As when in tumults1 rise the ignoble2 crowd,
Mad are their motions, and their tongues are loud,
And stones and brands in rattling3 furies fly,
And all the rustic4 arms which fury can supply —
Then if some grave and pious5 man appear,
They hush6 their noise, and lend a listening ear.
Dryden’s Virgil
A dreadful shout of vengeance8 was raised by the revellers, whose sport was thus so fearfully interrupted; but for an instant, the want of weapons amongst the multitude, as well as the inflamed10 features arid11 brandished12 poniard of Roland Graeme, kept them at bay, while the Abbot, horror-struck at the violence, implored13, with uplifted hands, pardon for blood-shed committed within the sanctuary14. Magdalen Graeme alone expressed triumph in the blow her descendant had dealt to the scoffer15, mixed, however, with a wild and anxious expression of terror for her grandson’s safety. “Let him perish,” she said, “in his blasphemy16 — let him die on the holy pavement which he has insulted!”
But the rage of the multitude, the grief of the Abbot, the exultation17 of the enthusiastic Magdalen, were all mistimed and unnecessary. Howleglas, mortally wounded as he was supposed to be, sprung alertly up from the floor, calling aloud, “A miracle, a miracle, my masters! as brave a miracle as ever was wrought18 in the kirk of Kennaquhair. And I charge you, my masters, as your lawfully19 chosen Abbot, that you touch no one without my command — You, wolf and bear, will guard this pragmatic youth, but without hurting him — And you, reverend brother, will, with your comrades, withdraw to your cells; for our conference has ended like all conferences, leaving each of his own mind, as before; and if we fight, both you, and your brethren, and the Kirk, will have the worst on’t — Wherefore, pack up you pipes and begone.”
The hubbub21 was beginning again to awaken22, but still Father Ambrose hesitated, as uncertain to what path his duty called him, whether to face out the present storm, or to reserve himself for a better moment. His brother of Unreason observed his difficulty, and said, in a tone more natural and less affected23 than that with which he had hitherto sustained his character, “We came hither, my good sir, more in mirth than in mischief24 — our bark is worse than our bite — and, especially, we mean you no personal harm — wherefore, draw off while the play is good; for it is ill whistling for a hawk25 when she is once on the soar, and worse to snatch the quarry26 from the ban-dog — Let these fellows once begin their brawl27, and it will be too much for madness itself, let alone the Abbot of Unreason, to bring them back to the lure28.”
The brethren crowded around Father Ambrosius, and joined in urging him to give place to the torrent29. The present revel9 was, they said, an ancient custom which his predecessors30 had permitted, and old Father Nicholas himself had played the dragon in the days of the Abbot Ingelram.
“And we now reap the fruit of the seed which they have so unadvisedly sown,” said Ambrosius; “they taught men to make a mock of what is holy, what wonder that the descendants of scoffers become robbers and plunderers? But be it as you list, my brethren — move towards the dortour — And you, dame31, I command you, by the authority which I have over you, and by your respect for that youth’s safety, that you go with us without farther speech — Yet, stay — what are your intentions towards that youth whom you detain prisoner?— Wot ye,” he continued, addressing Howleglas in a stern tone of voice, “that he bears the livery of the House of Avenel? They who fear not the anger of Heaven, may at least dread7 the wrath33 of man.”
“Cumber34 not yourself concerning him,” answered Howleglas, “we know right well who and what he is.”
“Let me pray,” said the Abbot, in a tone of entreaty36, “that you do him no wrong for the rash deed — which he attempted in his imprudent zeal37.”
“I say, cumber not yourself about it, father,” answered Howleglas, “but move off with your train, male and female, or I will not undertake to save yonder she-saint from the ducking-stool — And as for bearing of malice39, my stomach has no room for it; it is,” he added, clapping his hand on his portly belly40, “too well bumbasted out with straw and buckram — gramercy to them both — they kept out that madcap’s dagger41 as well as a Milan corslet could have done.”
In fact, the home-driven poniard of Roland Graeme had lighted upon the stuffing of the fictitious42 paunch, which the Abbot of Unreason wore as a part of his characteristic dress, and it was only the force of the blow which had prostrated43 that reverend person on the ground for a moment.
Satisfied in some degree by this man’s assurances, and compelled — to give way to superior force, the Abbot Ambrosius retired44 from the Church at the head of the monks46, and left the court free for the revellers to work their will. But, wild and wilful47 as these rioters were, they accompanied the retreat of the religionists with none of those shouts of contempt and derision with which they had at first hailed them. The Abbot’s discourse48 had affected some of them with remorse49, others with shame, and all with a transient degree of respect. They remained silent until the last monk45 had disappeared through the side-door which communicated with their dwelling50-place, and even then it cost some exhortations51 on the part of Howleglas, some caprioles of the hobby-horse, and some wallops of the dragon, to rouse once more the rebuked53 spirit of revelry.
“And how now, my masters?” said the Abbot of Unreason; “and wherefore look on me with such blank Jack-a-Lent visages? Will you lose your old pastime for an old wife’s tale of saints and purgatory54? Why, I thought you would have made all split long since — Come, strike up, tabor and harp55, strike up, fiddle56 and rebeck — dance and be merry today, and let care come tomorrow. Bear and wolf, look to your prisoner — prance57, hobby — hiss58, dragon, and halloo, boys — we grow older every moment we stand idle, and life is too short to be spent in playing mumchance.”
This pithy59 exhortation52 was attended with the effect desired. They fumigated60 the Church with burnt wool and feathers instead of incense61, put foul62 water into the holy-water basins, and celebrated63 a parody64 on the Church-service, the mock Abbot officiating at the altar; they sung ludicrous and indecent parodies65, to the tunes66 of church hymns67; they violated whatever vestments or vessels68 belonging to the Abbey they could lay their hands upon; and, playing every freak which the whim69 of the moment could suggest to their wild caprice, at length they fell to more lasting70 deeds of demolition71, pulled down and destroyed some carved wood-work, dashed out the painted windows which had escaped former violence, and in their rigorous search after sculpture dedicated72 to idolatry, began to destroy what ornaments73 yet remained entire upon the tombs, and around the cornices of the pillars.
The spirit of demolition, like other tastes, increases by indulgence; from these lighter74 attempts at mischief, the more tumultuous part of the meeting began to meditate75 destruction on a more extended scale —“Let us heave it down altogether, the old crow’s nest,” became a general cry among them; “it has served the Pope and his rooks too long;” and up they struck a ballad76 which was then popular among the lower classes. 19
“The Paip, that pagan full of pride,
Hath blinded us ower lang.
For where the blind the blind doth lead,
Like prince and king,
He led the ring
Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix,
Under the greenwood tree.
“The Bishop79 rich, he could not preach
For sporting with the lasses;
The silly friar behoved to fleech
For awmous as he passes:
He could not read,—
Shame fa’ company!
Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix,
Under the greenwood tree.”
Thundering out this chorus of a notable hunting song, which had been pressed into the service of some polemical poet, the followers81 of the Abbot of Unreason were turning every moment more tumultuous, and getting beyond the management even of that reverend prelate himself, when a knight82 in full armour83, followed by two or three men-at-arms, entered the church, and in a stern voice commanded them to forbear their riotous84 mummery.
His visor was up, but if it had been lowered, the cognizance of the holly-branch sufficiently85 distinguished86 Sir Halbert Glendinning, who, on his homeward road, was passing through the village of Kennaquhair; and moved, perhaps, by anxiety for his brother’s safety, had come directly to the church on hearing of the uproar87.
“What is the meaning of this,” he said, “my masters? are ye Christian88 men, and the king’s subjects, and yet waste and destroy church and chancel like so many heathens?”
All stood silent, though doubtless there were several disappointed and surprised at receiving chiding89 instead of thanks from so zealous90 a protestant.
The dragon, indeed, did at length take upon him to be spokesman, and growled92 from the depth of his painted maw, that they did but sweep Popery out of the church with the besom of destruction.
“What! my friends,” replied Sir Halbert Glendinning, “think you this mumming and masking has not more of Popery in it than have these stone walls? Take the leprosy out of your flesh, before you speak of purifying stone walls — abate93 your insolent94 license95, which leads but to idle vanity and sinful excess; and know, that what you now practise, is one of the profane96 and unseemly sports introduced by the priests of Rome themselves, to mislead and to brutify the souls which fell into their net.”
“Marry come up — are you there with your bears?” muttered the dragon, with a draconic97 sullenness98, which was in good keeping with his character, “we had as good have been Romans still, if we are to have no freedom in our pastimes!”
“Dost thou reply to me so?” said Halbert Glendinning; “or is there any pastime in grovelling99 on the ground there like a gigantic kail-worm?— Get out of thy painted case, or, by my knighthood, I will treat you like the beast and reptile100 you have made yourself.”
“Beast and reptile?” retorted the offended dragon, “setting aside your knighthood, I hold myself as well a born man as thyself.”
The Knight made no answer in words, but bestowed101 two such blows with the butt102 of his lance on the petulant103 dragon, that had not the hoops104 which constituted the ribs105 of the machine been pretty strong, they would hardly have saved those of the actor from being broken. In all haste the masker crept out of his disguise, unwilling106 to abide107 a third buffet108 from the lance of the enraged109 Knight. And when the ex-dragon stood on the floor of the church, he presented to Halbert Glendinning the well-known countenance110 of Dan of the Howlet-hirst, an ancient comrade of his own, ere fate had raised him so high above the rank to which he was born. The clown looked sulkily upon the Knight, as if to upbraid111 him for his violence towards an old acquaintance, and Glendinning’s own good-nature reproached him for the violence he had acted upon him.
“I did wrong to strike thee,” he said, “Dan; but in truth, I knew thee not — thou wert ever a mad fellow — come to Avenel Castle, and we shall see how my hawks112 fly.”
“And if we show him not falcons114 that will mount as merrily as rockets,” said the Abbot of Unreason, “I would your honour laid as hard on my bones as you did on his even now.”
“How now, Sir Knave115,” said the Knight, “and what has brought you hither?”
The Abbot, hastily ridding himself of the false nose which mystified his physiognomy, and the supplementary116 belly which made up his disguise, stood before his master in his real character, of Adam Woodcock, the falconer of Avenel.
“How, varlet!” said the Knight; “hast thou dared to come here and disturb the very house my brother was dwelling in?”
“And it was even for that reason, craving117 your honour’s pardon, that I came hither — for I heard the country was to be up to choose an Abbot of Unreason, and sure, thought I, I that can sing, dance, leap backwards118 over a broadsword, and am as good a fool as ever sought promotion119, have all chance of carrying the office; and if I gain my election, I may stand his honour’s brother in some stead, supposing things fall roughly out at the Kirk of Saint Mary’s.”
“Thou art but a cogging knave,” said Sir Halbert, “and well I wot, that love of ale and brandy, besides the humour of riot and frolic, would draw thee a mile, when love of my house would not bring thee a yard. But, go to — carry thy roisterers elsewhere — to the alehouse if they list, and there are crowns to pay your charges — make out the day’s madness without doing more mischief, and be wise men tomorrow — and hereafter learn to serve a good cause better than by acting120 like buffoons121 or ruffians.”
Obedient to his master’s mandate122, the falconer was collecting his discouraged followers, and whispering into their ears —“Away, away — tace is Latin for a candle — never mind the good Knight’s puritanism — we will play the frolic out over a stand of double ale in Dame Martin the Brewster’s barn-yard — draw off, harp and tabor — bagpipe123 and drum — mum till you are out of the church-yard, then let the welkin ring again — move on, wolf and bear — keep the hind124 legs till you cross the kirk-stile, and then show yourselves beasts of mettle125 — what devil sent him here to spoil our holiday!— but anger him not, my hearts; his lance is no goose-feather, as Dan’s ribs can tell.”
“By my soul,” said Dan, “had it been another than my ancient comrade, I would have made my father’s old fox 20 fly about his ears!”
“Hush! hush! man,” replied Adam Woodcock, “not a word that way, as you value the safety of your bones — what man? we must take a clink as it passes, so it is not bestowed in downright ill-will.”
“But I will take no such thing,” said Dan of the Howlet-hirst, suddenly resisting the efforts of Woodcock, who was dragging him out of the church; when the quick military eye of Sir Halbert Glendinning detecting Roland Graeme betwixt his two guards, the Knight exclaimed, “So ho! falconer,— Woodcock,— knave, hast thou brought my Lady’s page in mine own livery, to assist at this hopeful revel of thine, with your wolves and bears? Since you were at such mummings, you might, if you would, have at least saved the credit of my household, by dressing32 him up as a jackanapes — bring him hither, fellows!”
Adam Woodcock was too honest and downright, to permit blame to light upon the youth, when it was undeserved. “I swear,” he said, “by Saint Martin of Bullions —” 21
“And what hast thou to do with Saint Martin?”
“Nay126, little enough, sir, unless when he sends such rainy days that we cannot fly a hawk — but I say to your worshipful knighthood, that as I am, a true man ——”
“As you are a false varlet, had been the better obtestation.”
“Nay, if your knighthood allows me not to speak,” said Adam, “I can hold my tongue — but the boy came not hither by my bidding, for all that.”
“But to gratify his own malapert pleasure, I warrant me,” said Sir Halbert Glendinning —“Come hither, young springald, and tell me whether you have your mistress’s license to be so far absent from the castle, or to dishonour127 my livery by mingling128 in such a May-game?”
“Sir Halbert Glendinning,” answered Roland Graeme with steadiness, “I have obtained the permission, or rather the commands, of your lady, to dispose of my time hereafter according to my own pleasure. I have been a most unwilling spectator of this May-game, since it is your pleasure so to call it; and I only wear your livery until I can obtain clothes which bear no such badge of servitude.”
“How am I to understand this, young man?” said Sir Halbert Glendinning; “speak plainly, for I am no reader of riddles129.— That my lady favoured thee, I know. What hast thou done to disoblige her, and occasion thy dismissal?”
“Nothing to speak of,” said Adam Woodcock, answering for the boy —“a foolish quarrel with me, which was more foolishly told over again to my honoured lady, cost the poor boy his place. For my part, I will say freely, that I was wrong from beginning to end, except about the washing of the eyas’s meat. There I stand to it that I was right.”
With that, the good-natured falconer repeated to his master the whole history of the squabble which had brought Roland Graeme into disgrace with his mistress, but in a manner so favourable130 for the page, that Sir Halbert could not but suspect his generous motive131.
“Thou art a good-natured fellow,” he said, “Adam Woodcock.”
“As ever had falcon113 upon fist,” said Adam; “and, for that matter, so is Master Roland; but, being half a gentleman by his office, his blood is soon up, and so is mine.”
“Well,” said Sir Halbert, “be it as it will, my lady has acted hastily, for this was no great matter of offence to discard the lad whom she had trained up for years; but he, I doubt not, made it worse by his prating132 — it jumps well with a purpose, however, which I had in my mind. Draw off these people, Woodcock,— and you, Roland Graeme, attend me.”
The page followed him in silence into the Abbot’s house, where, stepping into the first apartment which he found open, he commanded one of his attendants to let his brother, Master Edward Glendinning, know that he desired to speak with him. The men-at-arms went gladly off to join their comrade, Adam Woodcock, and the jolly crew whom he had assembled at Dame Martin’s, the hostler’s wife, and the Page and Knight were left alone in the apartment. Sir Halbert Glendinning paced the floor for a moment in silence and then thus addressed his attendant —
“Thou mayest have remarked, stripling, that I have but seldom distinguished thee by much notice;— I see thy colour rises, but do not speak till thou nearest me out. I say I have never much distinguished thee, not because I did not see that in thee which I might well have praised, but because I saw something blameable, which such praises might have made worse. Thy mistress, dealing133 according to her pleasure in her own household, as no one had better reason or title, had picked thee from the rest, and treated thee more like a relation than a domestic; and if thou didst show some vanity and petulance134 under such distinction, it were injustice135 not to say that thou hast profited both in thy exercises and in thy breeding, and hast shown many sparkles of a gentle and manly136 spirit. Moreover, it were ungenerous, having bred thee up freakish and fiery137, to dismiss thee to want or wandering, for showing that very peevishness138 and impatience139 of discipline which arose from thy too delicate nurture140. Therefore, and for the credit of my own household, I am determined141 to retain thee in my train, until I can honourably142 dispose of thee elsewhere, with a fair prospect143 of thy going through the world with credit to the house that brought thee up.”
If there was something in Sir Halbert Glendinning’s speech which flattered Roland’s pride, there was also much that, according to his mode of thinking, was an alloy144 to the compliment. And yet his conscience instantly told him that he ought to accept, with grateful deference145, the offer which was made him by the husband of his kind protectress; and his prudence146, however slender, could not but admit he should enter the world under very different auspices147 as a retainer of Sir Halbert Glendinning, so famed for wisdom, courage, and influence, from those under which he might partake the wanderings, and become an agent in the visionary schemes, for such they appeared to him, of Magdalen, his relative. Still, a strong reluctance148 to re-enter a service from which he had been dismissed with contempt, almost counterbalanced these considerations.
Sir Halbert looked on the youth with surprise, and resumed —“You seem to hesitate, young man. Are your own prospects149 so inviting150, that you should pause ere you accept those which I should offer to you? or, must I remind you that, although you have offended your benefactress, even to the point of her dismissing you, yet I am convinced, the knowledge that you have gone unguided on your own wild way, into a world so disturbed as ours of Scotland, cannot, in the upshot, but give her sorrow and pain; from which it is, in gratitude151, your duty to preserve her, no less than it is in common wisdom your duty to accept my offered protection, for your own sake, where body and soul are alike endangered, should you refuse it.”
Roland Graeme replied in a respectful tone, but at the same time with some spirit, “I am not ungrateful for such countenance as has been afforded me by the Lord of Avenel, and I am glad to learn, for the first time, that I have not had the misfortune to be utterly152 beneath his observation, as I had thought — And it is only needful to show me how I can testify my duty and my gratitude towards my early and constant benefactress with my life’s hazard, and I will gladly peril153 it.” He stopped.
“These are but words, young man,” answered Glendinning, “large protestations are often used to supply the place of effectual service. I know nothing in which the peril of your life can serve the Lady of Avenel; I can only say, she will be pleased to learn you have adopted some course which may ensure the safety of your person, and the weal of your soul — What ails154 you, that you accept not that safety when it is offered you?”
“My only relative who is alive,” answered Roland, “at least the only relative whom I have ever seen, has rejoined me since I was dismissed from the Castle of Avenel, and I must consult with her whether I can adopt the line to which you now call me, or whether her increasing infirmities, or the authority which she is entitled to exercise over me, may not require me to abide with her.”
“Where is this relation?” said Sir Halbert Glendinning.
“In this house,” answered the page.
“Go then, and seek her out,” said the Knight of Avenel; “more than meet it is that thou shouldst have her approbation155, yet worse than foolish would she show herself in denying it.”
Roland left the apartment to seek for his grandmother; and, as he retreated, the Abbot entered.
The two brothers met as brothers who loved each other fondly, yet meet rarely together. Such indeed was the case. Their mutual156 affection attached them to each other; but in every pursuit, habit or sentiment, connected with the discords158 of the times, the friend and counsellor of Murray stood opposed to the Roman Catholic priest; nor, indeed, could they have held very much society together, without giving cause of offence and suspicion to their confederates on each side. After a close embrace on the part of both, and a welcome on that of the Abbot, Sir Halbert Glendinning expressed his satisfaction that he had come in time to appease159 the riot raised by Howleglas and his tumultuous followers.
“And yet,” he said, “when I look on your garments, brother Edward, I cannot help thinking there still remains160 an Abbot of Unreason within the bounds of the Monastery161.”
“And wherefore carp at my garments, brother Halbert?” said the Abbot; “it is the spiritual armour of my calling, and, as such, beseems me as well as breastplate and baldric becomes your own bosom162.”
“Ay, but there were small wisdom, methinks, in putting on armour where we have no power to fight; it is but a dangerous temerity163 to defy the foe164 whom we cannot resist.”
“For that, my brother, no one can answer,” said the Abbot, “until the battle be fought; and, were it even as you say, methinks a brave man, though desperate of victory, would rather desire to fight and fall, than to resign sword and shield on some mean and dishonourable composition with his insulting antagonist165. But, let not you and I make discord157 of a theme on which we cannot agree, but rather stay and partake, though a heretic, of my admission feast. You need not fear, my brother, that your zeal for restoring the primitive166 discipline of the church will, on this occasion, be offended with the rich profusion167 of a conventual banquet. The days of our old friend Abbot Boniface are over; and the Superior of Saint Mary’s has neither forests nor fishings, woods nor pastures, nor corn-fields;— neither flocks nor herds168, bucks169 nor wild-fowl — granaries of wheat, nor storehouses of oil and wine, of ale and of mead170. The refectioner’s office is ended; and such a meal as a hermit171 in romance can offer to a wandering knight, is all we have to set before you. But, if you will share it with us, we shall eat it with a cheerful heart, and thank you, my brother, for your timely protection against these rude scoffers.”
“My dearest brother,” said the Knight, “it grieves me deeply I cannot abide with you; but it would sound ill for us both were one of the reformed congregation to sit down at your admission feast; and, if I can ever have the satisfaction of affording you effectual protection, it will be much owing to my remaining unsuspected of countenancing172 or approving your religious rites173 and ceremonies. It will demand whatever consideration I can acquire among my own friends, to shelter the bold man, who, contrary to law and the edicts of parliament, has dared to take up the office of Abbot of Saint Mary’s.”
“Trouble not yourself with the task, my brother,” replied Father Ambrosius. “I would lay down my dearest blood to know that you defended the church for the church’s sake; but, while you remain unhappily her enemy, I would not that you endangered your own safety, or diminished your own comforts, for the sake of my individual protection.— But who comes hither to disturb the few minutes of fraternal communication which our evil fate allows us?”
The door of the apartment opened as the Abbot spoke91, and Dame Magdalen entered.
“Who is this woman?” said Sir Halbert Glendinning, somewhat sternly, “and what does she want?”
“That you know me not,” said the matron, “signifies little; I come by your own order, to give my free consent that the stripling, Roland Graeme, return to your service; and, having said so, I cumber you no longer with my presence. Peace be with you!” She turned to go away, but was stopped by inquiries174 of Sir Halbert Glendinning.
“Who are you?— what are you?— and why do you not await to make me answer?”
“I was,” she replied, “while yet I belonged to the world, a matron of no vulgar name; now I am Magdalen, a poor pilgrimer, for the sake of Holy Kirk.”
“Yea,” said Sir Halbert, “art thou a Catholic? I thought my dame said that Roland Graeme came of reformed kin38.’
“His father,” said the matron, “was a heretic, or rather one who regarded neither orthodoxy or heresy175 — neither the temple of the church or of antichrist. I, too, for the sins of the times make sinners, have seemed to conform to your unhallowed rites — but I had my dispensation and my absolution.”
“You see, brother,” said Sir Halbert, with a smile of meaning towards his brother, “that we accuse you not altogether without grounds of mental equivocation176.”
“My brother, you do us injustice,” replied the Abbot; “this woman, as her bearing may of itself warrant you, is not in her perfect mind. Thanks, I must needs say, to the persecution177 of your marauding barons178, and of your latitudinarian clergy179.”
“I will not dispute the point,” said Sir Halbert; “the evils of the time are unhappily so numerous, that both churches may divide them, and have enow to spare.” So saying, he leaned from the window of the apartment, and winded his bugle180.
“Why do you sound your horn, my brother?” said the Abbot; “we have spent but few minutes together.”
“Alas!” said the elder brother, “and even these few have been sullied by disagreement. I sound to horse, my brother — the rather that, to avert181 the consequences of this day’s rashness on your part, requires hasty efforts on mine.— Dame, you will oblige me by letting your young relative know that we mount instantly. I intend not that he shall return to Avenel with me — it would lead to new quarrels betwixt him and my household; at least to taunts182 which his proud heart could ill brook183, and my wish is to do him kindness. He shall, therefore, go forward to Edinburgh with one of my retinue184, whom I shall send back to say what has chanced here.— You seem rejoiced at this?” he added, fixing his eyes keenly on Magdalen Graeme, who returned his gaze with calm indifference185.
“I would rather,” she said, “that Roland, a poor and friendless orphan186, were the jest of the world at large, than of the menials at Avenel.”
“Fear not, dame — he shall be scorned by neither,” answered the Knight.
“It may be,” she replied —“it may well be — but I will trust more to his own bearing than to your countenance.” She left the room as she spoke.
The Knight looked after her as she departed, but turned instantly to his brother, and expressing, in the most affectionate terms, his wishes for his welfare and happiness, craved187 his leave to depart. “My knaves,” he said, “are too busy at the ale-stand, to leave their revelry for the empty breath of a bugle-horn.”
“You have freed them from higher restraint, Halbert,” answered the Abbot, “and therein taught them to rebel against your own.”
“Fear not that, Edward,” exclaimed Halbert, who never gave his brother his monastic name of Ambrosius; “none obey the command of real duty so well as those who are free from the observance of slavish bondage188.”
He was turning to depart, when the Abbot said,—“Let us not yet part, my brother — here comes some light refreshment189. Leave not the house which I must now call mine, till force expel me from it, until you have at least broken bread with me.”
The poor lay brother, the same who acted as porter, now entered the apartment, bearing some simple refreshment, and a flask190 of wine. “He had found it,” he said with officious humility191, “by rummaging192 through every nook of the cellar.”
The Knight filled a small silver cup, and, quaffing193 it off, asked his brother to pledge him, observing, the wine was Bacharac, of the first vintage, and great age.
“Ay,” said the poor lay brother, “it came out of the nook which old brother Nicholas, (may his soul be happy!) was wont194 to call Abbot Ingelram’s corner; and Abbot Ingelram was bred at the Convent of Wurtzburg, which I understand to be near where that choice wine grows.”
“True, my reverend sir,” said Sir Halbert; “and therefore I entreat35 my brother and you to pledge me in a cup of this orthodox vintage.”
The thin old porter looked with a wishful glance towards the Abbot. “Do veniam ,” said his Superior; and the old man seized, with a trembling hand, a beverage195 to which he had been long unaccustomed; drained the cup with protracted196 delight, as if dwelling on the flavour and perfume, and set it down with a melancholy197 smile and shake of the head, as if bidding adieu in future to such delicious potations. The brothers smiled. But when Sir Halbert motioned to the Abbot to take up his cup and do him reason, the Abbot, in turn, shook his head, and replied —“This is no day for the Abbot of Saint Mary’s to eat the fat and drink the sweat. In water from our Lady’s well,” he added, filling a cup with the limpid198 element, “I wish you, brother, all happiness, and above all, a true sight of your spiritual errors.”
“And to you, my beloved Edward,” replied Glendinning, “I wish the free exercise of your own free reason, and the discharge of more important duties than are connected with the idle name which you have so rashly assumed.”
The brothers parted with deep regret; and yet, each confident in his opinion, felt somewhat relieved by the absence of one whom he respected so much, and with whom he could agree so little.
Soon afterwards the sound of the Knight of Avenel’s trumpets199 was heard, and the Abbot went to the top of the tower, from whose dismantled200 battlements he could soon see the horsemen ascending201 the rising ground in the direction of the drawbridge. As he gazed, Magdalen Graeme came to his side.
“Thou art come,” he said, “to catch the last glimpse of thy grandson, my sister. Yonder he wends, under the charge of the best knight in Scotland, his faith ever excepted.”
“Thou canst bear witness, my father, that it was no wish either of mine or of Roland’s,” replied the matron, “which induced the Knight of Avenel, as he is called, again to entertain my grandson in his household — Heaven, which confounds the wise with their own wisdom, and the wicked with their own policy, hath placed him where, for the services of the Church, I would most wish him to be.”
“I know not what you mean, my sister,” said the Abbot.
“Reverend father,” replied Magdalen, “hast thou never heard that there are spirits powerful to rend20 the walls of a castle asunder202 when once admitted, which yet cannot enter the house unless they are invited, nay, dragged over the threshold?22 Twice hath Roland Graeme been thus drawn203 into the household of Avenel by those who now hold the title. Let them look to the issue.”
So saying she left the turret204; and the Abbot, after pausing a moment on her words, which he imputed205 to the unsettled state of her mind, followed down the winding206 stair to celebrate his admission to his high office by fast and prayer instead of revelling207 and thanksgiving.
1 tumults | |
吵闹( tumult的名词复数 ); 喧哗; 激动的吵闹声; 心烦意乱 | |
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2 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
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3 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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4 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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5 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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6 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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7 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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8 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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9 revel | |
vi.狂欢作乐,陶醉;n.作乐,狂欢 | |
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10 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 arid | |
adj.干旱的;(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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12 brandished | |
v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 );炫耀 | |
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13 implored | |
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14 sanctuary | |
n.圣所,圣堂,寺庙;禁猎区,保护区 | |
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15 scoffer | |
嘲笑者 | |
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16 blasphemy | |
n.亵渎,渎神 | |
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17 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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18 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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19 lawfully | |
adv.守法地,合法地;合理地 | |
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20 rend | |
vt.把…撕开,割裂;把…揪下来,强行夺取 | |
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21 hubbub | |
n.嘈杂;骚乱 | |
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22 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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23 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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24 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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25 hawk | |
n.鹰,骗子;鹰派成员 | |
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26 quarry | |
n.采石场;v.采石;费力地找 | |
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27 brawl | |
n.大声争吵,喧嚷;v.吵架,对骂 | |
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28 lure | |
n.吸引人的东西,诱惑物;vt.引诱,吸引 | |
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29 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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30 predecessors | |
n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 );前辈;(被取代的)原有事物;前身 | |
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31 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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32 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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33 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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34 cumber | |
v.拖累,妨碍;n.妨害;拖累 | |
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35 entreat | |
v.恳求,恳请 | |
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36 entreaty | |
n.恳求,哀求 | |
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37 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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38 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
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39 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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40 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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41 dagger | |
n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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42 fictitious | |
adj.虚构的,假设的;空头的 | |
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43 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 | |
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44 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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45 monk | |
n.和尚,僧侣,修道士 | |
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46 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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47 wilful | |
adj.任性的,故意的 | |
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48 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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49 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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50 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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51 exhortations | |
n.敦促( exhortation的名词复数 );极力推荐;(正式的)演讲;(宗教仪式中的)劝诫 | |
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52 exhortation | |
n.劝告,规劝 | |
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53 rebuked | |
责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54 purgatory | |
n.炼狱;苦难;adj.净化的,清洗的 | |
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55 harp | |
n.竖琴;天琴座 | |
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56 fiddle | |
n.小提琴;vi.拉提琴;不停拨弄,乱动 | |
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57 prance | |
v.(马)腾跃,(人)神气活现地走 | |
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58 hiss | |
v.发出嘶嘶声;发嘘声表示不满 | |
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59 pithy | |
adj.(讲话或文章)简练的 | |
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60 fumigated | |
v.用化学品熏(某物)消毒( fumigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61 incense | |
v.激怒;n.香,焚香时的烟,香气 | |
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62 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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63 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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64 parody | |
n.打油诗文,诙谐的改编诗文,拙劣的模仿;v.拙劣模仿,作模仿诗文 | |
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65 parodies | |
n.拙劣的模仿( parody的名词复数 );恶搞;滑稽的模仿诗文;表面上模仿得笨拙但充满了机智用来嘲弄别人作品的作品v.滑稽地模仿,拙劣地模仿( parody的第三人称单数 ) | |
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66 tunes | |
n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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67 hymns | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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68 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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69 whim | |
n.一时的兴致,突然的念头;奇想,幻想 | |
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70 lasting | |
adj.永久的,永恒的;vbl.持续,维持 | |
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71 demolition | |
n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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72 dedicated | |
adj.一心一意的;献身的;热诚的 | |
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73 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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74 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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75 meditate | |
v.想,考虑,(尤指宗教上的)沉思,冥想 | |
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76 ballad | |
n.歌谣,民谣,流行爱情歌曲 | |
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77 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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78 iniquity | |
n.邪恶;不公正 | |
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79 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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80 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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81 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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82 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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83 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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84 riotous | |
adj.骚乱的;狂欢的 | |
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85 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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86 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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87 uproar | |
n.骚动,喧嚣,鼎沸 | |
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88 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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89 chiding | |
v.责骂,责备( chide的现在分词 ) | |
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90 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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91 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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92 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 | |
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93 abate | |
vi.(风势,疼痛等)减弱,减轻,减退 | |
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94 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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95 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
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96 profane | |
adj.亵神的,亵渎的;vt.亵渎,玷污 | |
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97 draconic | |
adj.龙的,似龙的; 非常严厉的,非常严酷的 | |
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98 sullenness | |
n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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99 grovelling | |
adj.卑下的,奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节,奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 );趴 | |
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100 reptile | |
n.爬行动物;两栖动物 | |
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101 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
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103 petulant | |
adj.性急的,暴躁的 | |
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104 hoops | |
n.箍( hoop的名词复数 );(篮球)篮圈;(旧时儿童玩的)大环子;(两端埋在地里的)小铁弓 | |
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105 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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106 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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107 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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108 buffet | |
n.自助餐;饮食柜台;餐台 | |
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109 enraged | |
使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 ); 歜; 激愤 | |
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110 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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111 upbraid | |
v.斥责,责骂,责备 | |
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112 hawks | |
鹰( hawk的名词复数 ); 鹰派人物,主战派人物 | |
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113 falcon | |
n.隼,猎鹰 | |
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114 falcons | |
n.猎鹰( falcon的名词复数 ) | |
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115 knave | |
n.流氓;(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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116 supplementary | |
adj.补充的,附加的 | |
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117 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
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118 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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119 promotion | |
n.提升,晋级;促销,宣传 | |
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120 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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121 buffoons | |
n.愚蠢的人( buffoon的名词复数 );傻瓜;逗乐小丑;滑稽的人 | |
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122 mandate | |
n.托管地;命令,指示 | |
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123 bagpipe | |
n.风笛 | |
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124 hind | |
adj.后面的,后部的 | |
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125 mettle | |
n.勇气,精神 | |
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126 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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127 dishonour | |
n./vt.拒付(支票、汇票、票据等);vt.凌辱,使丢脸;n.不名誉,耻辱,不光彩 | |
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128 mingling | |
adj.混合的 | |
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129 riddles | |
n.谜(语)( riddle的名词复数 );猜不透的难题,难解之谜 | |
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130 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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131 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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132 prating | |
v.(古时用语)唠叨,啰唆( prate的现在分词 ) | |
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133 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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134 petulance | |
n.发脾气,生气,易怒,暴躁,性急 | |
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135 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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136 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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137 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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138 peevishness | |
脾气不好;爱发牢骚 | |
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139 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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140 nurture | |
n.养育,照顾,教育;滋养,营养品;vt.养育,给与营养物,教养,扶持 | |
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141 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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142 honourably | |
adv.可尊敬地,光荣地,体面地 | |
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143 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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144 alloy | |
n.合金,(金属的)成色 | |
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145 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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146 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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147 auspices | |
n.资助,赞助 | |
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148 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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149 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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150 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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151 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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152 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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153 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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154 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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155 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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156 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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157 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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158 discords | |
不和(discord的复数形式) | |
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159 appease | |
v.安抚,缓和,平息,满足 | |
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160 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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161 monastery | |
n.修道院,僧院,寺院 | |
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162 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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163 temerity | |
n.鲁莽,冒失 | |
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164 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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165 antagonist | |
n.敌人,对抗者,对手 | |
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166 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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167 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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168 herds | |
兽群( herd的名词复数 ); 牧群; 人群; 群众 | |
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169 bucks | |
n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 );钱;(英国十九世纪初的)花花公子;(用于某些表达方式)责任v.(马等)猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 );抵制;猛然震荡;马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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170 mead | |
n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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171 hermit | |
n.隐士,修道者;隐居 | |
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172 countenancing | |
v.支持,赞同,批准( countenance的现在分词 ) | |
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173 rites | |
仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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174 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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175 heresy | |
n.异端邪说;异教 | |
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176 equivocation | |
n.模棱两可的话,含糊话 | |
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177 persecution | |
n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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178 barons | |
男爵( baron的名词复数 ); 巨头; 大王; 大亨 | |
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179 clergy | |
n.[总称]牧师,神职人员 | |
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180 bugle | |
n.军号,号角,喇叭;v.吹号,吹号召集 | |
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181 avert | |
v.防止,避免;转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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182 taunts | |
嘲弄的言语,嘲笑,奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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183 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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184 retinue | |
n.侍从;随员 | |
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185 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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186 orphan | |
n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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187 craved | |
渴望,热望( crave的过去式 ); 恳求,请求 | |
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188 bondage | |
n.奴役,束缚 | |
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189 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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190 flask | |
n.瓶,火药筒,砂箱 | |
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191 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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192 rummaging | |
翻找,搜寻( rummage的现在分词 ); 海关检查 | |
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193 quaffing | |
v.痛饮( quaff的现在分词 );畅饮;大口大口将…喝干;一饮而尽 | |
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194 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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195 beverage | |
n.(水,酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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196 protracted | |
adj.拖延的;延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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197 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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198 limpid | |
adj.清澈的,透明的 | |
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199 trumpets | |
喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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200 dismantled | |
拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 ); 拆卸; 废除; 取消 | |
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201 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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202 asunder | |
adj.分离的,化为碎片 | |
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203 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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204 turret | |
n.塔楼,角塔 | |
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205 imputed | |
v.把(错误等)归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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206 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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207 revelling | |
v.作乐( revel的现在分词 );狂欢;着迷;陶醉 | |
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