— In the wild storm,
The seaman1 hews2 his mast down, and the merchant
Heaves to the billows wares3 he once deem’d precious;
So prince and peer, ‘mid popular contentions4,
Cast off their favourites.
Old play.
It was some time ere Roland Graeme appeared. The messenger (his old friend Lilias) had at first attempted to open the door of his little apartment with the charitable purpose, doubtless, of enjoying the confusion, and marking the demeanour of the culprit. But an oblong bit of iron, ycleped a bolt, was passed across the door on the inside, and prevented her benign6 intentions. Lilias knocked and called at intervals7. “Roland — Roland Graeme — Master Roland Graeme” (an emphasis on the word Master,) “will you be pleased to undo8 the door?— What ails9 you?— are you at your prayers in private, to complete the devotion which you left unfinished in public?— Surely we must have a screened seat for you in the chapel10, that your gentility may be free from the eyes of common folks!” Still no whisper was heard in reply. “Well, master Roland,” said the waiting-maid, “I must tell my mistress, that if she would have an answer, she must either come herself, or send those on errand to you who can beat the door down.”
“What says your Lady?” answered the page from within.
“Marry, open the door, and you shall hear,” answered the waiting-maid. “I trow it becomes my Lady’s message to be listened to face to face; and I will not for your idle pleasure, whistle it through a key-hole.”
“Your mistress’s name,” said the page, opening the door, “is too fair a cover for your impertinence — What says my Lady?”
“That you will be pleased to come to her directly, in the withdrawing-room,” answered Lilias. “I presume she has some directions for you concerning the forms to be observed in leaving chapel in future.”
“Say to my Lady, that I will directly wait on her,” answered the page; and returning into his apartment, he once more locked the door in the face of the waiting-maid.
“Rare courtesy!” muttered Lilias; and, returning to her mistress, acquainted her that Roland Graeme would wait on her when it suited his convenience.
“What, is that his addition, or your own phrase, Lilias?” said the Lady, coolly.
“Nay, madam,” replied the attendant, not directly answering the question, “he looked as if he could have said much more impertinent things than that, if I had been willing to hear them.— But here he comes to answer for himself.”
Roland Graeme entered the apartment with a loftier mien11, and somewhat a higher colour than his wont12; there was embarrassment13 in his manner, but it was neither that of fear nor of penitence14.
“Young man,” said the Lady, “what trow you I am to think of your conduct this day?”
“If it has offended you, madam, I am deeply grieved,” replied the youth.
“To have offended me alone,” replied the Lady, “were but little — You have been guilty of conduct which will highly offend your master — of violence to your fellow-servants, and of disrespect to God himself, in the person of his ambassador.”
“Permit me again to reply,” said the page, “that if I have offended my only mistress, friend, and benefactress, it includes the sum of my guilt15, and deserves the sum of my penitence — Sir Halbert Glendinning calls me not servant, nor do I call him master — he is not entitled to blame me for chastising16 an insolent17 groom18 — nor do I fear the wrath19 of Heaven for treating with scorn the unauthorized interference of a meddling20 preacher.”
The Lady of Avenel had before this seen symptoms in her favourite of boyish petulance21, and of impatience22 of censure23 or reproof24. But his present demeanour was of a graver and more determined25 character, and she was for a moment at a loss how she should treat the youth, who seemed to have at once assumed the character not only of a man, but of a bold and determined one. She paused an instant, arid26 then assuming the dignity which was natural to her, she said, “Is it to me, Roland, that you hold this language? Is it for the purpose of making me repent27 the favour I have shown you, that you declare yourself independent both of an earthly and a Heavenly master? Have you forgotten what you were, and to what the loss of my protection would speedily again reduce you?”
“Lady,” said the page, “I have forgot nothing, I remember but too much. I know, that but for you, I should have perished in yon blue waves,” pointing, as he spoke28, to the lake, which was seen through the window, agitated29 by the western wind. “Your goodness has gone farther, madam — you have protected me against the malice30 of others, and against my own folly31. You are free, if you are willing, to abandon the orphan32 you have reared. You have left nothing undone33 by him, and he complains of nothing. And yet, Lady, do not think I have been ungrateful — I have endured something on my part, which I would have borne for the sake of no one but my benefactress.”
“For my sake!” said the Lady; “and what is it that I can have subjected you to endure, which can be remembered with other feelings than those of thanks and gratitude34?”
“You are too just, madam, to require me to be thankful for the cold neglect with which your husband has uniformly treated me — neglect not unmingled with fixed35 aversion. You are too just, madam, to require me to be grateful for the constant and unceasing marks of scorn and malevolence36 with which I have been treated by others, or for such a homily as that with which your reverend chaplain has, at my expense, this very day regaled the assembled household.”
“Heard mortal ears the like of this!” said the waiting-maid, with her hands expanded and her eyes turned up to heaven; “he speaks as if he were son of an earl, or of a belted knight37 the least penny!”
The page glanced on her a look of supreme38 contempt, but vouchsafed39 no other answer. His mistress, who began to feel herself seriously offended, and yet sorry for the youth’s folly, took up the same tone.
“Indeed, Roland, you forget yourself so strangely,” said she, “that you will tempt5 me to take serious measures to lower you in your own opinion by reducing you to your proper station in society.”
“And that,” added Lilias, “would be best done by turning him out the same beggar’s brat40 that your ladyship took him in.”
“Lilias speaks too rudely,” continued the Lady, “but she has spoken the truth, young man; nor do I think I ought to spare that pride which hath so completely turned your head. You have been tricked up with fine garments, and treated like the son of a gentleman, until you have forgot the fountain of your churlish blood.”
“Craving your pardon, most honourable41 madam, Lilias hath not spoken truth, nor does your ladyship know aught of my descent, which should entitle you to treat it with such decided42 scorn. I am no beggar’s brat — my grandmother begged from no one, here nor elsewhere — she would have perished sooner on the bare moor43. We were harried44 out and driven from our home — a chance which has happed45 elsewhere, and to others. Avenel Castle, with its lake and its towers, was not at all times able to protect its inhabitants from want and desolation.”
“Hear but his assurance!” said Lilias, “he upbraids46 my Lady with the distresses47 of her family!”
“It had indeed been a theme more gratefully spared,” said the Lady, affected48 nevertheless with the allusion49.
“It was necessary, madam, for my vindication,” said the page, “or I had not even hinted at a word that might give you pain. But believe, honoured Lady, I am of no churl’s blood. My proper descent I know not; but my only relation has said, and my heart has echoed it back and attested50 the truth, that I am sprung of gentle blood, and deserve gentle usage.”
“And upon an assurance so vague as this,” said the Lady, “do you propose to expect all the regard, all the privileges, befitting high rank and distinguished51 birth, and become a contender for concessions52 which are only due to the noble? Go to, sir, know yourself, or the master of the household shall make you know you are liable to the scourge53 as a malapert boy. You have tasted too little the discipline fit for your age and station.”
“The master of the household shall taste of my dagger54, ere I taste of his discipline,” said the page, giving way to his restrained passion. “Lady, I have been too long the vassal55 of a pantoufle, and the slave of a silver whistle. You must henceforth find some other to answer your call; and let him be of birth and spirit mean enough to brook56 the scorn of your menials, and to call a church vassal his master.”
“I have deserved this insult,” said the Lady, colouring deeply, “for so long enduring and fostering your petulance. Begone, sir. Leave this castle to-night — I will send you the means of subsistence till you find some honest mode of support, though I fear your imaginary grandeur57 will be above all others, save those of rapine and violence. Begone, sir, and see my face no more.”
The page threw himself at her feet in an agony of sorrow. “My dear and honoured mistress,” he said, but was unable to bring out another syllable58.
“Arise, sir,” said the Lady, “and let go my mantle59 — hypocrisy60 is a poor cloak for ingratitude61.”
“I am incapable62 of either, madam,” said the page, springing up with the hasty start of passion which belonged to his rapid and impetuous temper. “Think not I meant to implore63 permission to reside here; it has been long my determination to leave Avenel, and I will never forgive myself for having permitted you to say the word begone, ere I said, ‘I leave you.’ I did but kneel to ask your forgiveness for an ill-considered word used in the height of displeasure, but which ill became my mouth, as addressed to you. Other grace I asked not — you have done much for me — but I repeat, that you better know what you yourself have done, than what I have suffered.”
“Roland,” said the Lady, somewhat appeased64, and relenting towards her favourite, “you had me to appeal to when you were aggrieved65. You were neither called upon to suffer wrong, nor entitled to resent it, when you were under my protection.”
“And what,” said the youth, “if I sustained wrong from those you loved and favoured, was I to disturb your peace with idle tale-bearings and eternal complaints? No, madam; I have borne my own burden in silence, and without disturbing you with murmurs66; and the respect with which you accuse me of wanting, furnishes the only reason why I have neither appealed to you, nor taken vengeance67 at my own hand in a manner far more effectual. It is well, however, that we part. I was not born to be a stipendiary, favoured by his mistress, until ruined by the calumnies68 of others. May Heaven multiply its choicest blessings69 on your honoured head; and, for your sake, upon all that are dear to you!”
He was about to leave the apartment, when the Lady called upon him to return. He stood still, while she thus addressed him: “It was not my intention, nor would it be just, even in the height of my displeasure, to dismiss you without the means of support; take this purse of gold.”
“Forgive me, Lady,” said the boy, “and let me go hence with the consciousness that I have not been degraded to the point of accepting alms. If my poor services can be placed against the expense of my apparel and my maintenance, I only remain debtor70 to you for my life, and that alone is a debt which I can never repay; put up then that purse, and only say, instead, that you do not part from me in anger.”
“No, not in anger,” said the Lady, “in sorrow rather for your wilfulness71; but take the gold, you cannot but need it.”
“May God evermore bless you for the kind tone and the kind word! but the gold I cannot take. I am able of body, and do not lack friends so wholly as you may think; for the time may come that I may yet show myself more thankful than by mere72 words.” He threw himself on his knees, kissed the hand which she did not withdraw, and then, hastily left the apartment.
Lilias, for a moment or two, kept her eye fixed on her mistress, who looked so unusually pale, that she seemed about to faint; but the Lady instantly recovered herself, and declining the assistance which her attendant offered her, walked to her own apartment.
1 seaman | |
n.海员,水手,水兵 | |
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2 hews | |
v.(用斧、刀等)砍、劈( hew的第三人称单数 );砍成;劈出;开辟 | |
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3 wares | |
n. 货物, 商品 | |
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4 contentions | |
n.竞争( contention的名词复数 );争夺;争论;论点 | |
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5 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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6 benign | |
adj.善良的,慈祥的;良性的,无危险的 | |
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7 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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8 undo | |
vt.解开,松开;取消,撤销 | |
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9 ails | |
v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 );感到不舒服;处境困难;境况不佳 | |
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10 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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11 mien | |
n.风采;态度 | |
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12 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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13 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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14 penitence | |
n.忏悔,赎罪;悔过 | |
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15 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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16 chastising | |
v.严惩(某人)(尤指责打)( chastise的现在分词 ) | |
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17 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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18 groom | |
vt.给(马、狗等)梳毛,照料,使...整洁 | |
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19 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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20 meddling | |
v.干涉,干预(他人事务)( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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21 petulance | |
n.发脾气,生气,易怒,暴躁,性急 | |
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22 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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23 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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24 reproof | |
n.斥责,责备 | |
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25 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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26 arid | |
adj.干旱的;(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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27 repent | |
v.悔悟,悔改,忏悔,后悔 | |
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28 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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29 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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30 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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31 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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32 orphan | |
n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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33 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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34 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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35 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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36 malevolence | |
n.恶意,狠毒 | |
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37 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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38 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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39 vouchsafed | |
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 );允诺 | |
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40 brat | |
n.孩子;顽童 | |
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41 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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42 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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43 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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44 harried | |
v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 );不断烦扰;一再袭击;侵扰 | |
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45 happed | |
v.偶然发生( hap的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46 upbraids | |
v.责备,申斥,谴责( upbraid的第三人称单数 ) | |
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47 distresses | |
n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 );痛苦;贫困;危险 | |
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48 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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49 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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50 attested | |
adj.经检验证明无病的,经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 );证实;声称…属实;使宣誓 | |
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51 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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52 concessions | |
n.(尤指由政府或雇主给予的)特许权( concession的名词复数 );承认;减价;(在某地的)特许经营权 | |
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53 scourge | |
n.灾难,祸害;v.蹂躏 | |
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54 dagger | |
n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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55 vassal | |
n.附庸的;属下;adj.奴仆的 | |
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56 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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57 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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58 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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59 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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60 hypocrisy | |
n.伪善,虚伪 | |
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61 ingratitude | |
n.忘恩负义 | |
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62 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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63 implore | |
vt.乞求,恳求,哀求 | |
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64 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) | |
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65 aggrieved | |
adj.愤愤不平的,受委屈的;悲痛的;(在合法权利方面)受侵害的v.令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式);令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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66 murmurs | |
n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 );低语声;怨言;嘀咕 | |
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67 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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68 calumnies | |
n.诬蔑,诽谤,中伤(的话)( calumny的名词复数 ) | |
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69 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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70 debtor | |
n.借方,债务人 | |
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71 wilfulness | |
任性;倔强 | |
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72 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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