"Well, sir?" she asked sharply. "You rob me of sleep for some good reason, doubtless. Sleep? You could have asked no dearer gift. But the King himself commands, you say?"
Kit faced her ill-temper, and she liked him for it.
"My lady," he said, "Prince Rupert bids me tell you that he comes your way, for the relief of Lathom. He bids me tell you that Lathom House has lit a fire of loyalty6 from one end to the other of your county."
"So Rupert comes at last?" she asked eagerly.
"As soon as he can gather forces. Meanwhile, he sends me as his deputy, and that's one more sword-arm at your service."
Again she looked him up and down; and smiled. "I like big men. They help to fill this roomy house I'm defending for my husband and the King—for the King and my husband, I should say, if I were not a better wife than courtier."
Kit, for his part, could not take his eyes away from her. Two women of the breed he had seen before, and two only—the Queen, with courage gloved by French, disarming7 courtesy, and the downright mistress of Ripley Castle. As Lady Derby stood there, the traces of her twelve months' Calvary were apparent, because she had been roused suddenly from sleep, and pride had not asserted full control as yet. Under her tired eyes the crows'-feet showed like spiders' webs; her face was thin and drawn9; and yet there was a splendour about her, as if each day of each week of hardship had haloed her with grace. She was, in deed as in name, the great lady—so great that Kit felt dwarfed10 for a moment. Then his manhood returned, in a storm of pity to protect this woman.
"Go sleep again," he said. "I was wrong to rouse you with my news."
She laughed, low and pleasantly, like a breeze blowing through a rose-garden. "I slept with nightmares. You are forgiven for rousing me with news that Rupert comes."
Then she, too, saw how weary this Riding Metcalf was, and touched him on the arm with motherly admission of his tiredness. "You need food and wine, sir. I was thoughtless."
The grey old servant, standing11 like a watch-dog on the threshold, caught her glance, and came in by and by with a well-filled tray.
"Admit that we are well-provisioned, Mr. Metcalf. The siege has left some niceties of the table lacking, but we do well enough."
She nibbled12 at her food, intent on keeping his riotous13 appetite in countenance14. By the lines in his face, by the temperate15 haste with which he ate and drank, she knew him for a soldier older than his years.
"Tell me how it sped with your riding from the North?" she asked.
"It went bonnily—a fight down Skipton Raikes, and into the market-place. Then to Ripley, and running skirmishes; and, after that, the ride to Oxford16. I saw the King and Rupert, and all the prayers I ever said were answered."
"Oh, I'm tired here, waiting at home with gunshots interrupting every meal. Tell me how the King looked."
"Tired, as you are—resolute, as if he went to battle—and he bade me give you the frankest acknowledgment of his regard."
"Ah, he knows, then—knows a little of what we've done at Lathom?"
"He knows all, and Rupert knows."
On the sudden Lady Derby lost herself. Knowledge that the King praised her, sheer relief that the Prince was marching to her aid, came like rain about her, breaking up the long time of drought. Then she dried her eyes.
"I, too, have fought," she explained, "and have carried wounds. Now, sir, by your leave, are you rested sufficiently17? Well, then, I need you for a sortie by and by."
From the boy's laughter, his sharp call to attention, she knew again that he was of the soldier's breed.
"Weeks ago—it seems years by now—this Colonel Rigby who besieges18 us planted a mortar19 outside our gates. Our men sallied and killed many, and brought the mortar in."
"Good," said Kit. "I saw it as I came through the courtyard, and wondered whether you or they had put it out of action."
"My folk put it out of action. And now they've brought up another mortar. We dare not let it play even for a day on crumbling20 walls. There's to be a sortie within the hour. One of my officers is dead, and two are wounded. Sir, will you lead a company for me?"
"But you do not ask what strength you have to follow you?"
"What strength you can give me. I am at your service."
When Lady Derby mustered22 all she could spare from her slender garrison23, Kit found himself the leader of twenty men, some hale enough, others stained with the red-rust that attends on wounds.
"Friends," he said, "the moon is up, and there's light enough to guide us in the open."
They liked him. He wasted no speech. He was mired24 with travel of wet roads, and his face was grey and tired, but they knew him, for they had seen other leaders spur them to the hazard.
Some went out through the main gate of Lathom, and waited under shadow of the walls. Others joined them by way of little doors, unknown to the adversary25. They gathered, a battered26 company, led by officers half drunk with weariness, and ahead they saw the moonlight shining on the mortar, reared on its hillock.
Beyond the hillock a besieging27 army of three thousand men slept in security, save for the hundred who kept guard about the mortar. These five-score men were wakeful; for Colonel Rigby—a weakling cloaked in self-importance—had blustered28 round them an hour ago, had assured them that Lady Derby was the Scarlet29 Woman, known otherwise as Rome, and with quick invective30 had threatened them with torture and the hangman if they allowed this second mortar to go the way its predecessor31 had taken weeks ago. He had sent an invitation broadcast through the countryside, he explained, bidding folk come to see the mortar play on Lathom House to-morrow.
Through the dusk of the moonlight Kit and the rest crept forward. Quick as the sentry33 shouted the alarm, they were on their feet. They poured in a broadside of musketry at close range, then pressed forward, with swords, or clubbed guns, or any weapon that they carried. It was not a battle, but a rout34. In ten minutes by the clock they found themselves masters of the field. The mortar was theirs, and for the moment they did not know what to do with it. From behind came the sleepy roar of soldiery, new-roused from sleep by the retreating guardians35 of the mortar, and there was no time to waste.
One Corporal Bywater, a big, lean-bodied man, laughed as he touched Kit on the arm. "Had a wife once," he said. "She had her tantrums, like yond mortar—spat fire and venom36 with her tongue. I cured her with the help of a rope's end."
Bywater, remembering the previous escapade, had lashed37 two strong ropes about his body, in readiness for this second victory. The cordage, as it happened, had saved him from a death-wound, struck hurriedly by a Parliament man. He unwrapped it now with a speed that seemed leisurely38. Rigby's soldiery, from the moonlit slopes behind, buzzed like a hornet's nest. There was indeed no time to waste.
Christopher Metcalf was not tired now, because this hazard of the Lathom siege had captured his imagination. His soul was alert, and the travel-stained body of him was forgotten. Captain Chisenhall detached fourteen of the sortie party to drag the mortar into Lathom House. The rest he sent forward, raised a sudden shout of "For God and the King!" and went pell-mell into the first of Rigby's oncoming men. Though on foot, there was something of the dash of cavalry39 in this impetuous assault, and for a while they drove back the enemy; then weight of numbers prevailed, and Kit, his brain nimble, his heart singing some old pibroch of the hills his forefathers40 had tilled, entrenched42 his men on the near side of the earthworks Rigby had built to protect his mortar. There was some stark44, in-and-out fighting here, until the Roundheads began to deploy45 in a half circle, with intent to surround Kit's little company. Then he drew back his men for a score yards, led a last charge, and retreated to the Lathom gateway46 in time to see the mortar dragged safely into the main courtyard.
When the gate was closed, and Kit came out of the berserk madness known as war, he saw the Lady of Lathom in the courtyard.
"But, indeed, sir, you've done very well," said she, moving through the press of men to give him instant greeting.
"It was pastime." Kit's voice was unsteady yet, his head swimming with the wine that drips, not from red grapes, but from the sword that has taken toll47 of human life. "We brought the mortar in."
"You did, friends. Permit me to say good-night. I have need to get to my knees, thanking God that he sends so many gentlemen my way."
After she was gone, and the men were gathered round the peat fire in the hall, Kit was aware that he was at home. All were united here, as the Metcalfs were united. Private jealousies48 were lost in this need to defend Lathom for the King. Captain Chisenhall was here, stifling49 a yawn as he kicked the fire into a glow, Fox, and Worrall and Rawstorn, and others whose faces showed old with long service to this defence of Lathom—the defence that shone like the pole star over the descending50 night that was to cover kingship for a while.
They asked news of the Riding Metcalfs; and that, in turn, drew them to talk of Lathom's siege. They told him of Captain Radcliffe, who had led twelve sorties from the house, and had spread dismay among the enemy until they feared even the whisper of his name.
"I was never one for my Lady Derby's prayerful view of life," said Rawstorn, his gruff voice softening51, "but Radcliffe was on her side. He'd slip away before a sortie, and we knew he was praying at the altar of the little chapel52 here. Then he would come among us, cracking a jest; but there was a light about his face as if the man were glamoured."
"I know that glamour53, too," said Kit, with his unconquerable simplicity54. "There's a cracked bell rings me in on Sabbath mornings to our kirk in Yoredale."
"What do you find there, lad?" asked a rough elder of the company.
"Strength undeserved, and the silver sheen of wings."
So then they were silent; for they knew that he could fight and pray—-two qualities that men respect.
"A bucketful, if I'm not needed on this side of the dawn."
Comfort of the usual kind might be lacking here at Lathom, but the cellar was well filled. And Kit, as the wine passed round, learned the truth that comes from unlocked tongues. They talked of the siege, these gallants who had kept watch and ward32; they told how Lady Derby had trained her children not to whimper when cannon-shot broke roughly into the dining-hall; they told how Captain Radcliffe, his head erect, had gone out for the thirteenth sortie, how they had warned him of the ill-omen.
"Oh, he was great that day," said Rawstorn. "'If I were Judas, I should fear thirteen,' said he. 'As the affair stands, I'm stalwart for the King.' He was killed in an attack on the east fort; and when we sortied and brought his body in, there was a smile about his lips."
Little by little Christopher pieced together the fragments of that long siege. Lady Derby's single-mindedness, her courage and sheer charm, were apparent from every word spoken by these gentlemen who drank their liquor. The hazards of the men, too—the persistent57 sorties, the give-and-take and pathos58 and laughter of their life within doors—were plain for Kit to understand. At Oxford and elsewhere there had been spite and rancour, jealousy59 of one King's soldier against another. Here at Lathom there was none of that; day by day of every month of siege, they had found a closer amity60, and their strength had been adamant61 against an overpowering force outside their gates.
Kit learned much, too, of Colonel Rigby, who commanded the attack. A hedge-lawyer by training—one who had defended night-birds and skulkers of all kinds—he had found himself lifted to command of three thousand men because Sir Thomas Fairfax, a man of sound heart and chivalry62, grew tired of making war upon a lady. Rigby enjoyed the game. He cared never a stiver for the Parliament, but it was rapture63 to him to claim some sort of intimacy64 with the titled great by throwing cannon-balls and insults against my Lady Derby's walls.
"As for Rigby," said the man with the big jowl, "I wish him only one thing—to know, to the marrow65 of him, what place he has in the thoughts of honest folk. Mate a weasel with a rat, and you'll get his breed."
Captain Chisenhall, who had been pacing restlessly up and down the hall, halted in front of Kit. "It was a fine device of yours, to entrench41 on this side of their own earthworks. I never had much head myself, or might have thought of it. But, man, you're spent with this night's work."
"Spent?" laughed Kit. A sudden dizziness took him unawares, and their faces danced in a grey mist before his eyes. "I was never more wide-awake. D'ye want another sortie, gentlemen? Command me."
With that his head lolled back against the inglenook. He roused himself once to murmur66 "A Mecca for the King!" then slept as he had done on far-off nights after harvesting of hay or corn in Yoredale.
"There's a game-pup from over the Yorkshire border among us," laughed Chisenhall. "Let him sleep. Let me get up to bed, too, and sleep. Of all the toasts I ever drank—save that of the King's Majesty—I like this last bumper67 best. Here's to the kind maid, slumber68, and good night to you, my friends."
The next morning, soon after dawn, Kit stirred in sleep. Through the narrow mullions great, crimson69 shafts70 of light were stealing. A thrush outside was recalling bygone litanies of mating-time. Sparrows were busy in the ivy71. It was so like Yoredale and old days that he roused himself, got to his feet, and remembered what had chanced last night. He had slept hard and truly, and had profited thereby72. His bones were aching, and there was a nagging73 cut across his face; for the rest, he was ready for the day's adventure.
Last night, when he returned from battle, the moonlight had shown him only a littered courtyard, full of men and captured cannonry. He could not guess where the most valiant74 of cock-throstles found anchor for his feet; and, to settle the question, he went out. The song greeted him with fine rapture as he set foot across the doorway75; and in the middle of the yard he saw the trunk of a big, upstanding walnut-tree. Three-quarters of the branches had been shot away, but one big limb remained. At the top of the highest branch a slim, full-throated gentleman was singing to his mate.
"Good Royalist!" said Kit. "Go singing while your branch is left you."
His mood was so tense and alert, his sympathy with the throstle so eager, that he started when a laugh sounded at his elbow. "I knew last night a soldier came to Lathom. He is a poet, too, it seems."
The wild, red dawn—sign of the rainiest summer known in England for fifty years—showed him Lady Derby. The lines were gone from her face, her eyes were soft and trustful, as a maid's eyes are; it did not seem possible that she had withstood a year of siege.
"I was just thanking God," she explained, "that picked men come my way so often. There are so many Rigbys in this world, and minorities need all their strength."
She was so soft of voice, so full of the fragrance76 which a woman here and there gives out to hearten roughened men, that Kit began to walk in fairyland. So had Captain Chisenhall walked long since, Rawstorn and the other officers, the private soldiery, because the Lady of Lathom was strong, courageous77, and secure.
"How have you kept heart so long?" asked Kit, his boy's heedless pity roused afresh.
"And you, sir—how have you kept heart so long?" she laughed.
"Oh, I was astride a horse, plying78 a sword or what not. It was all easy-going; but for you here——"
"For me there was the bigger venture. You have only one right hand for the spear. I have control of scores. My dear soldiery are pleased to love me—I know not why—and power is sweet. You will believe, sir, that all this is pastime to me."
Yet her voice broke. Tired folk know tired folk when they are climbing the same hill of sadness; and Kit touched her on the arm. "Rough pastime, I should call it," he said, "and you a woman."
She gathered her courage again. Laughter played about her charitable, wide mouth.
"You're in love, Mr. Metcalf—finely in love, I think, with some chit of a girl who may or may not deserve it. There was a reverence79 in your voice when you spoke56 of women."
"Ah, then, I'm disappointed. This zeal82 last night—it was not for the King, after all. It was because some woman tempted83 you to do great deeds for her own pretty sake.'
"We've been King's men at Nappa since time began," said Kit stubbornly. "My father has sounded a trumpet84 from Yoredale down to Oxford. All England knows us stalwart for the King."
Lady Derby allowed herself a moment's happiness. Here was a man who had no shams85, no glance forward or behind to see where his loyalty would take him. There was nothing mercantile about him, and, in these muddled86 times, that was so much to be thankful for.
"Believe me," she said very gently, "I know your breed. Believe me, too, when I say that I am older than you—some of the keen, blue dawn-lights lost to me, but other beauties staying on—and I ask you, when you meet your wide-eyed maid again, to put it to the question."
"I've done that already."
Again laughter crept round Lady Derby's mouth. "I meant a deeper question, sir. Ask her whether she had rather wed8 you and live at ease, or see you die because the King commands."
"She would choose death for me—I should not love her else."
"One does not know. There are men and women who have that view of life. They are few. Put it to the question. Now I must go indoors, sir, to see that breakfast is readying for these good men of mine. Pluck is a fine gift, but it needs ample rations87."
Kit watched her go. He was amazed by her many-sidedness. One moment tranquil88, fresh from her dawn-prayers; the next a woman of the world, giving him motherly advice; and then the busy housewife, attentive89 to the needs of hungry men. Like Strafford, whose head was in the losing, she was in all things thorough.
He went up to the ramparts by and by. The sentry, recognising him as one who had shared the sortie over-night, saluted90 with a pleasant grin. Kit, as he looked down on the trenches91, the many tokens of a siege that was no child's play, thought again of Lady Derby, her incredible, suave92 courage. Then he fell to thinking of Joan, yonder in the North. She, too, was firm for the cause; it was absurd to suggest doubt of that. Whether she cared for him or no, she would be glad to see him die in the King's service.
He was in the middle of a high dream—all made up of gallop93, and a death wound, and Joan weeping pleasant tears above his prostrate94 body—when there came a sharp, smoky uproar95 from the trenches, and a bullet plucked his hat away.
"Comes of rearing your head against the sky," said the sentry impassively; "but then they're no marksmen, these whelps of Rigby's."
Another bullet went wide of Kit, a third whistled past his left cheek; so that he yielded to common sense at last, and stooped under shelter of the parapet. The besiegers then brought other artillery96 to bear. A harsh, resonant97 voice came down-wind to them:
"Hear the news, you dandies of Lady Derby's! Sir Thomas Fairfax has routed your men at Selby. Cromwell is busy in the east. Three of our armies have surrounded your Duke of Newcastle in York. Is that enough for my lady to breakfast on, or would you have further news?"
The sentry—old, taciturn, and accustomed through long months to this warfare98 of the tongue—bided his time. He knew the habits of these spokesmen of Rigby's. When no answer came from the ramparts, further taunts99 and foul100 abuse swept upward from below. Still there was no reply, till the man, in a fierce rage of his own making, got up and showed head and shoulders above the trench43. The sentry fired, without haste.
"One less," he growled. "It's queer to see a man go round and round like a spinning top before he tumbles out of sight."
"Was his news true?" asked Kit, dismayed by the tidings.
"Ah, that's to prove. Liars101 speak truth now and then. Stands to reason they must break into truth, just time and time, by chance."
Kit left the rampart presently, and found a hungry company of men at breakfast.
"Why so grave, Mr. Metcalf?" laughed Lady Derby, who was serving porridge from a great bowl of earthenware102. "You are hungry, doubtless. There's nothing else brings such gravity as yours to a man's face."
"I was thinking of last night's sortie," said Kit.
"So that hunger, too, grows on you as on my other gentlemen? But, indeed, we propose to rest to-day. Even we have had enough, I think."
He told them the news shouted from the trenches. Rough-riding, zeal, and youth had given him a persuasiveness103 of his own. "The news may be true or false," he said, looking down at them from his full height; "but, either way, it will put heart into the enemy. By your leave, we must harass104 them."
"I find many kinds of admiration106 for you, sir," drawled Captain Chisenhall, "but especially, I think, for your gift of feeding that fine bulk of yours."
"I'm just like my own homeland in Yoredale," assented Kit; "it needs feeding if strong crops are to follow."
That night they made three sorties on the trenches, five on the next, and for a week they kept the pace. A few of the garrison were killed, more were wounded, but speed and fury made up for loss of numbers, and Colonel Rigby sent a messenger galloping107 to Manchester for help in need. The besiegers, he explained, were so harassed108 that they were dropping in the trenches, not from gun-fire, but from lack of sleep.
The sentries109 on the walls had no chance nowadays to pick off orators110 who rose from cover of the trenches to shout ill tidings at them. From their vantage-ground on the ramparts they could hear, instead, the oaths and uproar of a disaffected111 soldiery who voiced their grievances112.
On the seventh morning, an hour before noon, a man came into Lathom, wet from the moat, as Kit had been on his arrival here. He told them that Prince Rupert, the Earl of Derby with him, had crossed the Cheshire border, marching to the relief of Lathom.
"So," said Captain Chisenhall, "we'll give them one last sortie before the frolic ends."
Lady Derby smiled pleasantly. "That is your work, gentlemen. Mine is to get to my knees, to thank God that my husband is so near to me."
When they sortied that night, they found empty trenches. The moonlight showed them only the disorder113—a disorder unsavoury to the nostrils—that attended a forsaken114 camp. One man they found with a broken leg, who had been left in the rear of a sharp retreat. He had been bullied115 by Rigby, it appeared, and the rancour bit deeper than the trouble of his broken limb. He told them that Rigby, and what were left of his three thousand, had pushed down to Bolton, and he expressed a hope—not pious—that all the Cavaliers in England would light a bonfire round him there.
When they gathered for the return to Lathom, the futility116 about them of hunters who have found no red fox to chase, Kit saluted Captain Chisenhall. "My regards to Lady Derby," he explained; "tell her I'm no longer needed here at Lathom. Tell her that kin5 calls to kin, and where Rupert is, the Metcalfs are. I go to warn them that Rigby lies in Bolton."
"Good," said Chisenhall. "Rigby has lied in most parts of the country. Go hunt the weasel, you young hot-head."
When they returned, Lady Derby asked where Kit Metcalf was, and they told her. "Gentlemen," she said, with that odd, infectious laugh of hers, "I have no favourites, but, if I had, it is Kit Metcalf I would choose to bring Prince Rupert here. There's the light of youth about him."
"There is," said Chisenhall. "I lost it years ago, and nothing else in life makes up for it—except a sortie."
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pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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disarming
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| adj.消除敌意的，使人消气的v.裁军( disarm的现在分词 )；使息怒 | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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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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dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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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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nibbled
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的过去式和过去分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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besieges
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的第三人称单数 ) | |
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mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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mired
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| abbr.microreciprocal degree 迈尔德（色温单位）v.深陷( mire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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besieging
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
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28
blustered
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| v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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invective
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| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
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31
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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32
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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33
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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34
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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35
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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36
venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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37
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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38
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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39
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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40
forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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41
entrench
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| v.使根深蒂固；n.壕沟；防御设施 | |
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42
entrenched
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| adj.确立的，不容易改的(风俗习惯) | |
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43
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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44
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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45
deploy
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| v.（军）散开成战斗队形，布置，展开 | |
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46
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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47
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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48
jealousies
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| n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 )；妒羡 | |
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49
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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50
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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51
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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52
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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53
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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54
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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55
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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56
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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57
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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58
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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59
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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60
amity
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| n.友好关系 | |
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61
adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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62
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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63
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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64
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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65
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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66
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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67
bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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68
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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69
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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70
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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71
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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72
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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73
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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74
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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75
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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76
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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77
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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78
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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79
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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80
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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81
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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82
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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83
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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84
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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85
shams
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| 假象( sham的名词复数 )； 假货； 虚假的行为（或感情、言语等）； 假装…的人 | |
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86
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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87
rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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88
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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89
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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90
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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91
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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92
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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93
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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94
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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95
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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96
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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97
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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98
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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99
taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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100
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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101
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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102
earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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103
persuasiveness
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| 说服力 | |
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104
harass
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| vt.使烦恼，折磨，骚扰 | |
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105
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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106
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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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
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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109
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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110
orators
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| n.演说者，演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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111
disaffected
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| adj.（政治上）不满的，叛离的 | |
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112
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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113
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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114
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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115
bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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