By the date of this chronicle the ascetic1 sternness of the old Norman castles had been humanized and refined so that the new dwellings2 of the nobility, if less imposing3 in appearance, were much more comfortable as places of residence. A gentle race had built their houses rather for peace than for war. He who compares the savage4 bareness of Pevensey or Guildford with the piled grandeur5 of Bodmin or Windsor cannot fail to understand the change in manners which they represent.
The earlier castles had a set purpose, for they were built that the invaders6 might hold down the country; but when the Conquest was once firmly established a castle had lost its meaning save as a refuge from justice or as a center for civil strife7. On the marches of Wales and of Scotland the castle might continue to be a bulwark8 to the kingdom, and there still grew and flourished; but in all other places they were rather a menace to the King's majesty9, and as such were discouraged and destroyed. By the reign11 of the third Edward the greater part of the old fighting castles had been converted into dwelling-houses or had been ruined in the civil wars, and left where their grim gray bones are still littered upon the brows of our hills. The new buildings were either great country-houses, capable of defense12, but mainly residential13, or they were manor14-houses with no military significance at all.
Such was the Tilford Manor-house where the last survivors15 of the old and magnificent house of Loring still struggled hard to keep a footing and to hold off the monks17 and the lawyers from the few acres which were left to them. The mansion18 was a two-storied one, framed in heavy beams of wood, the interstices filled with rude blocks of stone. An outside staircase led up to several sleeping-rooms above. Below there were only two apartments, the smaller of which was the bower19 of the aged10 Lady Ermyntrude. The other was the hall, a very large room, which served as the living room of the family and as the common dining-room of themselves and of their little group of servants and retainers. The dwellings of these servants, the kitchens, the offices and the stables were all represented by a row of penthouses and sheds behind the main building. Here lived Charles the page, Peter the old falconer, Red Swire who had followed Nigel's grandfather to the Scottish wars, Weathercote the broken minstrel, John the cook, and other survivors of more prosperous days, who still clung to the old house as the barnacles to some wrecked21 and stranded22 vessel23.
One evening about a week after the breaking of the yellow horse, Nigel and his grandmother sat on either side of the large empty fireplace in this spacious24 apartment. The supper had been removed, and so had the trestle tables upon which it had been served, so that the room seemed bare and empty. The stone floor was strewed25 with a thick layer of green rushes, which was swept out every Saturday and carried with it all the dirt and debris26 of the week. Several dogs were now crouched27 among these rushes, gnawing28 and cracking the bones which had been thrown from the table. A long wooden buffet29 loaded with plates and dishes filled one end of the room, but there was little other furniture save some benches against the walls, two dorseret chairs, one small table littered with chessmen, and a great iron coffer. In one corner was a high wickerwork stand, and on it two stately falcons30 were perched, silent and motionless, save for an occasional twinkle of their fierce yellow eyes.
But if the actual fittings of the room would have appeared scanty31 to one who had lived in a more luxurious32 age, he would have been surprised on looking up to see the multitude of objects which were suspended above his head. Over the fireplace were the coats-of-arms of a number of houses allied33 by blood or by marriage to the Lorings. The two cresset-lights which flared34 upon each side gleamed upon the blue lion of the Percies, the red birds of de Valence, the black engrailed cross of de Mohun, the silver star of de Vere, and the ruddy bars of FitzAlan, all grouped round the famous red roses on the silver shield which the Lorings had borne to glory upon many a bloody35 field. Then from side to side the room was spanned by heavy oaken beams from which a great number of objects were hanging. There were mail-shirts of obsolete36 pattern, several shields, one or two rusted37 and battered38 helmets, bowstaves, lances, otter-spears, harness, fishing-rods, and other implements39 of war or of the chase, while higher still amid the black shadows of the peaked roof could be seen rows of hams, flitches of bacon, salted geese, and those other forms of preserved meat which played so great a part in the housekeeping of the Middle Ages.
Dame41 Ermyntrude Loring, daughter, wife, and mother of warriors42, was herself a formidable figure. Tall and gaunt, with hard craggy features and intolerant dark eyes, even her snow-white hair and stooping back could not entirely43 remove the sense of fear which she inspired in those around her. Her thoughts and memories went back to harsher times, and she looked upon the England around her as a degenerate44 and effeminate land which had fallen away from the old standard of knightly46 courtesy and valor47.
The rising power of the people, the growing wealth of the Church, the increasing luxury in life and manners, and the gentler tone of the age were all equally abhorrent48 to her, so that the dread49 of her fierce face, and even of the heavy oak staff with which she supported her failing limbs, was widespread through all the country round.
Yet if she was feared she was also respected, for in days when books were few and readers scarce, a long memory and a ready tongue were of the more value; and where, save from Dame Ermyntrude, could the young unlettered Squires50 of Surrey and Hampshire hear of their grandfathers and their battles, or learn that lore52 of heraldry and chivalry53 which she handed down from a ruder but a more martial54 age? Poor as she was, there was no one in Surrey whose guidance would be more readily sought upon a question of precedence or of conduct than the Dame Ermyntrude Loring.
She sat now with bowed back by the empty fireplace, and looked across at Nigel with all the harsh lines of her old ruddled face softening55 into love and pride. The young Squire51 was busy cutting bird-bolts for his crossbow, and whistling softly as he worked. Suddenly he looked up and caught the dark eyes which were fixed57 upon him. He leaned forward and patted the bony hand.
“What hath pleased you, dear dame? I read pleasure in your eyes.”
“I have heard to-day, Nigel, how you came to win that great war-horse which stamps in our stable.”
“You said so, fair son, but never a word more. Yet the horse which you brought home was a very different horse I wot, to that which was given you. Why did you not tell me?”
“I should think it shame to talk of such a thing.”
“So would your father before you, and his father no less. They would sit silent among the knights59 when the wine went round and listen to every man's deeds; but if perchance there was anyone who spoke60 louder than the rest and seemed to be eager for honor, then afterwards your father would pluck him softly by the sleeve and whisper in his ear to learn if there was any small vow61 of which he could relieve him, or if he would deign62 to perform some noble deed of arms upon his person. And if the man were a braggart63 and would go no further, your father would be silent and none would know it. But if he bore himself well, your father would spread his fame far and wide, but never make mention of himself.”
Nigel looked at the old woman with shining eyes. “I love to hear you speak of him,” said he. “I pray you to tell me once more of the manner of his death.”
“He died as he had lived, a very courtly gentleman. It was at the great sea-battle upon the Norman coast, and your father was in command of the after-guard in the King's own ship. Now the French had taken a great English ship the year before when they came over and held the narrow seas and burned the town of Southampton.
“This ship was the Christopher, and they placed it in the front of their battle; but the English closed upon it and stormed over its side, and slew64 all who were upon it.
“But your father and Sir Lorredan of Genoa, who commanded the Christopher, fought upon the high poop, so that all the fleet stopped to watch it, and the King himself cried aloud at the sight, for Sir Lorredan was a famous man-at-arms and bore himself very stoutly66 that day, and many a knight45 envied your father that he should have chanced upon so excellent a person. But your father bore him back and struck him such a blow with a mace67 that he turned the helmet half round on his head, so that he could no longer see through the eye holes, and Sir Lorredan threw down his sword and gave himself to ransom68. But your father took him by the helmet and twisted it until he had it straight upon his head. Then, when he could see once again, he handed him his sword, and prayed him that he would rest himself and then continue, for it was great profit and joy to see any gentleman carry himself so well. So they sat together and rested by the rail of the poop; but even as they raised their hands again your father was struck by a stone from a mangonel and so died.”
“And this Sir Lorredan,” cried Nigel, “he died also, as I understand?”
“I fear that he was slain69 by the archers71, for they loved your father, and they do not see these things with our eyes.”
“It was a pity,” said Nigel; “for it is clear that he was a good knight and bore himself very bravely.”
“Time was, when I was young, when commoners dared not have laid their grimy hands upon such a man. Men of gentle blood and coat-armor made war upon each other, and the others, spearmen or archers, could scramble72 amongst themselves. But now all are of a level, and only here and there one like yourself, fair son, who reminds me of the men who are gone.”
Nigel leaned forward and took her hands in his. “What I am you have made me,” said he.
“It is true, Nigel. I have indeed watched over you as the gardener watches his most precious blossom, for in you alone are all the hopes of our ancient house, and soon—very soon—you will be alone.”
“Nay, dear lady, say not that.”
“I am very old, Nigel, and I feel the shadow closing in upon me. My heart yearns74 to go, for all whom I have known and loved have gone before me. And you—it will be a blessed day for you, since I have held you back from that world into which your brave spirit longs to plunge75.”
“Nay, nay, I have been happy here with you at Tilford.”
“We are very poor, Nigel. I do not know where we may find the money to fit you for the wars. Yet we have good friends. There is Sir John Chandos, who has won such credit in the French wars and who rides ever by the King's bridle-arm. He was your father's friend and they were Squires together. If I sent you to court with a message to him he would do what he could.”
Nigel's fair face flushed. “Nay, Dame Ermyntrude, I must find my own gear, even as I have found my own horse, for I had rather ride into battle in this tunic76 than owe my suit to another.”
“I feared that you would say so, Nigel; but indeed I know not how else we may get the money,” said the old woman sadly. “It was different in the days of my father. I can remember that a suit of mail was but a small matter in those days, for in every English town such things could be made. But year by year since men have come to take more care of their bodies, there have been added a plate of proof here and a cunning joint77 there, and all must be from Toledo or Milan, so that a knight must have much metal in his purse ere he puts any on his limbs.”
Nigel looked up wistfully at the old armor which was slung78 on the beams above him. “The ash spear is good,” said he, “and so is the oaken shield with facings of steel. Sir Roger FitzAlan handled them and said that he had never seen better. But the armor—”
Lady Ermyntrude shook her old head and laughed. “You have your father's great soul, Nigel, but you have not his mighty79 breadth of shoulder and length of limb. There was not in all the King's great host a taller or a stronger man. His harness would be little use to you. No, fair son, I rede you that when the time comes you sell this crumbling80 house and the few acres which are still left, and so go forth81 to the wars in the hope that with your own right hand you will plant the fortunes of a new house of Loring.”
A shadow of anger passed over Nigel's fresh young face. “I know not if we may hold off these monks and their lawyers much longer. This very day there came a man from Guildford with claims from the Abbey extending back before my father's death.”
“Where are they, fair son?”
“They are flapping on the furze-bushes of Hankley, for I sent his papers and parchments down wind as fast as ever falcon20 flew.”
“Nay! you were mad to do that, Nigel. And the man, where is he?”
“Alas! I fear me such things cannot be done in these days, though my father or my husband would have sent the rascal83 back to Guildford without his ears. But the Church and the Law are too strong now for us who are of gentler blood. Trouble will come of it, Nigel, for the Abbot of Waverley is not one who will hold back the shield of the Church from those who are her servants.”
“The Abbot would not hurt us. It is that gray lean wolf of a sacrist who hungers for our land. Let him do his worst. I fear him not.”
“He has such an engine at his back, Nigel, that even the bravest must fear him. The ban which blasts a man's soul is in the keeping of his church, and what have we to place against it? I pray you to speak him fair, Nigel.”
“Nay, dear lady, it is both my duty and my pleasure to do what you bid me; but I would die ere I ask as a favor that which we can claim as a right. Never can I cast my eyes from yonder window that I do not see the swelling84 down-lands and the rich meadows, glade85 and dingle, copse and wood, which have been ours since Norman-William gave them to that Loring who bore his shield at Senlac. Now, by trick and fraud, they have passed away from us, and many a franklin is a richer man than I; but never shall it be said that I saved the rest by bending my neck to their yoke86. Let them do their worst, and let me endure it or fight it as best I may.”
The old lady sighed and shook her head. “You speak as a Loring should, and yet I fear that some great trouble will befall us. But let us talk no more of such matters, since we cannot mend them. Where is your citole, Nigel? Will you not play and sing to me?”
The gentleman of those days could scarce read and write; but he spoke in two languages, played at least one musical instrument as a matter of course, and possessed87 a number of other accomplishments88, from the imping of hawk's feathers, to the mystery of venery, with knowledge of every beast and bird, its time of grace and when it was seasonable. As far as physical feats89 went, to vault90 barebacked upon a horse, to hit a running hare with a crossbow-bolt, or to climb the angle of a castle courtyard, were feats which had come by nature to the young Squire; but it was very different with music, which had called for many a weary hour of irksome work. Now at last he could master the strings91, but both his ear and his voice were not of the best, so that it was well perhaps that there was so small and so unprejudiced an audience to the Norman-French chanson, which he sang in a high reedy voice with great earnestness of feeling, but with many a slip and quaver, waving his yellow head in cadence93 to the music:
A sword! A sword! Ah, give me a sword!
For the world is all to win.
Though the way be hard and the door be barred,
The strong man enters in.
If Chance and Fate still hold the gate,
Give me the iron key,
Or you may weep for me!
A horse! A horse! Ah, give me a horse!
To bear me out afar,
Where blackest need and grimmest deed
Where poisoned leisure lies,
Which mounts to high emprise!
A heart! A heart! Ah, give me a heart
To rise to circumstance!
Serene and high and bold to try
The hazard of the chance,
With strength to wait, but fixed as fate
To plan and dare and do,
Sweet lady mine, to you!
It may have been that the sentiment went for more than the music, or it may have been the nicety of her own ears had been dulled by age, but old Dame Ermyntrude clapped her lean hands together and cried out in shrill101 applause.
“Weathercote has indeed had an apt pupil!” she said. “I pray you that you will sing again.”
“Nay, dear dame, it is turn and turn betwixt you and me. I beg that you will recite a romance, you who know them all. For all the years that I have listened I have never yet come to the end of them, and I dare swear that there are more in your head than in all the great books which they showed me at Guildford Castle. I would fain hear 'Doon of Mayence,' or 'The Song of Roland,' or 'Sir Isumbras.'”
So the old dame broke into a long poem, slow and dull in the inception102, but quickening as the interest grew, until with darting103 hands and glowing face she poured forth the verses which told of the emptiness of sordid105 life, the beauty of heroic death, the high sacredness of love and the bondage106 of honor. Nigel, with set, still features and brooding eyes, drank in the fiery107 words, until at last they died upon the old woman's lips and she sank back weary in her chair.
Nigel stooped over her and kissed her brow. “Your words will ever be as a star upon my path,” said he. Then, carrying over the small table and the chessmen, he proposed that they should play their usual game before they sought their rooms for the night.
But a sudden and rude interruption broke in upon their gentle contest. A dog pricked109 its ears and barked. The others ran growling110 to the door. And then there came a sharp clash of arms, a dull heavy blow as from a club or sword-pommel, and a deep voice from without summoned them to open in the King's name. The old dame and Nigel had both sprung to their feet, their table overturned and their chessmen scattered112 among the rushes. Nigel's hand had sought his crossbow, but the Lady Ermyntrude grasped his arm.
“Nay, fair son! Have you not heard that it is in the King's name?” said she. “Down, Talbot! Down, Bayard! Open the door and let his messenger in!”
Nigel undid113 the bolt, and the heavy wooden door swung outward upon its hinges. The light from the flaring114 cressets beat upon steel caps and fierce bearded faces, with the glimmer115 of drawn116 swords and the yellow gleam of bowstaves. A dozen armed archers forced their way into the room. At their head were the gaunt sacrist of Waverley and a stout65 elderly man clad in a red velvet117 doublet and breeches much stained and mottled with mud and clay. He bore a great sheet of parchment with a fringe of dangling118 seals, which he held aloft as he entered.
“I call on Nigel Loring!” he cried. “I, the officer of the King's law and the lay summoner of Waverley, call upon the man named Nigel Loring!”
“I am he.”
“Yes, it is he!” cried the sacrist. “Archers, do as you were ordered!”
In an instant the band threw themselves upon him like the hounds on a stag. Desperately119 Nigel strove to gain his sword which lay upon the iron coffer. With the convulsive strength which comes from the spirit rather than from the body, he bore them all in that direction, but the sacrist snatched the weapon from its place, and the rest dragged the writhing120 Squire to the ground and swathed him in a cord.
“Hold him fast, good archers! Keep a stout grip on him!” cried the summoner. “I pray you, one of you, prick108 off these great dogs which snarl121 at my heels. Stand off, I say, in the name of the King! Watkin, come betwixt me and these creatures who have as little regard for the law as their master.”
One of the archers kicked off the faithful dogs. But there were others of the household who were equally ready to show their teeth in defense of the old house of Loring. From the door which led to their quarters there emerged the pitiful muster122 of Nigel's threadbare retainers. There was a time when ten knights, forty men-at-arms and two hundred archers would march behind the scarlet123 roses. Now at this last rally when the young head of the house lay bound in his own hall, there mustered124 at his call the page Charles with a cudgel, John the cook with his longest spit, Red Swire the aged man-at-arms with a formidable ax swung over his snowy head, and Weathercote the minstrel with a boar-spear. Yet this motley array was fired with the spirit of the house, and under the lead of the fierce old soldier they would certainly have flung themselves upon the ready swords of the archers, had the Lady Ermyntrude not swept between them:
“Stand back, Swire!” she cried. “Back, Weathercote Charles, put a leash125 on Talbot, and hold Bayard back!” Her black eyes blazed upon the invaders until they shrank from that baleful gaze. “Who are you, you rascal robbers, who dare to misuse126 the King's name and to lay hands upon one whose smallest drop of blood has more worth than all your thrall and caitiff bodies?”
“Nay, not so fast, dame, not so fast, I pray you!” cried the stout summoner, whose face had resumed its natural color, now that he had a woman to deal with. “There is a law of England, mark you, and there are those who serve and uphold it, who are the true men and the King's own lieges. Such a one am I. Then again, there are those who take such as me and transfer, carry or convey us into a bog or morass127. Such a one is this graceless old man with the ax, whom I have seen already this day. There are also those who tear, destroy or scatter111 the papers of the law, of which this young man is the chief. Therefore, I would rede you, dame, not to rail against us, but to understand that we are the King's men on the King's own service.”
“What then is your errand in this house at this hour of the night?”
The summoner cleared his throat pompously128, and turning his parchment to the light of the cressets he read out a long document in Norman-French, couched in such a style and such a language that the most involved and foolish of our forms were simplicity130 itself compared to those by which the men of the long gown made a mystery of that which of all things on earth should be the plainest and the most simple. Despair fell cold upon Nigel's heart and blanched131 the face of the old dame as they listened to the dread catalogue of claims and suits and issues, questions of peccary and turbary, of house-bote and fire-bote, which ended by a demand for all the lands, hereditaments, tenements132, messuages and curtilages, which made up their worldly all.
Nigel, still bound, had been placed with his back against the iron coffer, whence he heard with dry lips and moist brow this doom133 of his house. Now he broke in on the recital134 with a vehemence135 which made the summoner jump:
“You shall rue73 what you have done this night!” he cried. “Poor as we are, we have our friends who will not see us wronged, and I will plead my cause before the King's own majesty at Windsor, that he, who saw the father die, may know what things are done in his royal name against the son. But these matters are to be settled in course of law in the King's courts, and how will you excuse yourself for this assault upon my house and person?”
“Nay, that is another matter,” said the sacrist. “The question of debt may indeed be an affair of a civil court. But it is a crime against the law and an act of the Devil, which comes within the jurisdiction136 of the Abbey Court of Waverley when you dare to lay hands upon the summoner or his papers.”
“Indeed, he speaks truth,” cried the official. “I know no blacker sin.”
“Therefore,” said the stern monk16, “it is the order of the holy father Abbot that you sleep this night in the Abbey cell, and that to-morrow you be brought before him at the court held in the chapter-house so that you receive the fit punishment for this and the many other violent and froward deeds which you have wrought137 upon the servants of Holy Church. Enough is now said, worthy138 master summoner. Archers, remove your prisoner!”
As Nigel was lifted up by four stout archers, the Dame Ermyntrude would have rushed to his aid, but the sacrist thrust her back.
“Stand off, proud woman! Let the law take its course, and learn to humble139 your heart before the power of Holy Church. Has your life not taught its lesson, you, whose horn was exalted140 among the highest and will soon not have a roof above your gray hairs? Stand back, I say, lest I lay a curse upon you!”
The old dame flamed suddenly into white wrath as she stood before the angry monk: “Listen to me while I lay a curse upon you and yours!” she cried as she raised her shriveled arms and blighted142 him with her flashing eyes—
“As you have done to the house of Loring, so may God do to you, until your power is swept from the land of England, and of your great Abbey of Waverley there is nothing left but a pile of gray stones in a green meadow! I see it! I see it! With my old eyes I see it! From scullion to Abbot and from cellar to tower, may Waverley and all within it droop143 and wither144 from this night on!”
The monk, hard as he was, quailed145 before the frantic146 figure and the bitter, burning words. Already the summoner and the archers with their prisoner were clear of the house. He turned and with a clang he shut the heavy door behind him.
V. HOW NIGEL WAS TRIED BY THE ABBOT OF WAVERLEY
The law of the Middle Ages, shrouded147 as it was in old Norman-French dialect, and abounding148 in uncouth149 and incomprehensible terms, in deodands and heriots, in infang and outfang, was a fearsome weapon in the hands of those who knew how to use it. It was not for nothing that the first act of the rebel commoners was to hew150 off the head of the Lord Chancellor151. In an age when few knew how to read or to write, these mystic phrases and intricate forms, with the parchments and seals which were their outward expression, struck cold terror into hearts which were steeled against mere152 physical danger.
Even young Nigel Loring's blithe153 and elastic155 spirit was chilled as he lay that night in the penal156 cell of Waverley and pondered over the absolute ruin which threatened his house from a source against which all his courage was of no avail. As well take up sword and shield to defend himself against the black death, as against this blight141 of Holy Church. He was powerless in the grip of the Abbey. Already they had shorn off a field here and a grove157 there, and now in one sweep they would take in the rest, and where then was the home of the Lorings, and where should Lady Ermyntrude lay her aged head, or his old retainers, broken and spent, eke40 out the balance of their days? He shivered as he thought of it.
It was very well for him to threaten to carry the matter before the King, but it was years since royal Edward had heard the name of Loring, and Nigel knew that the memory of princes was a short one. Besides, the Church was the ruling power in the palace as well as in the cottage, and it was only for very good cause that a King could be expected to cross the purposes of so high a prelate as the Abbot of Waverley, as long as they came within the scope of the law. Where then was he to look for help? With the simple and practical piety158 of the age, he prayed for the aid of his own particular saints: of Saint Paul, whose adventures by land and sea had always endeared him; of Saint George, who had gained much honorable advancement159 from the Dragon; and of Saint Thomas, who was a gentleman of coat-armor, who would understand and help a person of gentle blood. Then, much comforted by his naive160 orisons he enjoyed the sleep of youth and health until the entrance of the lay brother with the bread and small beer, which served as breakfast, in the morning.
The Abbey court sat in the chapter-house at the canonical161 hour of tierce, which was nine in the forenoon. At all times the function was a solemn one, even when the culprit might be a villain162 who was taken poaching on the Abbey estate, or a chapman who had given false measure from his biased163 scales. But now, when a man of noble birth was to be tried, the whole legal and ecclesiastical ceremony was carried out with every detail, grotesque164 or impressive, which the full ritual prescribed. The distant roll of church music and the slow tolling165 of the Abbey bell; the white-robed brethren, two and two, walked thrice round the hall singing the “Benedicite” and the “Veni, Creator” before they settled in their places at the desks on either side. Then in turn each high officer of the Abbey from below upward, the almoner, the lector, the chaplain, the subprior and the prior, swept to their wonted places.
Finally there came the grim sacrist, with demure166 triumph upon his downcast features, and at his heels Abbot John himself, slow and dignified167, with pompous129 walk and solemn, composed face, his iron-beaded rosary swinging from his waist, his breviary in his hand, and his lips muttering as he hurried through his office for the day. He knelt at his high prie-dieu; the brethren, at a signal from the prior, prostrated168 themselves upon the floor, and the low deep voices rolled in prayer, echoed back from the arched and vaulted169 roof like the wash of waves from an ocean cavern170. Finally the monks resumed their seats; there entered clerks in seemly black with pens and parchment; the red-velveted summoner appeared to tell his tale; Nigel was led in with archers pressing close around him; and then, with much calling of old French and much legal incantation and mystery, the court of the Abbey was open for business.
It was the sacrist who first advanced to the oaken desk reserved for the witnesses and expounded171 in hard, dry, mechanical fashion the many claims which the House, of Waverley had against the family of Loring. Some generations back in return for money advanced or for spiritual favor received the Loring of the day had admitted that his estate had certain feudal172 duties toward the Abbey. The sacrist held up the crackling yellow parchment with swinging leaden seals on which the claim was based. Amid the obligations was that of escuage, by which the price of a knight's fee should be paid every year. No such price had been paid, nor had any service been done. The accumulated years came now to a greater sum than the fee simple of the estate. There were other claims also. The sacrist called for his books, and with thin, eager forefinger173 he tracked them down: dues for this, and tailage for that, so many shillings this year, and so many marks that one. Some of it occurred before Nigel was born; some of it when he was but a child. The accounts had been checked and certified174 by the sergeant175 of the law.
Nigel listened to the dread recital, and felt like some young stag who stands at bay with brave pose and heart of fire, but who sees himself compassed round and knows clearly that there is no escape. With his bold young face, his steady blue eyes, and the proud poise176 of his head, he was a worthy scion177 of the old house, and the sun, shining through the high oriel window, and showing up the stained and threadbare condition of his once rich doublet, seemed to illuminate178 the fallen fortunes of his family.
The sacrist had finished his exposition, and the sergeant-at-law was about to conclude a case which Nigel could in no way controvert179, when help came to him from an unexpected quarter. It may have been a certain malignity180 with which the sacrist urged his suit, it may have been a diplomatic dislike to driving matters to extremes, or it may have been some genuine impulse of kindliness181, for Abbot John was choleric182 but easily appeased183. Whatever the cause, the result was that a white plump hand, raised in the air with a gesture of authority, showed that the case was at an end.
“Our brother sacrist hath done his duty in urging this suit,” said he, “for the worldly wealth of this Abbey is placed in his pious184 keeping, and it is to him that we should look if we suffered in such ways, for we are but the trustees of those who come after us. But to my keeping has been consigned185 that which is more precious still, the inner spirit and high repute of those who follow the rule of Saint Bernard. Now it has ever been our endeavor, since first our saintly founder186 went down into the valley of Clairvaux and built himself a cell there, that we should set an example to all men in gentleness and humility187. For this reason it is that we built our houses in lowly places, that we have no tower to our Abbey churches, and that no finery and no metal, save only iron or lead, come within our walls. A brother shall eat from a wooden platter, drink from an iron cup, and light himself from a leaden sconce. Surely it is not for such an order who await the exaltation which is promised to the humble, to judge their own case and so acquire the lands of their neighbor! If our cause be just, as indeed I believe that it is, then it were better that it be judged at the King's assizes at Guildford, and so I decree that the case be now dismissed from the Abbey court so that it can be heard elsewhere.”
Nigel breathed a prayer to the three sturdy saints who had stood by him so manfully and well in the hour of his need. “Abbot John,” said he, “I never thought that any man of my name would utter thanks to a Cistercian of Waverley; but by Saint Paul! you have spoken like a man this day, for it would indeed be to play with cogged dice92 if the Abbey's case is to be tried in the Abbey court.”
The eighty white-clad brethren looked with half resentful, half amused eyes as they listened to this frank address to one who, in their small lives, seemed to be the direct vice-regent of Heaven. The archers had stood back from Nigel, as though he was at liberty to go, when the loud voice of the summoner broke in upon the silence—
“If it please you, holy father Abbot,” cried the voice, “this decision of yours is indeed secundum legem and intra vires so far as the civil suit is concerned which lies between this person and the Abbey. That is your affair; but it is I, Joseph the summoner, who have been grievously and criminally mishandled, my writs188, papers and indentures189 destroyed, my authority flouted190, and my person dragged through a bog, quagmire191 or morass, so that my velvet gabardine and silver badge of office were lost and are, as I verily believe, in the morass, quagmire or bog aforementioned, which is the same bog, morass—”
“Enough!” cried the Abbot sternly. “Lay aside this foolish fashion of speech and say straitly what you desire.”
“Holy father, I have been the officer of the King's law no less than the servant of Holy Church, and I have been let, hindered and assaulted in the performance of my lawful192 and proper duties, whilst my papers, drawn in the King's name, have been shended and rended and cast to the wind. Therefore, I demand justice upon this man in the Abbey court, the said assault having been committed within the banlieue of the Abbey's jurisdiction.”
“What have you to say to this, brother sacrist?” asked the Abbot in some perplexity.
“I would say, father, that it is within our power to deal gently and charitably with all that concerns ourselves, but that where a the King's officer is concerned we are wanting in our duty if we give him less than the protection that he demands. I would remind you also, holy father, that this is not the first of this man's violence, but that he has before now beaten our servants, defied our authority, and put pike in the Abbot's own fish-pond.”
The prelate's heavy cheeks flushed with anger as this old grievance193 came fresh into his mind. His eyes hardened as he looked at the prisoner. “Tell me, Squire Nigel, did you indeed put pike in the pond?”
The young man drew himself proudly up. “Ere I answer such a question, father Abbot, do you answer one from me, and tell me what the monks of Waverley have ever done for me that I should hold my hand when I could injure them?”
A low murmur194 ran round the room, partly wonder at his frankness, and partly anger at his boldness.
The Abbot settled down in his seat as one who has made up his mind. “Let the case of the summoner be laid before me,” said he. “Justice shall be done, and the offender195 shall be punished, be he noble or simple. Let the plaint be brought before the court.”
The tale of the summoner, though rambling196 and filled with endless legal reiteration197, was only too clear in its essence. Red Swire, with his angry face framed in white bristles198, was led in, and confessed to his ill treatment of the official. A second culprit, a little wiry nut-brown archer from Churt, had aided and abetted199 in the deed. Both of them were ready to declare that young Squire Nigel Loring knew nothing of the matter. But then there was the awkward incident of the tearing of the writs. Nigel, to whom a lie was an impossibility, had to admit that with his own hands he had shredded200 those august documents. As to an excuse or an explanation, he was too proud to advance any. A cloud gathered over the brow of the Abbot, and the sacrist gazed with an ironical201 smile at the prisoner, while a solemn hush202 fell over the chapter-house as the case ended and only, judgment203 remained.
“Squire Nigel,” said the Abbot, “it was for you, who are, as all men know, of ancient lineage in this land, to give a fair example by which others should set their conduct. Instead of this, your manor house has ever been a center for the stirring up of strife, and now not content with your harsh showing toward us, the Cistercian monks of Waverley, you have even marked your contempt for the King's law, and through your servants have mishandled the person of his messenger. For such offenses204 it is in my power to call the spiritual terrors of the Church upon your head, and yet I would not be harsh with you, seeing that you are young, and that even last week you saved the life of a servant of the Abbey when in peril97. Therefore, it is by temporal and carnal means that I will use my power to tame your overbold spirit, and to chasten that headstrong and violent humor which has caused such scandal in your dealings with our Abbey. Bread and water for six weeks from now to the Feast of Saint Benedict, with a daily exhortation205 from our chaplain, the pious Father Ambrose, may still avail to bend the stiff neck and to soften56 the hard heart.”
At this ignominious206 sentence by which the proud heir of the house of Loring would share the fate of the meanest village poacher, the hot blood of Nigel rushed to his face, and his eye glanced round him with a gleam which said more plainly than words that there could be no tame acceptance of such a doom. Twice he tried to speak, and twice his anger and his shame held the words in his throat.
“I am no subject of yours, proud Abbot!” he cried at last. “My house has ever been vavasor to the King. I deny the power of you and your court to lay sentence upon me. Punish these your own monks, who whimper at your frown, but do not dare to lay your hand upon him who fears you not, for he is a free man, and the peer of any save only the King himself.”
The Abbot seemed for an instant taken aback by these bold words, and by the high and strenuous207 voice in which they were uttered. But the sterner sacrist came as ever to stiffen208 his will. He held up the old parchment in his hand.
“The Lorings were indeed vavasors to the King,” said he; “but here is the very seal of Eustace Loring which shows that he made himself vassal209 to the Abbey and held his land from it.”
“Nay!” said the summoner. “If my voice may be heard, father Abbot, upon a point of the law, it is of no weight what the causes may have been why a deed is subscribed211, signed or confirmed, but a court is concerned only with the terms, articles, covenants212 and contracts of the said deed.”
“Besides,” said the sacrist, “sentence is passed by the Abbey court, and there is an end of its honor and good name if it be not upheld.”
“Brother sacrist,” said the Abbot angrily, “methinks you show overmuch zeal213 in this case, and certes, we are well able to uphold the dignity and honor of the Abbey court without any rede of thine. As to you, worthy summoner, you will give your opinion when we crave214 for it, and not before, or you may yourself get some touch of the power of our tribunal. But your case hath been tried, Squire Loring, and judgment given. I have no more to say.”
He motioned with his hand, and an archer laid his grip upon the shoulder of the prisoner. But that rough plebeian215 touch woke every passion of revolt in Nigel's spirit. Of all his high line of ancestors, was there one who had been subjected to such ignominy as this? Would they not have preferred death? And should he be the first to lower their spirit or their traditions? With a quick, lithe154 movement, he slipped under the arm of the archer, and plucked the short, straight sword from the soldier's side as he did so. The next instant he had wedged himself into the recess216 of one of the narrow windows, and there were his pale set face, his burning eyes, and his ready blade turned upon the assembly.
“By Saint Paul!” said he, “I never thought to find honorable advancement under the roof of an abbey, but perchance there may, be some room for it ere you hale me to your prison.”
The chapter-house was in an uproar217. Never in the long and decorous history of the Abbey had such a scene been witnessed within its walls. The monks themselves seemed for an instant to be infected by this spirit of daring revolt. Their own lifelong fetters218 hung more loosely as they viewed this unheard-of defiance219 of authority. They broke from their seats on either side and huddled220 half-scared, half-fascinated, in a large half-circle round the defiant221 captive, chattering222, pointing, grimacing223, a scandal for all time. Scourges224 should fall and penance225 be done for many a long week before the shadow of that day should pass from Waverley. But meanwhile there was no effort to bring them back to their rule. Everything was chaos226 and disorder227. The Abbot had left his seat of justice and hurried angrily forward, to be engulfed228 and hustled229 in the crowd of his own monks like a sheep-dog who finds himself entangled230 amid a flock.
Only the sacrist stood clear. He had taken shelter behind the half-dozen archers, who looked with some approval and a good deal of indecision at this bold fugitive231 from justice.
“On him!” cried the sacrist. “Shall he defy the authority of the court, or shall one man hold six of you at bay? Close in upon him and seize him. You, Baddlesmere, why do you hold back?”
The man in question, a tall bushy-bearded fellow, clad like the others in green jerkin and breeches with high brown boots, advanced slowly, sword in hand, against Nigel. His heart was not in the business, for these clerical courts were not popular, and everyone had a tender heart for the fallen fortunes of the house of Loring and wished well to its young heir.
“Come and fetch me, good fellow,” said Nigel, with a dangerous smile.
The archer ran in. There was a rasp of steel, a blade flickered233 like a swift dart104 of flame, and the man staggered back, with blood running down his forearm and dripping from his fingers. He wrung234 them and growled235 a Saxon oath.
“By the black rood of Bromeholm!” he cried, “I had as soon put my hand down a fox's earth to drag up a vixen from her cubs236.”
“Standoff!” said Nigel curtly237. “I would not hurt you; but by Saint Paul! I will not be handled, or some one will be hurt in the handling.”
So fierce was his eye and so menacing his blade as he crouched in the narrow bay of the window that the little knot of archers were at a loss what to do. The Abbot had forced his way through the crowd and stood, purple with outraged238 dignity, at their side.
“He is outside the law,” said he. “He hath shed blood in a court of justice, and for such a sin there is no forgiveness. I will not have my court so flouted and set at naught239. He who draws the sword, by the sword also let him perish. Forester Hugh lay a shaft240 to your bow!”
The man, who was one of the Abbey's lay servants, put his weight upon his long bow and slipped the loose end of the string into the upper notch241. Then, drawing one of the terrible three-foot arrows, steel-tipped and gaudily242 winged, from his waist, he laid it to the string.
“Now draw your bow and hold it ready!” cried the furious Abbot. “Squire Nigel, it is not for Holy Church to shed blood, but there is naught but violence which will prevail against the violent, and on your head be the sin. Cast down the sword which you hold in your hand!”
“Will you give me freedom to leave your Abbey?”
“Then I had rather die where I stand than give up my sword.”
A dangerous flame lit in the Abbot's eyes. He came of a fighting Norman stock, like so many of those fierce prelates who, bearing a mace lest they should be guilty of effusion of blood, led their troops into battle, ever remembering that it was one of their own cloth and dignity who, crosier in hand, had turned the long-drawn bloody day of Hastings. The soft accent of the churchman was gone and it was the hard voice of a soldier which said—
“One minute I give you, and no more. Then when I cry 'Loose!' drive me an arrow through his body.”
The shaft was fitted, the bow was bent244, and the stern eyes of the woodman were fixed on his mark. Slowly the minute passed, while Nigel breathed a prayer to his three soldier saints, not that they should save his body in this life, but that they should have a kindly245 care for his soul in the next. Some thought of a fierce wildcat sally crossed his mind, but once out of his corner he was lost indeed. Yet at the last he would have rushed among his enemies, and his body was bent for the spring, when with a deep sonorous246 hum, like a breaking harp-string, the cord of the bow was cloven in twain, and the arrow tinkled247 upon the tiled floor. At the same moment a young curly-headed bowman, whose broad shoulders and deep chest told of immense strength, as clearly as his frank, laughing face and honest hazel eyes did of good humor and courage, sprang forward sword in hand and took his place by Nigel's side.
“Nay, comrades!” said he. “Samkin Aylward cannot stand by and see a gallant248 man shot down like a bull at the end of a baiting. Five against one is long odds249; but two against four is better, and by my finger-bones! Squire Nigel and I leave this room together, be it on our feet or no.”
The formidable appearance of this ally and his high reputation among his fellows gave a further chill to the lukewarm ardor250 of the attack. Aylward's left arm was passed through his strung bow, and he was known from Woolmer Forest to the Weald as the quickest, surest archer that ever dropped a running deer at tenscore paces.
“Nay, Baddlesmere, hold your fingers from your string-case, or I may chance to give your drawing hand a two months' rest,” said Aylward. “Swords, if you will, comrades, but no man strings his bow till I have loosed mine.”
Yet the angry hearts of both Abbot and sacrist rose higher with a fresh obstacle.
“This is an ill day for your father, Franklin Aylward, who holds the tenancy of Crooksbury,” said the sacrist. “He will rue it that ever he begot251 a son who will lose him his acres and his steading.”
“My father is a bold yeoman, and would rue it evermore that ever his son should stand by while foul252 work was afoot,” said Aylward stoutly. “Fall on, comrades! We are waiting.”
Encouraged by promises of reward if they should fall in the service of the Abbey, and by threats of penalties if they should hold back, the four archers were about to close, when a singular interruption gave an entirely new turn to the proceedings253.
At the door of the chapter-house, while these fiery doings had been afoot, there had assembled a mixed crowd of lay brothers, servants and varlets who had watched the development of the drama with the interest and delight with which men hail a sudden break in a dull routine. Suddenly there was an agitation254 at the back of this group, then a swirl255 in the center, and finally the front rank was violently thrust aside, and through the gap there emerged a strange and whimsical figure, who from the instant of his appearance dominated both chapter-house and Abbey, monks, prelates and archers, as if he were their owner and their master.
He was a man somewhat above middle age, with thin lemon-colored hair, a curling mustache, a tufted chin of the same hue256, and a high craggy face, all running to a great hook of the nose, like the beak257 of an eagle. His skin was tanned a brown-red by much exposure to the wind and sun. In height he was tall, and his figure was thin and loose-jointed, but stringy and hard-bitten. One eye was entirely covered by its lid, which lay flat over an empty socket258, but the other danced and sparkled with a most roguish light, darting here and there with a twinkle of humor and criticism and intelligence, the whole fire of his soul bursting through that one narrow cranny.
His dress was as noteworthy as his person. A rich purple doublet and cloak was marked on the lapels with a strange scarlet device shaped like a wedge. Costly259 lace hung round his shoulders, and amid its soft folds there smoldered260 the dull red of a heavy golden chain. A knight's belt at his waist and a knight's golden spurs twinkling from his doeskin riding-boots proclaimed his rank, and on the wrist of his left gauntlet there sat a demure little hooded261 falcon of a breed which in itself was a mark of the dignity of the owner. Of weapons he had none, but a mandolin was slung by a black silken band over his back, and the high brown end projected above his shoulder. Such was the man, quaint262, critical, masterful, with a touch of what is formidable behind it, who now surveyed the opposing groups of armed men and angry monks with an eye which commanded their attention.
“Excusez!” said he, in a lisping French. “Excusez, mes amis! I had thought to arouse from prayer or meditation263, but never have I seen such a holy exercise as this under an abbey's roof, with swords for breviaries and archers for acolytes264. I fear that I have come amiss, and yet I ride on an errand from one who permits no delay.”
The Abbot, and possibly the sacrist also, had begun to realize that events had gone a great deal farther than they had intended, and that without an extreme scandal it was no easy matter for them to save their dignity and the good name of Waverley. Therefore, in spite of the debonair265, not to say disrespectful, bearing of the newcomer, they rejoiced at his appearance and intervention266.
“I am the Abbot of Waverley, fair son,” said the prelate. “If your message deal with a public matter it may be fitly repeated in the chapter-house; if not I will give you audience in my own chamber267; for it is clear to me that you are a gentle man of blood and coat-armor who would not lightly break in upon the business of our court—a business which, as you have remarked, is little welcome to men of peace like myself and the brethren of the rule of Saint Bernard.”
“Pardieu! Father Abbot,” said the stranger. “One had but to glance at you and your men to see that the business was indeed little to your taste, and it may be even less so when I say that rather than see this young person in the window, who hath a noble bearing, further molested268 by these archers, I will myself adventure my person on his behalf.”
The Abbot's smile turned to a frown at these frank words. “It would become you better, sir, to deliver the message of which you say that you are the bearer, than to uphold a prisoner against the rightful judgment of a court.”
The stranger swept the court with his questioning eye. “The message is not for you, good father Abbot. It is for one whom I know not. I have been to his house, and they have sent me hither. The name is Nigel Loring.”
“It is for me, fair sir.”
“I had thought as much. I knew your father, Eustace Loring, and though he would have made two of you, yet he has left his stamp plain enough upon your face.”
“You know not the truth of this matter,” said the Abbot. “If you are a loyal man, you will stand aside, for this young man hath grievously offended against the law, and it is for the King's lieges to give us their support.”
“And you have haled him up for judgment,” cried the stranger with much amusement. “It is as though a rookery sat in judgment upon a falcon. I warrant that you have found it easier to judge than to punish. Let me tell you, father Abbot, that this standeth not aright. When powers such as these were given to the like of you, they were given that you might check a brawling269 underling or correct a drunken woodman, and not that you might drag the best blood in England to your bar and set your archers on him if he questioned your findings.”
The Abbot was little used to hear such words of reproof270 uttered in so stern a voice under his own abbey roof and before his listening monks. “You may perchance find that an Abbey court has more powers than you wot of, Sir Knight,” said he, “if knight indeed you be who are so uncourteous and short in your speech. Ere we go further, I would ask your name and style?”
The stranger laughed. “It is easy to see that you are indeed men of peace,” said he proudly. “Had I shown this sign,” and he touched the token upon his lapels, “whether on shield or pennon, in the marches of France or Scotland, there is not a cavalier but would have known the red pile of Chandos.”
Chandos, John Chandos, the flower of English chivalry, the pink of knight-errantry, the hero already of fifty desperate enterprises, a man known and honored from end to end of Europe! Nigel gazed at him as one who sees a vision. The archers stood back abashed271, while the monks crowded closer to stare at the famous soldier of the French wars. The Abbot abated272 his tone, and a smile came to his angry face.
“We are indeed men of peace, Sir John, and little skilled in warlike blazonry,” said he; “yet stout as are our Abbey walls, they are not so thick that the fame of your exploits has not passed through them and reached our ears. If it be your pleasure to take an interest in this young and misguided Squire, it is not for us to thwart273 your kind intention or to withhold274 such grace as you request. I am glad indeed that he hath one who can set him so fair an example for a friend.”
“I thank you for your courtesy, good father Abbot,” said Chandos carelessly. “This young Squire has, however, a better friend than myself, one who is kinder to those he loves and more terrible to those he hates. It is from him I bear a message.”
“I pray you, fair and honored sir,” said Nigel, “that you will tell me what is the message that you bear.”
“The message, mon ami, is that your friend comes into these parts and would have a night's lodging275 at the manor house of Tilford for the love and respect that he bears your family.”
“Nay, he is most welcome,” said Nigel, “and yet I hope that he is one who can relish276 a soldier's fare and sleep under a humble roof, for indeed we can but give our best, poor as it is.”
“He is indeed a soldier and a good one,” Chandos answered, laughing, “and I warrant he has slept in rougher quarters than Tilford Manor-house.”
“I have few friends, fair sir,” said Nigel, with a puzzled face. “I pray you give me this gentleman's name.”
“His name is Edward.”
“Sir Edward Mortimer of Kent, perchance, or is it Sir Edward Brocas of whom the Lady Ermyntrude talks?”
“Nay, he is known as Edward only, and if you ask a second name it is Plantagenet, for he who comes to seek the shelter of your roof is your liege lord and mine, the King's high majesty, Edward of England.”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
ascetic
|
|
| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
dwellings
|
|
| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
imposing
|
|
| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
grandeur
|
|
| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
invaders
|
|
| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
strife
|
|
| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
bulwark
|
|
| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
defense
|
|
| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
residential
|
|
| adj.提供住宿的；居住的；住宅的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
manor
|
|
| n.庄园，领地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
survivors
|
|
| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
monk
|
|
| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
monks
|
|
| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
bower
|
|
| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
falcon
|
|
| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
wrecked
|
|
| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
stranded
|
|
| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
vessel
|
|
| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
strewed
|
|
| v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
debris
|
|
| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
crouched
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
gnawing
|
|
| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
buffet
|
|
| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
falcons
|
|
| n.猎鹰( falcon的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
scanty
|
|
| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
luxurious
|
|
| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
allied
|
|
| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
Flared
|
|
| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
bloody
|
|
| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
obsolete
|
|
| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
rusted
|
|
| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
battered
|
|
| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
implements
|
|
| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
eke
|
|
| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
dame
|
|
| n.女士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
warriors
|
|
| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
degenerate
|
|
| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
knightly
|
|
| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
valor
|
|
| n.勇气，英勇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
abhorrent
|
|
| adj.可恶的，可恨的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
squires
|
|
| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
lore
|
|
| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
chivalry
|
|
| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
martial
|
|
| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
softening
|
|
| 变软，软化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
soften
|
|
| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
knights
|
|
| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
vow
|
|
| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
deign
|
|
| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
braggart
|
|
| n.吹牛者；adj.吹牛的，自夸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
slew
|
|
| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
stoutly
|
|
| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
mace
|
|
| n.狼牙棒，豆蔻干皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
ransom
|
|
| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
slain
|
|
| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
archer
|
|
| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
archers
|
|
| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
scramble
|
|
| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
rue
|
|
| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
yearns
|
|
| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
plunge
|
|
| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
tunic
|
|
| n.束腰外衣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
joint
|
|
| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
slung
|
|
| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
crumbling
|
|
| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
bog
|
|
| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
rascal
|
|
| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
swelling
|
|
| n.肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
glade
|
|
| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
yoke
|
|
| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
accomplishments
|
|
| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
feats
|
|
| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
vault
|
|
| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
dice
|
|
| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
cadence
|
|
| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
turret
|
|
| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
plume
|
|
| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
perils
|
|
| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
peril
|
|
| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
glutted
|
|
| v.吃得过多( glut的过去式和过去分词 )；（对胃口、欲望等）纵情满足；使厌腻；塞满 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
thrall
|
|
| n.奴隶；奴隶制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
shrill
|
|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
inception
|
|
| n.开端，开始，取得学位 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
darting
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
dart
|
|
| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
bondage
|
|
| n.奴役，束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
prick
|
|
| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
pricked
|
|
| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
growling
|
|
| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
scatter
|
|
| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
Undid
|
|
| v. 解开, 复原 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
flaring
|
|
| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
glimmer
|
|
| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
dangling
|
|
| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
desperately
|
|
| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
writhing
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
snarl
|
|
| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
muster
|
|
| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
mustered
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
leash
|
|
| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
misuse
|
|
| n.误用，滥用；vt.误用，滥用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
morass
|
|
| n.沼泽，困境 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
pompously
|
|
| adv.傲慢地，盛大壮观地；大模大样 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
pompous
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
blanched
|
|
| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
tenements
|
|
| n.房屋，住户，租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
doom
|
|
| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
recital
|
|
| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
vehemence
|
|
| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
jurisdiction
|
|
| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
exalted
|
|
| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
blight
|
|
| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
blighted
|
|
| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
droop
|
|
| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
wither
|
|
| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
quailed
|
|
| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
frantic
|
|
| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
shrouded
|
|
| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
abounding
|
|
| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
uncouth
|
|
| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
hew
|
|
| v.砍；伐；削 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
chancellor
|
|
| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
blithe
|
|
| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
lithe
|
|
| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
elastic
|
|
| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
penal
|
|
| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
grove
|
|
| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
piety
|
|
| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
advancement
|
|
| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
naive
|
|
| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
canonical
|
|
| n.权威的；典型的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
villain
|
|
| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
biased
|
|
| a.有偏见的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
tolling
|
|
| [财]来料加工 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
demure
|
|
| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
prostrated
|
|
| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
vaulted
|
|
| adj.拱状的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
cavern
|
|
| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
expounded
|
|
| 论述，详细讲解( expound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
feudal
|
|
| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
forefinger
|
|
| n.食指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
certified
|
|
| a.经证明合格的；具有证明文件的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
sergeant
|
|
| n.警官，中士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
poise
|
|
| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
scion
|
|
| n.嫩芽，子孙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
illuminate
|
|
| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
controvert
|
|
| v.否定；否认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
malignity
|
|
| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
kindliness
|
|
| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
choleric
|
|
| adj.易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
appeased
|
|
| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
pious
|
|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
consigned
|
|
| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
Founder
|
|
| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
humility
|
|
| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
writs
|
|
| n.书面命令，令状( writ的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
indentures
|
|
| vt.以契约束缚（indenture的第三人称单数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
flouted
|
|
| v.藐视，轻视( flout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
quagmire
|
|
| n.沼地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
lawful
|
|
| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
grievance
|
|
| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
offender
|
|
| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
rambling
|
|
| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
reiteration
|
|
| n. 重覆, 反覆, 重说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
bristles
|
|
| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
abetted
|
|
| v.教唆（犯罪）( abet的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；怂恿；支持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
shredded
|
|
| shred的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
201
ironical
|
|
| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
202
hush
|
|
| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
203
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
204
offenses
|
|
| n.进攻( offense的名词复数 )；（球队的）前锋；进攻方法；攻势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
205
exhortation
|
|
| n.劝告，规劝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
206
ignominious
|
|
| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
207
strenuous
|
|
| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
208
stiffen
|
|
| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
209
vassal
|
|
| n.附庸的；属下；adj.奴仆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
210
guile
|
|
| n.诈术 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
211
subscribed
|
|
| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
212
covenants
|
|
| n.（有法律约束的）协议( covenant的名词复数 )；盟约；公约；（向慈善事业、信托基金会等定期捐款的）契约书 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
213
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
214
crave
|
|
| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
215
plebeian
|
|
| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
216
recess
|
|
| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
217
uproar
|
|
| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
218
fetters
|
|
| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
219
defiance
|
|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
220
huddled
|
|
| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
221
defiant
|
|
| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
222
chattering
|
|
| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
223
grimacing
|
|
| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
224
scourges
|
|
| 带来灾难的人或东西，祸害( scourge的名词复数 )； 鞭子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
225
penance
|
|
| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
226
chaos
|
|
| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
227
disorder
|
|
| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
228
engulfed
|
|
| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
229
hustled
|
|
| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
230
entangled
|
|
| 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 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
231
fugitive
|
|
| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
232
scathe
|
|
| v.损伤；n.伤害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
233
flickered
|
|
| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
234
wrung
|
|
| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
235
growled
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
236
cubs
|
|
| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
237
curtly
|
|
| adv.简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
238
outraged
|
|
| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
239
naught
|
|
| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
240
shaft
|
|
| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
241
notch
|
|
| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
242
gaudily
|
|
| adv.俗丽地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
243
purged
|
|
| 清除（政敌等）( purge的过去式和过去分词 )； 涤除（罪恶等）； 净化（心灵、风气等）； 消除（错事等）的不良影响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
244
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
245
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
246
sonorous
|
|
| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
247
tinkled
|
|
| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
248
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
249
odds
|
|
| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
250
ardor
|
|
| n.热情，狂热 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
251
begot
|
|
| v.为…之生父( beget的过去式 )；产生，引起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
252
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
253
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
254
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
255
swirl
|
|
| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
256
hue
|
|
| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
257
beak
|
|
| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
258
socket
|
|
| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
259
costly
|
|
| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
260
smoldered
|
|
| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
261
hooded
|
|
| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
262
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
263
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
264
acolytes
|
|
| n.助手( acolyte的名词复数 )；随从；新手；（天主教）侍祭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
265
debonair
|
|
| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
266
intervention
|
|
| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
267
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
268
molested
|
|
| v.骚扰( molest的过去式和过去分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
269
brawling
|
|
| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
270
reproof
|
|
| n.斥责，责备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
271
abashed
|
|
| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
272
abated
|
|
| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
273
thwart
|
|
| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
274
withhold
|
|
| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
275
lodging
|
|
| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
276
relish
|
|
| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |