albanian put spurs to his horse, and, galloping107 swiftly across the little plain, up the wooded hill-side, he was soon lost to sight. Zella and the nurse bore the child to the chapel; they sprinkled him with holy water, and, as he revived, besought108 the Panagia with earnest prayers to save him from the menaced ill.
Several months elapsed; little Constans grew in intelligence and beauty; no blight109 had visited the flower of love, and its parents dismissed fear. Sometimes Cyril indulged in a joke at the expense of the Evil Eye; but Zella thought it unlucky to laugh, and crossed herself whenever the event was alluded110 to. At this time Katusthius visited their abode—“He was on his way,” he said, “to Stamboul, and he came to know whether he could serve his brother in any of his transactions in the capital.” Cyril and Zella received him with cordial affection: they rejoiced to perceive that fraternal love was beginning to warm his heart. He seemed full of ambition and hope: the brothers discussed his prospects111, the politics of Europe, and the intrigues112 of the Fanar: the petty affairs of Corinth even were made subjects of discourse113; and the probability that in a short time, young as he was, Cyril would be named Codja-Bashee of the province. On the morrow, Katusthius prepared to depart. “One favour does the voluntary exile ask—will my brother and sister accompany me some hours on my way to Napoli, whence I embark31?”
Zella was unwilling114 to quit her home, even for a short interval115; but she suffered herself to be persuaded, and they proceeded altogether for several miles towards the capital of the Morea. At noontide they made a repast under the shadow of a grove of oaks, and then separated. Returning homeward, the wedded116 pair congratulated themselves on their tranquil117 life and peaceful happiness, contrasted with the wanderer’s lonely and homeless pleasures. These feelings increased in intensity118 as they drew nearer their dwelling119, and anticipated the lisped welcome of their idolized child. From an eminence120 they looked upon the fertile vale which was their home: it was situated121 on the southern side of the isthmus122, and looked upon the Gulf of Egina—all was verdant123, tranquil, and beautiful. They descended124 into the plain; there a singular appearance attracted their attention. A plough with its yoke125 of oxen had been deserted126 midway in the furrow69; the animals had dragged it to the side of the field, and endeavoured to repose50 as well as their conjunction permitted. The sun already touched its western bourne, and the summits of the trees were gilded127 by its parting beams. All was silent; even the eternal water-wheel was still; no menials appeared at their usual rustic128 labours. From the house the voice of wailing129 was too plainly heard.—“My child!” Zella exclaimed. Cyril began to reassure130 her; but another lament131 arose, and he hurried on. She dismounted, and would have followed him, but sank on the road-side. Her husband returned. “Courage, my beloved,” he cried; “I will not repose night nor day until Constans is restored to us—trust to me—farewell!” With these words he rode swiftly on. Her worst fears were thus confirmed; her maternal133 heart, lately so joyous134, became the abode of despair, while the nurse’s narration135 of the sad occurrence tended but to add worse fear to fear. Thus it was: the same stranger of the Evil Eye had appeared, not as before, bearing down on them with eagle speed, but as if from a long journey; his horse lame132 and with drooping136 head; the Arnaoot himself covered with dust, apparently137 scarcely able to keep his seat. “By the life of your child,” he said, “give a cup of water to one who faints with thirst.” The nurse, with Constans in her arms, got a bowl of the desired liquid, and presented it. Ere the parched138 lips of the stranger touched the wave, the vessel55 fell from his hands. The woman started back, while he, at the same moment darting139 forward, tore with strong arm the child from her embrace. Already both were gone—with arrowy speed they traversed the plain, while her shrieks140, and cries for assistance, called together all the domestics. They followed on the track of the ravisher, and none had yet returned. Now as night closed in, one by one they came back: they had nothing to relate; they had scoured141 the woods, crossed the hills—they could not even discover the route which the Albanian had taken.
On the following day Cyril returned, jaded142, haggard, miserable143; he had obtained no tidings of his son. On the morrow he again departed on his quest, nor came back for several days. Zella passed her time wearily—now sitting in hopeless despondency, now climbing the near hill to see whether she could perceive the approach of her husband. She was not allowed to remain long thus tranquil; the trembling domestics, left in guard, warned her that the savage forms of several Arnaoots had been seen prowling about: she herself saw a tall figure, clad in a shaggy white capote, steal round the promontory144, and, on seeing her, shrink back: once at night the snorting and trampling145 of a horse roused her, not from slumber146, but from her sense of security. Wretched as the bereft147 mother was, she felt personally almost reckless of danger; but she was not her own, she belonged to one beyond expression dear; and duty, as well as affection for him, enjoined148 self-preservation. Cyril, again returned: he was gloomier, sadder than before; but there was more resolution on his brow, more energy in his motions; he had obtained a clue, yet it might only lead him to the depths of despair.
He discovered that Katusthius had not embarked at Napoli. He had joined a band of Arnaoots lurking149 about Vasilico, and had proceeded to Patras with the Protoklepht; thence they put off together in a monoxylon for the northern shores of the Gulf of Lepanto: nor were they alone; they bore a child with them wrapt in a heavy torpid150 sleep. Poor Cyril’s blood ran cold when he though of the spells and witchcraft151 which had probably been put in practice on his boy. He would have followed close upon the robbers, but for the report that reached him that the remainder of the Albanians had proceeded southward towards Corinth. He could not enter upon a long wandering search among the pathless wilds of Epirus, leaving Zella exposed to the attacks of these bandits. He returned to consult with her, to devise some plan of action which would at once ensure her safety and promise success to his endeavours.
After some hesitation152 and discussion, it was decided153 that he should first conduct her to her native home, consult with her father as to his present enterprise, and be guided by his warlike experience before he rushed into the very focus of danger. The seizure154 of his child might only be a lure155, and it were not well for him, sole protector of that child and its mother, to rush unadvisedly into the toils.
Zella, strange to say, for her blue eyes and brilliant complexion156 belied157 her birth, was the daughter of a Mainote: yet dreaded158 and abhorred159 by the rest of the world as are the inhabitants of Cape58 T?narus, they are celebrated160 for their domestic virtues161 and the strength of their private attachments162. Zella loved her father, and the memory of her rugged rocky home, from which she had been torn in an adverse163 hour. Near neighbours of the Mainotes, dwelling in the ruder and wildest portion of Maina, are the Kakovougnis, a dark suspicious race, of squat164 and stunted165 form, strongly contrasted with the tranquil cast of countenance characteristic of the Mainote. The two tribes are embroiled166 in perpetual quarrels; the narrow sea-girt abode which they share affords at once a secure place of refuge from the foreign enemy and all the facilities of internal mountain warfare167. Cyril had once, during a coasting voyage, been driven by stress of weather into the little bay on whose shores is placed the small town of Kardamyla. The crew at first dreaded to be captured by the pirates; but they were reassured168 on finding them fully169 occupied by their domestic dissensions. A band of Kakovougnis were besieging170 the castellated rock overlooking Kardamyla, blockading the fortress171 in which the Mainote Capitano and his family had taken refuge. Two days passed thus, while furious contrary winds detained Cyril in the bay. On the third evening the western gale172 subsided173, and a land-breeze promised to emancipate174 them from their perilous175 condition; when in the night, as they were about to put off in a boat from shore, they were hailed by a party of Mainotes, and one, an old man of commanding figure, demanded a parley176. He was the Capitano of Kardamyla, the chief of the fortress, now attacked by his implacable enemies: he saw no escape—he must fall—and his chief desire was to save his treasure and his family from the hands of his enemies. Cyril consented to receive them on board: the latter consisted of an old mother, a paramana, and a young and beautiful girl, his daughter. Cyril conducted them in safety to Napoli. Soon after the Capitano’s mother and paramana returned to their native town, while, with her father’s consent, fair Zella became the wife of her preserver. The fortunes of the Mainote had prospered since then, and he stood first in rank, the chief of a large tribe, the Capitano of Kardamyla.
Thither177 then the hapless parents repaired; they embarked on board a small sacovela, which dropt down the Gulf of Egina, weathered the islands of Skyllo and Cerigo, and the extreme point of T?narus: favoured by prosperous gales178, they made the desired port, and arrived at the hospitable179 mansion180 of old Camaraz. He heard their tale with indignation; swore by his beard to dip his poniard in the best blood of Katusthius, and insisted upon accompanying his son-in-law on his expedition to Albania. No time was lost—the grey-headed mariner181, still full of energy, hastened every preparation. Cyril and Zella parted; a thousand fears, a thousand hours of misery182 rose between the pair, late sharers in perfect happiness. The boisterous183 sea and distant lands were the smallest of the obstacles that divided them; they would not fear the worst; yet hope, a sickly plant, faded in their hearts as they tore themselves asunder184 after a last embrace.
Zella returned from the fertile district of Corinth to her barren native rocks. She felt all joy expire as she viewed from the rugged shore the lessening185 sails of the sacovela. Days and weeks passed, and still she remained in solitary and sad expectation: she never joined in the dance, nor made one in the assemblies of her countrywomen, who met together at evening-tide to sing, tell stories, and wile186 away the time in dance and gaiety. She secluded187 herself in the most lonely part of her father’s house, and gazed unceasingly from the lattice upon the sea beneath, or wandered on the rocky beach; and when tempest darkened the sky, and each precipitous promontory grew purple under the shadows of the wide-winged clouds, when the roar of the surges was on the shore, and the white crests188 of the waves, seen afar upon the ocean-plain, showed like flocks of new-shorn sheep scattered189 along wide-extended downs, she felt neither gale nor inclement190 cold, nor returned home till recalled by her attendants. In obedience191 to them she sought the shelter of her abode, not to remain long; for the wild winds spoke to her, and the stormy ocean reproached her tranquillity192. Unable to control the impulse, she would rush from her habitation on the cliff, nor remember, till she reached the shore, that her papooshes were left midway on the mountain-path, and that her forgotten veil and disordered dress were unmeet for such a scene. Often the unnumbered hours sped on, while this orphaned193 child of happiness leant on a cold dark rock; the low-browed crags beetled194 over her, the surges broke at her feet, her fair limbs were stained by spray, her tresses dishevelled by the gale. Hopelessly she wept until a sail appeared on the horizon; and then she dried her fast-flowing tears, fixing her large eyes upon the nearing hull195 or fading topsail. Meanwhile the storm tossed the clouds into a thousand gigantic shapes, and the tumultuous sea grew blacker and more wild; her natural gloom was heightened by superstitious horror; the Morai, the old Fates of her native Grecian soil, howled in the breezes; apparitions196, which told of her child pining under the influence of the Evil Eye, and of her husband, the prey197 of some Thracian witchcraft, such as still is practised in the dread neighbourhood of Larissa, haunted her broken slumbers198, and stalked like dire199 shadows across her waking thoughts. Her bloom was gone, her eyes lost their lustre200, her limbs their round full beauty; her strength failed her, as she tottered201 to the accustomed spot to watch—vainly, yet for ever to watch.
What is there so fearful as the expectation of evil tidings delayed? Sometimes in the midst of tears, or worse, amidst the convulsive gaspings of despair, we reproach ourselves for influencing the eternal fates by our gloomy anticipations202: then, if a smile wreathe the mourner’s quivering lip, it is arrested by a throb203 of agony. Alas204! are not the dark tresses of the young painted grey, the full cheek of beauty delved205 with sad lines by the spirits of such hours? Misery is a more welcome visitant when she comes in her darkest guise206 and wraps us in perpetual black, for then the heart no longer sickens with disappointed hope.
Cyril and old Camaraz had found great difficulty in doubling the many capes207 of the Morea as they made a coasting expedition from Kardamyla to the Gulf of Arta, north of Cefalonia and St. Mauro. During their voyage they had time to arrange their plans. As a number of Moreots travelling together might attract too much attention, they resolved to land their comrades at different points, and travel separately into the interior of Albania: Yannina was their first place of rendezvous208. Cyril and his father-in-law disembarked in one of the most secluded of the many creeks209 which diversify211 the winding212 and precipitous shores of the gulf. Six others, chosen from the crew, would, by other routes, join them at the capital. They did not fear for themselves; alone, but well armed, and secure in the courage of despair, they penetrated213 the fastnesses of Epirus. No success cheered them: they arrived at Yannina without having made the slightest discovery. They were joined by their comrades, whom they directed to remain three days in the town, and then separately to proceed to Terpellenè, whither they immediately directed their steps. At the first village on their way thither, at “monastic Zitza,” they obtained some information, not to direct, but to encourage their endeavours. They sought refreshment215 and hospitality in the monastery216, which is situated on a green eminence, crowned by a grove of oak trees, immediately behind the village. Perhaps there is not in the world a more beautiful or more romantic spot, sheltered itself by clustering trees, looking out on one widespread landscape of hill and dale, enriched by vineyards, dotted with frequent flocks; while the Calamas in the depth of the vale gives life to the scene, and the far blue mountains of Zoumerkas, Sagori, Sulli, and Acroceraunia, to the east, west, north, and south, close in the various prospects. Cyril half envied the Caloyers their inert217 tranquillity. They received the travellers gladly, and were cordial though simple in their manners. When questioned concerning the object of their journey, they warmly sympathized with the father’s anxiety, and eagerly told all they knew. Two weeks before, an Arnaoot, well known to them as Dmitri of the Evil Eye, a famous klepht of Korvo, and a Moreot, arrived, bringing with them a child,—a bold, spirited, beautiful boy, who, with firmness beyond his years, claimed the protection of the Caloyers, and accused his companions of having carried him off by force from his parents.
“By my head!” cried the Albanian, “a brave Palikar: he keeps his word, brother; he swore by the Panagia, in spite of our threats of throwing him down a precipice11, food for the vulture, to accuse us to the first good men he saw: he neither pines under the Evil Eye, nor quails218 beneath our menaces.”
Katusthius frowned at these praises, and it became evident during their stay at the monastery that the Albanian and the Moreot quarrelled as to the disposal of the child. The rugged mountaineer threw off all his sternness as he gazed upon the boy. When little Constans slept, he hung over him, fanning away with woman’s care the flies and gnats219. When he spoke, he answered with expressions of fondness, winning him with gifts, teaching him, all child as he was, a mimicry220 of warlike exercises. When the boy knelt and besought the Panagia to restore him to his parents, his voice quivering, and tears running down his cheeks, the eyes of Dmitri overflowed221; he cast his cloak over his face; his heart whispered to him: “Thus, perhaps, my child prayed. Heaven was deaf. Alas! where is she now?”
Encouraged by such signs of compassion222, which children are quick to perceive, Constans twined his arms round his neck, telling him that he loved him, and that he would fight for him when a man, if he would take him back to Corinth. At such words Dmitri would rush forth, seek Katusthius, remonstrate223 with him, till the unrelenting man checked him by reminding him of his vow. Still he swore that no hair of the child’s head should be injured; while the uncle, unvisited by compunction, meditated224 his destruction. The quarrels which thence arose were frequent, and violent, till Katusthius, weary of opposition225, had recourse to craft to obtain his purpose. One night he secretly left the monastery, bearing the child with him. When Dmitri heard of his evasion226, it was a fearful thing to the good Caloyers only to look upon him; they instinctively227 clutched hold of every bit of iron on which they could lay their hands, so to avert228 the Evil Eye which glared with native and untamed fierceness. In their panic a whole score of them had rushed to the iron-plated door which led out of their abode: with the strength of a lion, Dmitri tore them away, threw back the portal, and, with the swiftness of a torrent229 fed by the thawing230 of the snows in spring, he dashed down the steep hill—the flight of an eagle not more rapid; the course of a wild beast not more resolved.
Such was the clue afforded to Cyril. It were too long to follow him in his subsequent search; he, with old Camaraz, wandered through the vale of Argyro-Castro, and climbed Mount Trebucci to Korvo. Dmitri had returned; he had gathered together a score of faithful comrades, and sallied forth again; various were the reports of his destination, and the enterprise which he meditated. One of these led our adventurers to Terpellenè, and hence back towards Yannina; and now chance again favoured them. They rested one night in the habitation of a priest at the little village of Mosme, about three leagues to the north of Zitza; and here they found an Arnaoot who had been disabled by a fall from his horse; this man was to have made one of Dmitri’s band: they learned from him that the Arnaoot had tracked Katusthius, following him close, and forcing him to take refuge in the monastery of the Prophet Elias, which stands on an elevated peak of the mountains of Sagori, eight leagues from Yannina. Dmitri had followed him, and demanded the child. The Caloyers refused to give it up, and the klepht, roused to mad indignation, was now besieging and battering231 the monastery, to obtain by force this object of his newly-awakened affections.
At Yannina, Camaraz and Cyril collected their comrades, and departed to join their unconscious ally. He, more impetuous than a mountain stream or ocean’s fiercest waves, struck terror into the hearts of the recluses232 by his ceaseless and dauntless attacks. To encourage them to further resistance, Katusthius, leaving the child behind in the monastery, departed for the nearest town of Sagori, to entreat233 its Belouk-Bashee to come to their aid. The Sagorians are a mild, amiable234, social people; they are gay, frank, clever; their bravery is universally acknowledged, even by the more uncivilised mountaineers of Zoumerkas; yet robbery, murder, and other acts of violence are unknown among them. These good people were not a little indignant when they heard that a band of Arnaoots was besieging and battering the sacred retreat of their favourite Caloyers. They assembled in a gallant235 troop, and, taking Katusthius with them, hastened to drive the insolent236 klephts back to their ruder fastnesses. They came too late. At midnight, while the monks237 prayed fervently to be delivered from their enemies, Dmitri and his followers238 tore down their iron-plated door and entered the holy precincts. The Protoklepht strode up to the gates of the sanctuary239, and, placing his hands upon it, swore that he came to save, not to destroy. Constans saw him. With a cry of delight he disengaged himself from the Caloyer who held him, and rushed into his arms: this was sufficient triumph. With assurance of sincere regret for having disturbed them, the klepht quitted the chapel with his followers, taking his prize with him.
Katusthius returned some hours after, and so well did the traitor240 plead his cause with the kind Sagorians, bewailing the fate of his little nephew among those evil men, that they offered to follow, and, superior as their numbers were, to rescue the boy from their destructive hands. Katusthius, delighted with the proposition, urged their immediate214 departure. At dawn they began to climb the mountain summits, already trodden by the Zoumerkians.
Delighted with repossessing his little favourite, Dmitri placed him before him on his horse, and, followed by his comrades, made his way over the mountains, clothed with old Dodona’s oaks, or, in higher summits, by dark gigantic pines. They proceeded for some hours, and at length dismounted to repose. The spot they chose was the depth of a dark ravine, whose gloom was increased by the broad shadows of dark ilexes; an entangled241 underwood, and a sprinkling of craggy isolated242 rocks, made it difficult for the horses to keep their footing. They dismounted, and sat by the little stream. Their simple fare was spread, and Dmitri enticed243 the boy to eat by a thousand caresses244. Suddenly one of his men, set as a guard, brought intelligence that a troop of Sagorians, with Katusthius as their guide, was advancing from the monastery of St. Elias; while another man gave the alarm of the approach of six or eight well-armed Moreots, who were advancing on the road from Yannina; in a moment every sign of encampment had disappeared. The Arnaoots began to climb the hills, getting under cover of the rocks, and behind the large trunks of the forest trees, keeping concealed245 till their invaders246 should be in the very midst of them. Soon the Moreots appeared, turning round the defile247, in a path that only allowed them to proceed two by two; they were unaware248 of danger, and walked carelessly, until a shot that whizzed over the head of one, striking the bough249 of a tree, recalled them from their security. The Greeks, accustomed to the same mode of warfare, betook themselves also to the safeguards of the rocks, firing from behind them, striving with their adversaries250 which should get to the most elevated station; jumping from crag to crag, and dropping down and firing as quickly as they could load: one old man alone remained on the pathway. The mariner, Camaraz, had often encountered the enemy on the deck of his caick, and would still have rushed foremost at a boarding, but this warfare required too much activity. Cyril called on him to shelter himself beneath a low, broad stone: the Mainote waved his hand. “Fear not for me,” he cried; “I know how to die!”
The brave love the brave. Dmitri saw the old man stand, unflinching, a mark for all the balls, and he started from behind his rocky screen, calling on his men to cease. Then addressing his enemy, he cried, “Who art thou? Wherefore art thou here? If ye come in peace, proceed on your way. Answer, and fear not!”
The old man drew himself up, saying, “I am a Mainote, and cannot fear. All Hellas trembles before the pirates of Cape Matapan, and I am one of these! I do not come in peace! Behold251! you have in your arms the cause of our dissension! I am the grandsire of that child—give him to me!”
Dmitri, had he held a snake which he felt awakening252 in his bosom, could not so suddenly have changed his cheer;—“the offspring of a Mainote!”—he relaxed his grasp;—Constans would have fallen had he not clung to his neck. Meanwhile each party had descended from their rocky station, and were grouped together in the pathway below. Dmitri tore the child from his neck—he felt as if he could, with savage delight, dash him down the precipice; when, as he paused and trembled from excess of passion, Katusthius, and the foremost Sagorians, came down upon them.
“Stand!” cried the infuriated Arnaoot. “Behold, Katusthius! behold, friend, whom I, driven by the resistless fates, madly and wickedly forswore! I now perform thy wish—the Mainote child dies! the son of the accursed race shall be the victim of my just revenge!”
Cyril, in a transport of fear, rushed up the rock; he levelled his musket253 but he feared to sacrifice his child. The old Mainote, less timid and more desperate, took a steady aim; Dmitri saw the act, and hurled the dagger254, already raised against the child, at him,—it entered his side,—while Constans, feeling his late protector’s grasp relax, sprang from it into his father’s arms.
Camaraz had fallen, yet his wound was slight. He saw the Arnaoots and Sagorians close round him; he saw his own followers made prisoners. Dmitri and Katusthius had both thrown themselves upon Cyril, struggling to repossess themselves of the screaming boy. The Mainote raised himself—he was feeble of limb, but his heart was strong; he threw himself before the father and child; he caught the upraised arm of Dmitri. “On me,” he cried, “fall all thy vengeance255! I of the evil race! for the child, he is innocent of such parentage! Maina cannot boast him for a son!”
“Man of lies!” commenced the infuriated Arnaoot, “this falsehood shall not stead thee!”
“Nay, by the souls of those you have loved, listen!” continued Camaraz, “and if I make not good my words, may I and my children die! The boy’s father is a Corinthian, his mother, a Sciote girl!”
“Scio!” the very word made the blood recede256 to Dmitri’s heart. “Villain!” he cried, dashing aside Katusthius’ arm, which was raised against poor Constans, “I guard this child—dare not to injure him! Speak, old man, and fear not, so that thou speakest the truth.”
“Fifteen years ago,” said Camaraz, “I hovered257 with my caick, in search of prey, on the coast of Scio. A cottage stood on the borders of a chestnut258 wood; it was the habitation of the widow of a wealthy islander—she dwelt in it with her only daughter, married to an Albanian, then absent;—the good woman was reported to have a concealed treasure in her house—the girl herself would be rich spoil—it was an adventure worth the risk. We ran our vessel up a shady creek210, and, on the going down of the moon, landed; stealing under the covert259 of night towards the lonely abode of these women.”
Dmitri grasped at his dagger’s hilt—it was no longer there; he half drew a pistol from his girdle—little Constans, again confiding260 in his former friend, stretched out his hands and clung to his arm; the klepht looked on him, half yielded to his desire to embrace him, half feared to be deceived; so he turned away, throwing his capote over his face, veiling his anguish261, controlling his emotions, till all should be told. Camaraz continued:
“It became a worse tragedy than I had contemplated262. The girl had a child—she feared for its life, and struggled with the men like a tigress defending her young. I was in another room seeking for the hidden store, when a piercing shriek rent the air—I never knew what compassion was before—this cry went to my heart; but it was too late, the poor girl had sunk to the ground, the life-tide oozing263 from her bosom. I know not why, but I turned woman in my regret for the slain264 beauty. I meant to have carried her and her child on board, to see if aught could be done to save her, but she died ere we left the shore. I thought she would like her island grave best, and truly feared that she might turn vampire265 to haunt me, did I carry her away; so we left her corpse266 for the priests to bury, and carried off the child, then about two years old. She could say few words except her own name—that was Zella, and she is the mother of this boy!”
A succession of arrivals in the bay of Kardamyla had kept poor Zella watching for many nights. Her attendant had, in despair of ever seeing her sleep again, drugged with opium267 the few cakes she persuaded her to eat, but the poor woman did not calculate on the power of mind over body, of love over every enemy, physical or moral, arrayed against it. Zella lay on her couch, her spirit somewhat subdued268, but her heart alive, her eyes unclosed. In the night, led by some unexplained impulse, she crawled to her lattice, and saw a little sacovela enter the bay; it ran in swiftly, under favour of the wind, and was lost to her sight under a jutting269 crag. Lightly she trod the marble floor of her chamber270; she drew a large shawl close round her; she descended the rocky pathway, and reached, with swift steps, the beach—still the vessel was invisible, and she was half inclined to think that it was the offspring of her excited imagination—yet she lingered. She felt a sickness at her very heart whenever she attempted to move, and her eyelids271 weighed down in spite of herself. The desire of sleep at last became irresistible272; she lay down on the shingles, reposed her head on the cold, hard pillow, folded her shawl still closer, and gave herself up to forgetfulness.
So profoundly did she slumber under the influence of the opiate, that for many hours she was insensible of any change in her situation. By degrees only she awoke, by degrees only became aware of the objects around her; the breeze felt fresh and free—so was it ever on the wave-beaten coast; the waters rippled273 near, their dash had been in her ears as she yielded to repose; but this was not her stony274 couch, that canopy275, not the dark overhanging cliff. Suddenly she lifted up her head—she was on the deck of a small vessel, which was skimming swiftly over the ocean-waves—a cloak of sables276 pillowed her head; the shores of Cape Matapan were to her left, and they steered277 right towards the noonday sun. Wonder rather than fear possessed278 her: with a quick hand she drew aside the sail that veiled her from the crew—the dreaded Albanian was sitting close at her side, her Constans cradled in his arms; she uttered a cry—Cyril turned at the sound, and in a moment she was folded in his embrace.
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1
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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3
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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4
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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5
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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6
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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7
consecrate
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| v.使圣化，奉…为神圣；尊崇；奉献 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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10
precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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11
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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12
minarets
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| n.（清真寺旁由报告祈祷时刻的人使用的）光塔( minaret的名词复数 ) | |
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13
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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14
cypresses
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| n.柏属植物，柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
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15
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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16
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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17
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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18
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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19
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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20
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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21
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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22
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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23
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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24
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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25
ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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26
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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29
gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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30
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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31
embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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32
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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33
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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34
toils
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| 网 | |
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35
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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36
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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37
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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38
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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39
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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40
rebounded
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| 弹回( rebound的过去式和过去分词 )； 反弹； 产生反作用； 未能奏效 | |
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41
lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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42
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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43
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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44
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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45
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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46
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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47
trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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48
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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49
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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51
seethed
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| （液体）沸腾( seethe的过去式和过去分词 )； 激动，大怒； 强压怒火； 生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
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52
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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53
disclaim
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| v.放弃权利，拒绝承认 | |
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54
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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55
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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56
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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57
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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58
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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59
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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61
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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62
glossed
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| v.注解( gloss的过去式和过去分词 )；掩饰（错误）；粉饰；把…搪塞过去 | |
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63
incitement
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| 激励； 刺激； 煽动； 激励物 | |
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64
imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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65
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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66
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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67
replenished
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| 补充( replenish的过去式和过去分词 )； 重新装满 | |
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68
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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70
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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72
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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73
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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74
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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75
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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76
plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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77
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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78
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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79
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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80
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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81
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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82
wont
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|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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83
shipping
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|
| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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84
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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85
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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86
shingles
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|
| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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87
forth
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|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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88
chapel
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|
| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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89
fervently
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|
| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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90
sobbed
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|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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91
competence
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|
| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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92
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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93
blessings
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|
| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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94
darts
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|
| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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95
hurled
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|
| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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96
devoted
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|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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97
malignity
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|
| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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98
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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99
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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100
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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101
reined
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|
| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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102
bent
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|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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103
sinister
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|
| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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104
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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105
shriek
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|
| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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106
gasping
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|
| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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107
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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108
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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109
blight
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|
| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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110
alluded
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|
| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
prospects
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|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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112
intrigues
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|
| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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113
discourse
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|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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114
unwilling
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|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
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115
interval
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|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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116
wedded
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|
| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
tranquil
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|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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118
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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119
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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120
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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121
situated
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|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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122
isthmus
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| n.地峡 | |
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123
verdant
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|
| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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124
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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125
yoke
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|
| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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126
deserted
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|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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127
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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128
rustic
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|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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129
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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130
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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131
lament
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|
| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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132
lame
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|
| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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133
maternal
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|
| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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134
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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135
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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136
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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137
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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138
parched
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|
| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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139
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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140
shrieks
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|
| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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141
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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142
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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143
miserable
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|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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144
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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145
trampling
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|
| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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146
slumber
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|
| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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147
bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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148
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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150
torpid
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|
| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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151
witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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152
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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153
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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154
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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155
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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156
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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157
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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158
dreaded
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|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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159
abhorred
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|
| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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160
celebrated
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|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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161
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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162
attachments
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| n.（用电子邮件发送的）附件( attachment的名词复数 )；附着；连接；附属物 | |
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163
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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164
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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165
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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166
embroiled
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| adj.卷入的；纠缠不清的 | |
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167
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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168
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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169
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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170
besieging
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
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171
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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172
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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173
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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174
emancipate
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|
| v.解放，解除 | |
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175
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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176
parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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177
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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178
gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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179
hospitable
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|
| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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180
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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181
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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182
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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183
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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184
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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185
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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186
wile
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| v.诡计，引诱；n.欺骗，欺诈 | |
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187
secluded
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|
| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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188
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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189
scattered
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|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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190
inclement
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|
| adj.严酷的，严厉的，恶劣的 | |
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191
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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192
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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193
orphaned
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| [计][修]孤立 | |
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194
beetled
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| v.快速移动( beetle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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195
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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196
apparitions
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| n.特异景象( apparition的名词复数 )；幽灵；鬼；（特异景象等的）出现 | |
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197
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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198
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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199
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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200
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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201
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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202
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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203
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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204
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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205
delved
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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206
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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207
capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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208
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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209
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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210
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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211
diversify
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| v.（使）不同，（使）变得多样化 | |
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212
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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213
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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214
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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215
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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216
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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217
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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218
quails
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| 鹌鹑( quail的名词复数 )； 鹌鹑肉 | |
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219
gnats
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| n.叮人小虫( gnat的名词复数 ) | |
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220
mimicry
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| n.（生物）拟态，模仿 | |
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221
overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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222
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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223
remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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224
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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225
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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226
evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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227
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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228
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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229
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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230
thawing
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| n.熔化，融化v.（气候）解冻( thaw的现在分词 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
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231
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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232
recluses
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| n.隐居者，遁世者，隐士( recluse的名词复数 ) | |
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233
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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234
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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235
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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236
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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237
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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238
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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239
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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240
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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241
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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242
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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243
enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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244
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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245
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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246
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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247
defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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248
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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249
bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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250
adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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251
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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252
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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253
musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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254
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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255
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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256
recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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257
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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258
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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259
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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260
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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261
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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262
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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263
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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264
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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265
vampire
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| n.吸血鬼 | |
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266
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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267
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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268
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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269
jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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270
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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271
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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272
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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273
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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274
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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275
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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276
sables
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| n.紫貂( sable的名词复数 )；紫貂皮；阴暗的；暗夜 | |
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277
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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278
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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