The waning1 harvest-moon shone broad and bright,
The warder’s horn was heard at dead of night,
And while the portals-wide were flung,
With trampling3 hoofs4 the rocky pavement rung.
Leyden.
“And you, too, would be a soldier, Roland?” said the Lady of Avenel to her young charge, while, seated on a stone chair at one end of the battlements, she saw the boy attempt, with a long stick, to mimic5 the motions of the warder, as he alternately shouldered, or ported, or sloped pike.
“Yes, Lady,” said the boy,— for he was now familiar, and replied to her questions with readiness and alacrity,— “a soldier will I be; for there ne’er was gentleman but who belted him with the brand.”
“Thou a gentleman!” said Lilias, who, as usual, was in attendance; “such a gentleman as I would make of a bean-cod with a rusty6 knife.”
“Nay, chide7 him not, Lilias,” said the Lady of Avenel, “for, beshrew me, but I think he comes of gentle blood — see how it musters8 in his face at your injurious reproof10.”
“Had I my will, madam,” answered Lilias, “a good birchen wand should make his colour muster9 to better purpose still.”
“On my word, Lilias,” said the Lady, “one would think you had received harm from the poor boy — or is he so far on the frosty side of your favour because he enjoys the sunny side of mine?”
“Over heavens forbode, my Lady!” answered Lilias; “I have lived too long with gentles, I praise my stars for it, to fight with either follies11 or fantasies, whether they relate to beast, bird, or boy.”
Lilias was a favourite in her own class, a spoiled domestic, and often accustomed to take more licence than her mistress was at all times willing to encourage. But what did not please the Lady of Avenel, she did not choose to hear, and thus it was on the present occasion. She resolved to look more close and sharply after the boy, who had hitherto been committed chiefly to the management of Lilias. He must, she thought, be born of gentle blood; it were shame to think otherwise of a form so noble, and features so fair;— the very wildness in which he occasionally indulged, his contempt of danger, and impatience12 of restraint, had in them something noble;— assuredly the child was born of high rank. Such was her conclusion, and she acted upon it accordingly. The domestics around her, less jealous, or less scrupulous13 than Lilias, acted as servants usually do, following the bias14, and flattering, for their own purposes, the humour of the Lady; and the boy soon took on him those airs of superiority, which the sight of habitual15 deference16 seldom fails to inspire. It seemed, in truth, as if to command were his natural sphere, so easily did he use himself to exact and receive compliance17 with his humours. The chaplain, indeed, might have interposed to check the air of assumption which Roland Graeme so readily indulged, and most probably would have willingly rendered him that favour; but the necessity of adjusting with his brethren some disputed points of church discipline had withdrawn18 him for some time from the castle, and detained him in a distant part of the kingdom.
Matters stood thus in the castle of Avenel, when a winded bugle19 sent its shrill20 and prolonged notes from the shore of the lake, and was replied to cheerily by the signal of the warder. The Lady of Avenel knew the sounds of her husband, and rushed to the window of the apartment in which she was sitting. A band of about thirty spearmen, with a pennon displayed before them, winded along the indented21 shores of the lake, and approached the causeway. A single horseman rode at the head of the party, his bright arms catching22 a glance of the October sun as he moved steadily23 along. Even at that distance, the Lady recognized the lofty plume24, bearing the mingled25 colours of her own liveries and those of Glendonwyne, blended with the holly-branch; and the firm seat and dignified26 demeanour of the rider, joined to the stately motion of the dark-brown steed, sufficiently27 announced Halbert Glendinning.
The Lady’s first thought was that of rapturous joy at her husband’s return — her second was connected with a fear which had sometimes intruded28 itself, that he might not altogether approve the peculiar29 distinction with which she had treated her orphan30 ward2. In this fear there was implied a consciousness, that the favour she had shown him was excessive; for Halbert Glendinning was at least as gentle and indulgent, as he was firm and rational in the intercourse31 of his household; and to her in particular, his conduct had ever been most affectionately tender.
Yet she did fear, that, on the present occasion, her conduct might incur32 Sir Halbert’s censure33; and hastily resolving that she would not mention, the anecdote34 of the boy until the next day, she ordered him to be withdrawn from the apartment by Lilias.
“I will not go with Lilias, madam,” answered the spoiled child, who had more than once carried his point by perseverance35, and who, like his betters, delighted in the exercise of such authority,—“I will not go to Lilias’s gousty room — I will stay and see that brave warrior36 who comes riding so gallantly37 along the drawbridge.”
“You must not stay, Roland,” said the Lady, more positively39 than she usually spoke40 to her little favourite.
“I will,” reiterated41 the boy, who had already felt his consequence, and the probable chance of success.
“You will , Roland!” answered the Lady, “what manner of word is that? I tell you, you must go.”
“Will ,” answered the forward boy, “is a word for a man, and must is no word for a lady.”
“You are saucy42, sirrah,” said the Lady —“Lilias, take him with you instantly.”
“I always thought,” said Lilias, smiling, as she seized the reluctant boy by the arm, “that my young master must give place to my old one.”
“And you, too, are malapert, mistress!” said the Lady; “hath the moon changed, that ye all of you thus forget yourselves?”
Lilias made no reply, but led off the boy, who, too proud to offer unavailing resistance, darted43 at his benefactress a glance, which intimated plainly, how willingly he would have defied her authority, had he possessed44 the power to make good his point.
The Lady of Avenel was vexed45 to find how much this trifling46 circumstance had discomposed her, at the moment when she ought naturally to have been entirely47 engrossed48 by her husband’s return. But we do not recover composure by the mere49 feeling that agitation50 is mistimed. The glow of displeasure had not left the Lady’s cheek, her ruffled51 deportment was not yet entirely composed, when her husband, unhelmeted, but still wearing the rest of his arms, entered the apartment. His appearance banished52 the thoughts of every thing else; she rushed to him, clasped his iron-sheathed frame in her arms, and kissed his martial53 and manly54 face with an affection which was at once evident and sincere. The warrior returned her embrace and her caress55 with the same fondness; for the time which had passed since their union had diminished its romantic ardour, perhaps, but it had rather increased its rational tenderness, and Sir Halbert Glendinning’s long and frequent absences from his castle had prevented affection from degenerating56 by habit into indifference57.
When the first eager greetings were paid and received, the Lady gazed fondly on her husband’s face as she remarked, “You are altered, Halbert — you have ridden hard and far today, or you have been ill?”
“I have been well, Mary,” answered the Knight58, “passing well have I been; and a long ride is to me, thou well knowest, but a thing of constant custom. Those who are born noble may slumber59 out their lives within the walls of their castles and manor-houses; but he who hath achieved nobility by his own deeds must ever be in the saddle, to show that he merits his advancement60.”
While he spoke thus, the Lady gazed fondly on him, as if endeavouring to read his inmost soul; for the tone in which he spoke was that of melancholy61 depression.
Sir Halbert Glendinning was the same, yet a different person from what he had appeared in his early years. The fiery62 freedom of the aspiring63 youth had given place to the steady and stern composure of the approved soldier and skilful64 politician. There were deep traces of care on those noble features, over which each emotion used formerly65 to pass, like light clouds across a summer sky. That sky was now, not perhaps clouded, but still and grave, like that of the sober autumn evening. The forehead was higher and more bare than in early youth, and the locks which still clustered thick and dark on the warrior’s head, were worn away at the temples, not by age, but by the constant pressure of the steel cap, or helmet. His beard, according to the fashion of the time, grew short and thick, and was turned into mustaches on the upper lip, and peaked at the extremity66. The cheek, weather-beaten and embrowned, had lost the glow of youth, but showed the vigorous complexion67 of active and confirmed manhood. Halbert Glendinning was, in a word, a knight to ride at a king’s right hand, to bear his banner in war, and to be his counsellor in time of peace; for his looks expressed the considerate firmness which can resolve wisely and dare boldly. Still, over these noble features, there now spread an air of dejection, of which, perhaps, the owner was not conscious, but which did not escape the observation of his anxious and affectionate partner.
“Something has happened, or is about to happen,” said the Lady of Avenel; “this sadness sits not on your brow without cause — misfortune, national or particular, must needs be at hand.”
“There is nothing new that I wot of,” said Halbert Glendinning; “but there is little of evil which can befall a kingdom, that may not be apprehended68 in this unhappy and divided realm.”
“Nay, then,” said the Lady, “I see there hath really been some fatal work on foot. My Lord of Murray has not so long detained you at Holyrood, save that he wanted your help in some weighty purpose.”
“I have not been at Holyrood, Mary,” answered the Knight; “I have been several weeks abroad.”
“Abroad! and sent me no word?” replied the Lady.
“What would the knowledge have availed, but to have rendered you unhappy, my love?” replied the Knight; “your thoughts would have converted the slightest breeze that curled your own lake, into a tempest raging in the German ocean.”
“And have you then really crossed the sea?” said the Lady, to whom the very idea of an element which she had never seen conveyed notions of terror and of wonder,—“really left your own native land, and trodden distant shores, where the Scottish tongue is unheard and unknown?”
“Really, and really,” said the Knight, taking her hand in affectionate playfulness, “I have done this marvellous deed — have rolled on the ocean for three days and three nights, with the deep green waves dashing by the side of my pillow, and but a thin plank69 to divide me from it.”
“Indeed, my Halbert,” said the Lady, “that was a tempting70 of Divine Providence71. I never bade you unbuckle the sword from your side, or lay the lance from your hand — I never bade you sit still when your honour called you to rise and ride; but are not blade and spear dangers enough for one man’s life, and why would you trust rough waves and raging seas?”
“We have in Germany, and in the Low Countries, as they are called,” answered Glendinning, “men who are united with us in faith, and with whom it is fitting we should unite in alliance. To some of these I was despatched on business as important as it was secret. I went in safety, and I returned in security; there is more danger to a man’s life betwixt this and Holyrood, than are in all the seas that wash the lowlands of Holland.”
“And the country, my Halbert, and the people,” said the Lady, “are they like our kindly72 Scots? or what bearing have they to strangers?”
“They are a people, Mary, strong in their wealth, which renders all other nations weak, and weak in those arts of war by which other nations are strong.”
“I do not understand you,” said the Lady.
“The Hollander and the Fleming, Mary, pour forth73 their spirit in trade, and not in war; their wealth purchases them the arms of foreign soldiers, by whose aid they defend it. They erect74 dikes on the sea-shore to protect the land which they have won, and they levy75 regiments76 of the stubborn Switzers and hardy77 Germans to protect the treasures which they have amassed78. And thus they are strong in their weakness; for the very wealth which tempts79 their masters to despoil80 them, arms strangers in their behalf.”
“The slothful hinds81!” exclaimed Mary, thinking and feeling like a Scotswoman of the period; “have they hands, and fight not for the land which bore them? They should be notched82 off at the elbow!”
“Nay, that were but hard justice,” answered her husband; “for their hands serve their country, though not in battle, like ours. Look at these barren hills, Mary, and at that deep winding83 vale by which the cattle are even now returning from their scanty84 browse85. The hand of the industrious86 Fleming would cover these mountains with wood, and raise corn where we now see a starved and scanty sward of heath and ling. It grieves me, Mary, when I look on that land, and think what benefit it might receive from such men as I have lately seen — men who seek not the idle fame derived87 from dead ancestors, or the bloody88 renown89 won in modern broils90, but tread along the land, as preservers and improvers, not as tyrants91 and destroyers.”
“These amendments92 would here be but a vain fancy, my Halbert,” answered the Lady of Avenel; “the trees would be burned by the English foemen, ere they ceased to be shrubs93, and the grain that you raised would be gathered in by the first neighbour that possessed more riders than follow your train. Why should you repine at this? The fate that made you Scotsman by birth, gave you head, and heart, and hand, to uphold the name as it must needs be upheld.”
“It gave me no name to uphold,” said Halbert, pacing the floor slowly; “my arm has been foremost in every strife94 — my voice has been heard in every council, nor have the wisest rebuked95 me. The crafty97 Lethington, the deep and dark Morton, have held secret council with me, and Grange and Lindsay have owned, that in the field I did the devoir of a gallant38 knight — but let the emergence98 be passed when they need my head and hand, and they only know me as son of the obscure portioner of Glendearg.”
This was a theme which the Lady always dreaded99; for the rank conferred on her husband, the favour in which he was held by the powerful Earl of Murray, and the high talents by which he vindicated100 his right to that rank and that favour, were qualities which rather increased than diminished the envy which was harboured against Sir Halbert Glendinning among a proud aristocracy, as a person originally of inferior and obscure birth, who had risen to his present eminence101 solely102 by his personal merit. The natural firmness of his mind did not enable him to despise the ideal advantages of a higher pedigree, which were held in such universal esteem103 by all with whom he conversed104; and so open are the noblest minds to jealous inconsistencies, that there were moments in which he felt mortified105 that his lady should possess those advantages of birth and high descent which he himself did not enjoy, and regretted that his importance as the proprietor106 of Avenel was qualified107 by his possessing it only as the husband of the heiress. He was not so unjust as to permit any unworthy feelings to retain permanent possession of his mind, but yet they recurred108 from time to time, and did not escape his lady’s anxious observation.
“Had we been blessed with children,” she was wont109 on such occasions to say to herself, “had our blood been united in a son who might have joined my advantages of descent with my husband’s personal worth, these painful and irksome reflections had not disturbed our union even for a moment. But the existence of such an heir, in whom our affections, as well as our pretensions110, might have centred, has been denied to us.”
With such mutual111 feelings, it cannot be wondered that it gave the Lady pain to hear her husband verging112 towards this topic of mutual discontent. On the present, as on other similar occasions, she endeavoured to divert the knight’s thoughts from this painful channel.
“How can you,” she said, “suffer yourself to dwell upon things which profit nothing? Have you indeed no name to uphold? You, the good and the brave, the wise in council, and the strong in battle, have you not to support the reputation your own deeds have won, a reputation more honourable113 than mere ancestry114 can supply? Good men love and honour you, the wicked fear, and the turbulent obey you; and is it not necessary you should exert yourself to ensure the endurance of that love, that honour, and wholesome115 fear, and that necessary obedience116?”
As she thus spoke, the eye of her husband caught from hers courage and comfort, and it lightened as he took her hand and replied, “It is most true, my Mary, and I deserve thy rebuke96, who forget what I am, in repining because I am not what I cannot be. I am now what the most famed ancestors of those I envy were, the mean man raised into eminence by his own exertions117; and sure it is a boast as honourable to have those capacities which are necessary to the foundation of a family, as to be descended119 from one who possessed them some centuries before. The Hay of Loncarty, who bequeathed his bloody yoke120 to his lineage,— the ‘dark gray man,’ who first founded the house of Douglas, had yet less of ancestry to boast than I have. For thou knowest, Mary, that my name derives121 itself from a line of ancient warriors122, although my immediate123 forefathers124 preferred the humble125 station in which thou didst first find them; and war and counsel are not less proper to the house of Glendonwyne, even, in its most remote descendants, than to the proudest of their baronage.” 3
He strode across the hall as he spoke; and the Lady smiled internally to observe how much his mind dwelt upon the prerogatives127 of birth, and endeavoured to establish his claims, however remote, to a share in them, at the very moment when he affected128 to hold them in contempt. It will easily be guessed, however, that she permitted no symptom to escape her that could show she was sensible of the weakness of her husband, a perspicacity129 which perhaps his proud spirit could not very easily have brooked130.
As he returned from the extremity of the hall, to which he had stalked while in the act of vindicating131 the title of the house of Glendonwyne in its most remote branches to the full privileges of aristocracy, “Where,” he said, “is Wolf? I have not seen him since my return, and he was usually the first to welcome my home-coming.”
“Wolf,” said the Lady, with a slight degree of embarrassment132, for which perhaps, she would have found it difficult to assign any reason even to herself, “Wolf is chained up for the present. He hath been surly to my page.”
“Wolf chained up — and Wolf surly to your page!” answered Sir Halbert Glendinning; “Wolf never was surly to any one; and the chain will either break his spirit or render him savage133 — So ho, there — set Wolf free directly.”
He was obeyed; and the huge dog rushed into the hall, disturbing, by his unwieldy and boisterous134 gambols135, the whole economy of reels, rocks, and distaffs, with which the maidens136 of the household were employed when the arrival of their lord was a signal to them to withdraw, and extracting from Lilias, who was summoned to put them again in order, the natural observation, “That the Laird’s pet was as troublesome as the lady’s page.”
“And who is this page, Mary?” said the Knight, his attention again called to the subject by the observation of the waiting-woman,—“Who is this page, whom every one seems to weigh in the balance with my old friend and favourite, Wolf?— When did you aspire138 to the dignity of keeping a page, or who is the boy?”
“I trust, my Halbert,” said the Lady, not without a blush, “you will not think your wife entitled to less attendance than other ladies of her quality?”
“Nay, Dame139 Mary,” answered the Knight, “it is enough you desire such an attendant.— Yet I have never loved to nurse such useless menials — a lady’s page — it may well suit the proud English dames140 to have a slender youth to bear their trains from bower141 to hall, fan them when they slumber, and touch the lute142 for them when they please to listen; but our Scottish matrons were wont to be above such vanities, and our Scottish youth ought to be bred to the spear and the stirrup.”
“Nay, but, my husband,” said the Lady, “I did but jest when I called this boy my page; he is in sooth a little orphan whom we saved from perishing in the lake, and whom I have since kept in the castle out of charity.— Lilias, bring little Roland hither.”
Roland entered accordingly, and, flying to the Lady’s side, took hold of the plaits of her gown, and then turned round, and gazed with an attention not unmingled with fear, upon the stately form of the Knight.—“Roland,” said the Lady, “go kiss the hand of the noble Knight, and ask him to be thy protector.”— But Roland obeyed not, and, keeping his station, continued to gaze fixedly143 and timidly on Sir Halbert Glendinning.—“Go to the Knight, boy,” said the Lady; “what dost thou fear, child? Go, kiss Sir Halbert’s hand.”
“I will kiss no hand save yours, Lady,” answered the boy.
“Nay, but do as you are commanded, child,” replied the Lady.—“He is dashed by your presence,” she said, apologizing to her husband; “but is he not a handsome boy?”
“And so is Wolf,” said Sir Halbert, as he patted his huge four-footed favourite, “a handsome dog; but he has this double advantage over your new favourite, that he does what he is commanded, and hears not when he is praised.”
“Nay, now you are displeased144 with me,” replied the Lady; “and yet why should you be so? There is nothing wrong in relieving the distressed145 orphan, or in loving that which is in itself lovely and deserving of affection. But you have seen Mr. Warden146 at Edinburgh, and he has set you against the poor boy.”
“My dear Mary,” answered her husband, “Mr. Warden better knows his place than to presume to interfere147 either in your affairs or mine. I neither blame your relieving this boy, nor your kindness for him. But, I think, considering his birth and prospects148, you ought not to treat him with injudicious fondness, which can only end in rendering149 him unfit for the humble situation to which Heaven has designed him.”
“Nay, but, my Halbert, do but look at the boy,” said the Lady, “and see whether he has not the air of being intended by Heaven for something nobler than a mere peasant. May he not be designed, as others have been, to rise out of a humble situation into honour and eminence?”
Thus far had she proceeded, when the consciousness that she was treading upon delicate ground at once occurred to her, and induced her to take the most natural, but the worst of all courses in such occasions, whether in conversation or in an actual bog150, namely, that of stopping suddenly short in the illustration which she had commenced. Her brow crimsoned151, and that of Sir Halbert Glendinning was slightly overcast152. But it was only for an instant; for he was incapable153 of mistaking his lady’s meaning, or supposing that she meant intentional154 disrespect to him.
“Be it as you please, my love,” he replied; “I owe you too much to contradict you in aught which may render your solitary155 mode of life more endurable. Make of this youth what you will, and you have my full authority for doing so. But remember he is your charge, not mine — remember he hath limbs to do man’s service, a soul and a tongue to worship God; breed him, therefore, to be true to his country and to Heaven; and for the rest, dispose of him as you list — it is, and shall rest, your own matter.”
This conversation decided156 the fate of Roland Graeme, who from thence-forward was little noticed by the master of the mansion157 of Avenel, but indulged and favoured by its mistress.
This situation led to many important consequences, and, in truth, tended to bring forth the character of the youth in all its broad lights and deep shadows. As the Knight himself seemed tacitly to disclaim158 alike interest and control over the immediate favourite of his lady, young Roland was, by circumstances, exempted159 from the strict discipline to which, as the retainer of a Scottish man of rank, he would otherwise have been subjected, according to all the rigour of the age. But the steward160, or master of the household — such was the proud title assumed by the head domestic of each petty baron126 — deemed it not advisable to interfere with the favourite of the Lady, and especially since she had brought the estate into the present family. Master Jasper Wingate was a man experienced, as he often boasted, in the ways of great families, and knew how to keep the steerage even when the wind and tide chanced to be in contradiction.
This prudent161 personage winked162 at much, and avoided giving opportunity for farther offence, by requesting little of Roland Graeme beyond the degree of attention which he was himself disposed to pay; rightly conjecturing163, that however lowly the place which the youth might hold in the favour of the Knight of Avenel, still to make an evil report of him would make an enemy of the Lady, without securing the favour of her husband. With these prudential considerations, and doubtless not without an eye to his own ease and convenience, he taught the boy as much, and only as much, as he chose to learn, readily admitting whatever apology it pleased his pupil to allege164 in excuse for idleness or negligence165. As the other persons in the castle, to whom such tasks were delegated, readily imitated the prudential conduct of the major-domo, there was little control used towards Roland Graeme, who, of course, learned no more than what a very active mind, and a total impatience of absolute idleness led him to acquire upon his own account, and by dint166 of his own exertions. The latter were especially earnest, when the Lady herself condescended167 to be his tutress, or to examine his progress.
It followed also from his quality as my Lady’s favourite, that Roland was viewed with no peculiar good-will by the followers168 of the Knight, many of whom, of the same age, and apparently169 similar origin, with the fortunate page, were subjected to severe observance of the ancient and rigorous discipline of a feudal170 retainer. To these, Roland Graeme was of course an object of envy, and, in consequence, of dislike and detraction171; but the youth possessed qualities which it was impossible to depreciate172. Pride, and a sense of early ambition, did for him what severity and constant instruction did for others. In truth, the youthful Roland displayed that early flexibility173 both of body and mind, which renders exercise, either mental or bodily, rather matter of sport than of study; and it seemed as if he acquired accidentally, and by starts, those accomplishments174, which earnest and constant instruction, enforced by frequent reproof and occasional chastisement175, had taught to others. Such military exercises, such lessons of the period, as he found it agreeable or convenient to apply to, he learned so perfectly176, as to confound those who were ignorant how often the want of constant application is compensated177 by vivacity178 of talent and ardent179 enthusiasm. The lads, therefore, who were more regularly trained to arms, to horsemanship, and to other necessary exercises of the period, while they envied Roland Graeme the indulgence or negligence with which he seemed to be treated, had little reason to boast of their own superior acquirements; a few hours, with the powerful exertion118 of a most energetic will, seemed to do for him more than the regular instruction of weeks could accomplish for others.
Under these advantages, if, indeed, they were to be termed such, the character of young Roland began to develope itself. It was bold, peremptory180, decisive, and overbearing; generous, if neither withstood nor contradicted; vehement181 and passionate182, if censured183 or opposed. He seemed to consider himself as attached to no one, and responsible to no one, except his mistress, and even over her mind he had gradually acquired that species of ascendancy184 which indulgence is so apt to occasion. And although the immediate followers and dependents of Sir Halbert Glendinning saw his ascendancy with jealousy185, and often took occasion to mortify186 his vanity, there wanted not those who were willing to acquire the favour of the Lady of Avenel by humouring and taking part with the youth whom she protected; for although a favourite, as the poet assures us, has no friend, he seldom fails to have both followers and flatterers.
The partisans187 of Roland Graeme were chiefly to be found amongst the inhabitants of the little hamlet on the shore of the lake. These villagers, who were sometimes tempted188 to compare their own situation with that of the immediate and constant followers of the Knight, who attended him on his frequent journeys to Edinburgh and elsewhere, delighted in considering and representing themselves as more properly the subjects of the Lady of Avenel than of her husband. It is true, her wisdom and affection on all occasions discountenanced the distinction which was here implied; but the villagers persisted in thinking it must be agreeable to her to enjoy their peculiar and undivided homage189, or at least in acting137 as if they thought so; and one chief mode by which they evinced their sentiments, was by the respect they paid to young Roland Graeme, the favourite attendant of the descendant of their ancient lords. This was a mode of flattery too pleasing to encounter rebuke or censure; and the opportunity which it afforded the youth to form, as it were, a party of his own within the limits of the ancient barony of Avenel, added not a little to the audacity190 and decisive tone of a character, which was by nature bold, impetuous, and incontrollable.
Of the two members of the household who had manifested an early jealousy of Roland Graeme, the prejudices of Wolf were easily overcome; and in process of time the noble dog slept with Bran, Luath, and the celebrated191 hounds of ancient days. But Mr. Warden, the chaplain, lived, and retained his dislike to the youth. That good man, single-minded and benevolent192 as he really was, entertained rather more than a reasonable idea of the respect due to him as a minister, and exacted from the inhabitants of the castle more deference than the haughty193 young page, proud of his mistress’s favour, and petulant194 from youth and situation, was at all times willing to pay. His bold and free demeanour, his attachment195 to rich dress and decoration, his inaptitude to receive instruction, and his hardening himself against rebuke, were circumstances which induced the good old man, with more haste than charity, to set the forward page down as a vessel196 of wrath197, and to presage198 that the youth nursed that pride and haughtiness199 of spirit which goes before ruin and destruction. On the other hand, Roland evinced at times a marked dislike, and even something like contempt, of the chaplain. Most of the attendants and followers of Sir Halbert Glendinning entertained the same charitable thoughts as the reverend Mr. Warden; but while Roland was favoured by their lady, and endured by their lord, they saw no policy in making their opinions public.
Roland Graeme was sufficiently sensible of the unpleasant situation in which he stood; but in the haughtiness of his heart he retorted upon the other domestics the distant, cold, and sarcastic200 manner in which they treated him, assumed an air of superiority which compelled the most obstinate201 to obedience, and had the satisfaction at least to be dreaded, if he was heartily202 hated.
The chaplain’s marked dislike had the effect of recommending him to the attention of Sir Halbert’s brother, Edward, who now, under the conventual appellation203 of Father Ambrose, continued to be one of the few monks204 who, with the Abbot Eustatius, had, notwithstanding the nearly total downfall of their faith under the regency of Murray, been still permitted to linger in the cloisters205 at Kennaquhair. Respect to Sir Halbert had prevented their being altogether driven out of the Abbey, though their order was now in a great measure suppressed, and they were interdicted206 the public exercise of their ritual, and only allowed for their support a small pension out of their once splendid revenues. Father Ambrose, thus situated207, was an occasional, though very rare visitant, at the Castle of Avenel, and was at such times observed to pay particular attention to Roland Graeme, who seemed to return it with more depth of feeling than consisted with his usual habits.
Thus situated, years glided208 on, during which the Knight of Avenel continued to act a frequent and important part in the convulsions of his distracted country; while young Graeme anticipated, both in wishes and personal accomplishments, the age which should enable him to emerge from the obscurity of his present situation.
1 waning | |
adj.(月亮)渐亏的,逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 );(月)亏;变小;变暗淡 | |
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2 ward | |
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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3 trampling | |
踩( trample的现在分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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4 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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5 mimic | |
v.模仿,戏弄;n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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6 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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7 chide | |
v.叱责;谴责 | |
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8 musters | |
v.集合,召集,集结(尤指部队)( muster的第三人称单数 );(自他人处)搜集某事物;聚集;激发 | |
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9 muster | |
v.集合,收集,鼓起,激起;n.集合,检阅,集合人员,点名册 | |
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10 reproof | |
n.斥责,责备 | |
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11 follies | |
罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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12 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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13 scrupulous | |
adj.审慎的,小心翼翼的,完全的,纯粹的 | |
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14 bias | |
n.偏见,偏心,偏袒;vt.使有偏见 | |
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15 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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16 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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17 compliance | |
n.顺从;服从;附和;屈从 | |
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18 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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19 bugle | |
n.军号,号角,喇叭;v.吹号,吹号召集 | |
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20 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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21 indented | |
adj.锯齿状的,高低不平的;缩进排版 | |
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22 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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23 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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24 plume | |
n.羽毛;v.整理羽毛,骚首弄姿,用羽毛装饰 | |
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25 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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26 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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27 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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28 intruded | |
n.侵入的,推进的v.侵入,侵扰,打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 );把…强加于 | |
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29 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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30 orphan | |
n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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31 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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32 incur | |
vt.招致,蒙受,遭遇 | |
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33 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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34 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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35 perseverance | |
n.坚持不懈,不屈不挠 | |
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36 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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37 gallantly | |
adv. 漂亮地,勇敢地,献殷勤地 | |
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38 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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39 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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40 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 | |
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41 reiterated | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42 saucy | |
adj.无礼的;俊俏的;活泼的 | |
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43 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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44 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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45 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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46 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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47 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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48 engrossed | |
adj.全神贯注的 | |
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49 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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50 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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51 ruffled | |
adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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52 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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54 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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55 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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56 degenerating | |
衰退,堕落,退化( degenerate的现在分词 ) | |
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57 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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58 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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59 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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60 advancement | |
n.前进,促进,提升 | |
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61 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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62 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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63 aspiring | |
adj.有志气的;有抱负的;高耸的v.渴望;追求 | |
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64 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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65 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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66 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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67 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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68 apprehended | |
逮捕,拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 ); 理解 | |
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69 plank | |
n.板条,木板,政策要点,政纲条目 | |
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70 tempting | |
a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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71 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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72 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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73 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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74 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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75 levy | |
n.征收税或其他款项,征收额 | |
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76 regiments | |
(军队的)团( regiment的名词复数 ); 大量的人或物 | |
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77 hardy | |
adj.勇敢的,果断的,吃苦的;耐寒的 | |
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78 amassed | |
v.积累,积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79 tempts | |
v.引诱或怂恿(某人)干不正当的事( tempt的第三人称单数 );使想要 | |
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80 despoil | |
v.夺取,抢夺 | |
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81 hinds | |
n.(常指动物腿)后面的( hind的名词复数 );在后的;(通常与can或could连用)唠叨不停;滔滔不绝 | |
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82 notched | |
a.有凹口的,有缺口的 | |
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83 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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84 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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85 browse | |
vi.随意翻阅,浏览;(牛、羊等)吃草 | |
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86 industrious | |
adj.勤劳的,刻苦的,奋发的 | |
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87 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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88 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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89 renown | |
n.声誉,名望 | |
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90 broils | |
v.(用火)烤(焙、炙等)( broil的第三人称单数 );使卷入争吵;使混乱;被烤(或炙) | |
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91 tyrants | |
专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 ); 暴君似的人; (古希腊的)僭主; 严酷的事物 | |
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92 amendments | |
(法律、文件的)改动( amendment的名词复数 ); 修正案; 修改; (美国宪法的)修正案 | |
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93 shrubs | |
灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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94 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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95 rebuked | |
责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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97 crafty | |
adj.狡猾的,诡诈的 | |
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98 emergence | |
n.浮现,显现,出现,(植物)突出体 | |
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99 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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100 vindicated | |
v.澄清(某人/某事物)受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 );表明或证明(所争辩的事物)属实、正当、有效等;维护 | |
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101 eminence | |
n.卓越,显赫;高地,高处;名家 | |
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102 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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103 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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104 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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105 mortified | |
v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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106 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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107 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
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108 recurred | |
再发生,复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 ); 治愈 | |
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109 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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110 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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111 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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112 verging | |
接近,逼近(verge的现在分词形式) | |
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113 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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114 ancestry | |
n.祖先,家世 | |
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115 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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116 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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117 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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118 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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119 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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120 yoke | |
n.轭;支配;v.给...上轭,连接,使成配偶 | |
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121 derives | |
v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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122 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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123 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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124 forefathers | |
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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125 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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126 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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127 prerogatives | |
n.权利( prerogative的名词复数 );特权;大主教法庭;总督委任组成的法庭 | |
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128 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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129 perspicacity | |
n. 敏锐, 聪明, 洞察力 | |
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130 brooked | |
容忍,忍受(brook的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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131 vindicating | |
v.澄清(某人/某事物)受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的现在分词 );表明或证明(所争辩的事物)属实、正当、有效等;维护 | |
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132 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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133 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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134 boisterous | |
adj.喧闹的,欢闹的 | |
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135 gambols | |
v.蹦跳,跳跃,嬉戏( gambol的第三人称单数 ) | |
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136 maidens | |
处女( maiden的名词复数 ); 少女; 未婚女子; (板球运动)未得分的一轮投球 | |
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137 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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138 aspire | |
vi.(to,after)渴望,追求,有志于 | |
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139 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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140 dames | |
n.(在英国)夫人(一种封号),夫人(爵士妻子的称号)( dame的名词复数 );女人 | |
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141 bower | |
n.凉亭,树荫下凉快之处;闺房;v.荫蔽 | |
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142 lute | |
n.琵琶,鲁特琴 | |
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143 fixedly | |
adv.固定地;不屈地,坚定不移地 | |
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144 displeased | |
a.不快的 | |
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145 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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146 warden | |
n.监察员,监狱长,看守人,监护人 | |
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147 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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148 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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149 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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150 bog | |
n.沼泽;室...陷入泥淖 | |
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151 crimsoned | |
变为深红色(crimson的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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152 overcast | |
adj.阴天的,阴暗的,愁闷的;v.遮盖,(使)变暗,包边缝;n.覆盖,阴天 | |
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153 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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154 intentional | |
adj.故意的,有意(识)的 | |
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155 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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156 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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157 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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158 disclaim | |
v.放弃权利,拒绝承认 | |
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159 exempted | |
使免除[豁免]( exempt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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160 steward | |
n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
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161 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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162 winked | |
v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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163 conjecturing | |
v. & n. 推测,臆测 | |
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164 allege | |
vt.宣称,申述,主张,断言 | |
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165 negligence | |
n.疏忽,玩忽,粗心大意 | |
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166 dint | |
n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
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167 condescended | |
屈尊,俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 ); 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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168 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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169 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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170 feudal | |
adj.封建的,封地的,领地的 | |
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171 detraction | |
n.减损;诽谤 | |
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172 depreciate | |
v.降价,贬值,折旧 | |
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173 flexibility | |
n.柔韧性,弹性,(光的)折射性,灵活性 | |
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174 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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175 chastisement | |
n.惩罚 | |
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176 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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177 compensated | |
补偿,报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 ); 给(某人)赔偿(或赔款) | |
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178 vivacity | |
n.快活,活泼,精神充沛 | |
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179 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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180 peremptory | |
adj.紧急的,专横的,断然的 | |
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181 vehement | |
adj.感情强烈的;热烈的;(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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182 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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183 censured | |
v.指责,非难,谴责( censure的过去式 ) | |
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184 ascendancy | |
n.统治权,支配力量 | |
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185 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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186 mortify | |
v.克制,禁欲,使受辱 | |
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187 partisans | |
游击队员( partisan的名词复数 ); 党人; 党羽; 帮伙 | |
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188 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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189 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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190 audacity | |
n.大胆,卤莽,无礼 | |
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191 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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192 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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193 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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194 petulant | |
adj.性急的,暴躁的 | |
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195 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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196 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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197 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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198 presage | |
n.预感,不祥感;v.预示 | |
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199 haughtiness | |
n.傲慢;傲气 | |
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200 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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201 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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202 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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203 appellation | |
n.名称,称呼 | |
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204 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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205 cloisters | |
n.(学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的)走廊( cloister的名词复数 );回廊;修道院的生活;隐居v.隐退,使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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206 interdicted | |
v.禁止(行动)( interdict的过去式和过去分词 );禁用;限制 | |
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207 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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208 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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