He mounted himself on a coal-black steed,
With a bugelet horn hung down from his side,
And roundly they rode away.
The influence of the free air, the rushing of the horses over high and low, the ringing of the bridles4, the excitation at once arising from a sense of freedom and of rapid motion, gradually dispelled5 the confused and dejected sort of stupefaction by which Queen Mary was at first overwhelmed. She could not at last conceal6 the change of her feelings to the person who rode at her rein7, and who she doubted not was the Father Ambrosius; for Seyton, with all the heady impetuosity of a youth, proud, and justly so, of his first successful adventure, assumed all the bustle8 and importance of commander of the little party, which escorted, in the language of the time, the Fortune of Scotland. He now led the van, now checked his bounding steed till the rear had come up, exhorted9 the leaders to keep a steady, though rapid pace, and commanded those who were hindmost of the party to use their spurs, and allow no interval10 to take place in their line of march; and anon he was beside the Queen, or her ladies, inquiring how they brooked12 the hasty journey, and whether they had any commands for him. But while Seyton thus busied himself in the general cause with some advantage to the regular order of the march, and a good deal of personal ostentation13, the horseman who rode beside the Queen gave her his full and undivided attention, as if he had been waiting upon some superior being. When the road was rugged14 and dangerous, he abandoned almost entirely15 the care of his own horse, and kept his hand constantly upon the Queen’s bridle3; if a river or larger brook11 traversed their course, his left arm retained her in the saddle, while his right held her palfrey’s rein.
“I had not thought, reverend Father,” said the Queen, when they reached the other bank, “that the convent bred such good horsemen.”— The person she addressed sighed, but made no other answer.—“I know not how it is,” said Queen Mary, “but either the sense of freedom, or the pleasure of my favourite exercise, from which I have been so long debarred, or both combined, seem to have given wings to me — no fish ever shot through the water, no bird through the air, with the hurried feeling of liberty and rapture16 with which I sweep through, this night-wind, and over these wolds. Nay17, such is the magic of feeling myself once more in the saddle, that I could almost swear I am at this moment mounted on my own favourite Rosabelle, who was never matched in Scotland for swiftness, for ease of motion, and for sureness of foot.”
“And if the horse which bears so dear a burden could speak,” answered the deep voice of the melancholy18 George of Douglas, “would she not reply, who but Rosabelle ought at such an emergence19 as this to serve her beloved mistress, or who but Douglas ought to hold her bridle-rein?”
Queen Mary started; she foresaw at once all the evils like to arise to herself and him from the deep enthusiastic passion of this youth; but her feelings as a woman, grateful at once and compassionate21, prevented her assuming the dignity of a Queen, and she endeavoured to continue the conversation in an indifferent tone.
“Methought,” she said, “I heard that, at the division of my spoils, Rosabelle had become the property of Lord Morton’s paramour and ladye-love Alice.”
“The noble palfrey had indeed been destined22 to so base a lot,” answered Douglas; “she was kept under four keys, and under the charge of a numerous crew of grooms23 and domestics — but Queen Mary needed Rosabelle, and Rosabelle is here.”
“And was it well, Douglas,” said Queen Mary, “when such fearful risks of various kinds must needs be encountered, that you should augment24 their perils25 to yourself for a subject of so little moment as a palfrey?”
“Do you call that of little moment,” answered Douglas, “which has afforded you a moment’s pleasure?— Did you not start with joy when I first said you were mounted on Rosabelle?— And to purchase you that pleasure, though it were to last no longer than the flash of lightning doth, would not Douglas have risked his life a thousand times?”
“Oh, peace, Douglas, peace,” said the Queen, “this is unfitting language; and, besides, I would speak,” said she, recollecting26 herself, “with the Abbot of Saint Mary’s — Nay, Douglas, I will not let you quit my rein in displeasure.”
“Displeasure, lady!” answered Douglas: “alas27! sorrow is all that I can feel for your well-warranted contempt — I should be as soon displeased28 with Heaven for refusing the wildest wish which mortal can form.”
“Abide29 by my rein, however,” said Mary, “there is room for my Lord Abbot on the other side; and, besides, I doubt if his assistance would be so useful to Rosabelle and me as yours has been, should the road again require it.”
The Abbot came up on the other side, and she immediately opened a conversation with him on the topic of the state of parties, and the plan fittest for her to pursue inconsequence of her deliverance. In this conversation Douglas took little share, and never but when directly applied30 to by the Queen, while, as before, his attention seemed entirely engrossed31 by the care of Mary’s personal safety. She learned, however, she had a new obligation to him, since, by his contrivance, the Abbot, whom he had furnished with the family pass-word, was introduced into the castle as one of the garrison32.
Long before daybreak they ended their hasty and perilous33 journey before the gates of Niddrie, a castle in West Lothian, belonging to Lord Seyton. When the Queen was about to alight, Henry Seyton, preventing Douglas, received her in his arms, and, kneeling down, prayed her Majesty34 to enter the house of his father, her faithful servant.
“Your Grace,” he added, “may repose35 yourself here in perfect safety — it is already garrisoned36 with good men for your protection; and I have sent a post to my father, whose instant arrival, at the head of five hundred men, may be looked for. Do not dismay yourself, therefore, should your sleep be broken by the trampling37 of horse; but only think that here are some scores more of the saucy38 Seytons come to attend you.”
“And by better friends than the Saucy Seytons, a Scottish Queen cannot be guarded,” replied Mary. “Rosabelle went fleet as the summer breeze, and well-nigh as easy; but it is long since I have been a traveller, and I feel that repose will be welcome.— Catherine, ma mignone , you must sleep in my apartment to-night, and bid me welcome to your noble father’s castle.— Thanks, thanks to all my kind deliverers — thanks, and a good night is all I can now offer; but if I climb once more to the upper side of Fortune’s wheel, I will not have her bandage. Mary Stewart will keep her eyes open, and distinguish her friends.— Seyton, I need scarcely recommend the venerable Abbot, the Douglas, and my page, to your honour able care and hospitality.”
Henry Seyton bowed, and Catherine and Lady Fleming attended the Queen to her apartment; where, acknowledging to them that she should have found it difficult in that moment to keep her promise of holding her eyes open, she resigned herself to repose, and awakened39 not till the morning was advanced.
Mary’s first feeling when she awoke, was the doubt of her freedom; and the impulse prompted her to start from bed, and hastily throwing her mantle40 over her shoulders, to look out at the casement41 of her apartment. Oh, sight of joy! instead of the crystal sheet of Lochleven, unaltered save by the influence of the wind, a landscape of wood and moorland lay before her, and the park around the castle was occupied by the troops of her most faithful and most favourite nobles.
“Rise, rise, Catherine,” cried the enraptured42 Princess; “arise and come hither!— here are swords and spears in true hands, and glittering armour43 on loyal breasts. Here are banners, my girl, floating in the wind, as lightly as summer clouds — Great God! what pleasure to my weary eyes to trace their devices — thine own brave father’s — the princely Hamilton’s — the faithful Fleming’s — See — see — they have caught a glimpse of me, and throng44 towards the window!”
She flung the casement open, and with her bare head, from which the tresses flew back loose and dishevelled, her fair arm slenderly veiled by her mantle, returned by motion and sign the exulting45 shouts of the warriors46, which echoed for many a furlong around. When the first burst of ecstatic joy was over, she recollected47 how lightly she was dressed, and, putting her hands to her face, which was covered with blushes at the recollection, withdrew abruptly48 from the window. The cause of her retreat was easily conjectured49, and increased the general enthusiasm for a Princess, who had forgotten her rank in her haste to acknowledge the services of her subjects. The unadorned beauties of the lovely woman, too, moved the military spectators more than the highest display of her regal state might; and what might have seemed too free in her mode of appearing before them, was more than atoned50 for by the enthusiasm of the moment and by the delicacy51 evinced in her hasty retreat. Often as the shouts died away, as often were they renewed, till wood and hill rung again; and many a deep path was made that morning on the cross of the sword, that the hand should not part with the weapon, till Mary Stewart was restored to her rights. But what are promises, what the hopes of mortals? In ten days, these gallant52 and devoted53 votaries54 were slain55, were captives, or had fled.
Mary flung herself into the nearest seat, and still blushing, yet half smiling, exclaimed, “Ma mignone , what will they think of me?— to show myself to them with my bare feet hastily thrust into the slippers56 — only this loose mantle about me — my hair loose on my shoulders — my arms and neck so bare — Oh, the best they can suppose is, that her abode57 in yonder dungeon58 has turned their Queen’s brain! But my rebel subjects saw me exposed when I was in the depth of affliction, why should I hold colder ceremony with these faithful and loyal men?— Call Fleming, however — I trust she has not forgotten the little mail with my apparel — We must be as brave as we can, mignóne .”
“Nay, madam, our good Lady Fleming was in no case to remember any thing.”
“You jest, Catherine,” said the Queen, somewhat offended; “it is not in her nature surely, to forget her duty so far as to leave us without a change of apparel?”
“Roland Graeme, madam, took care of that,” answered Catherine; “for he threw the mail, with your highness’s clothes and jewels, into the boat, ere he ran back to lock the gate — I never saw so awkward a page as that youth — the packet well-nigh fell on my head.”
“He shall make thy heart amends59, my girl,” said Queen Mary, laughing, “for that and all other offences given. But call Fleming, and let us put ourselves into apparel to meet our faithful lords.”
Such had been the preparations, and such was the skill of Lady Fleming, that the Queen appeared before her assembled nobles in such attire60 as became, though it could not enhance, her natural dignity. With the most winning courtesy, she expressed to each individual her grateful thanks, and dignified61 not only every noble, but many of the lesser62 barons64 by her particular attention.
“And whither now, my lords?” she said; “what way do your counsels determine for us?”
“To Draphane Castle,” replied Lord Arbroath, “if your Majesty is so pleased; and thence to Dunbarton, to place your Grace’s person in safety, after which we long to prove if these traitors65 will abide us in the field.”
“And when do we journey?”
“We propose,” said Lord Seyton, “if your Grace’s fatigue66 will permit, to take horse after the morning’s meal.”
“Your pleasure, my Lords, is mine,” replied the Queen; “we will rule our journey by your wisdom now, and hope hereafter to have the advantage of governing by it our kingdom.— You will permit my ladies and me, my good lords, to break our fasts along with you — We must be half soldiers ourselves, and set state apart.”
Low bowed many a helmeted head at this gracious proffer67, when the Queen, glancing her eyes through the assembled leaders, missed both Douglas and Roland Graeme, and inquired for them in a whisper to Catherine Seyton.
“They are in yonder oratory68, madam, sad enough,” replied Catherine; and the Queen observed that her favourite’s eyes were red with weeping.
“This must not be,” said the Queen. “Keep the company amused — I will seek them, and introduce them myself.”
She went into the oratory, where the first she met was George Douglas, standing69, or rather reclining, in the recess70 of a window, his back rested against the wall, and his arms folded on his breast. At the sight of the Queen he started, and his countenance71 showed, for an instant, an expression of intense delight, which was instantly exchanged for his usual deep melancholy.
“What means this?” she said; “Douglas, why does the first deviser and bold executor of the happy scheme for our freedom, shun72 the company of his fellow-nobles, and of the Sovereign whom he has obliged?”
“Madam,” replied Douglas, “those whom you grace with your presence bring followers73 to aid your cause, wealth to support your state,— can offer you halls in which to feast, and impregnable castles for your defence. I am a houseless and landless man — disinherited by my mother, and laid under her malediction74 — disowned by my name and kindred — who bring nothing to your standard but a single sword, and the poor life of its owner.”
“Do you mean to upbraid75 me, Douglas,” replied the Queen, “by showing what you have lost for my sake?”
“God forbid, madam!” interrupted the young man, eagerly; “were it to do again, and had I ten times as much rank and wealth, and twenty times as many friends to lose, my losses would be overpaid by the first step you made, as a free princess, upon the soil of your native kingdom.”
“And what then ails76 you, that you will not rejoice with those who rejoice upon the same joyful77 occasion?” said the Queen.
“Madam,” replied the youth,” though exheridated and disowned, I am yet a Douglas: with most of yonder nobles my family have been in feud78 for ages — a cold reception amongst them, were an insult, and a kind one yet more humiliating.”
“For shame, Douglas,” replied the Queen, “shake off this unmanly gloom!— I can make thee match for the best of them in title and fortune, and, believe me, I will.— Go then amongst them, I command you.”
“That word,” said Douglas, “is enough — I go. This only let me say, that not for wealth or title would I have done that which I have done — Mary Stewart will not, and the Queen cannot, reward me.”
So saying, he left the oratory, mingled80 with the nobles, and placed himself at the bottom of the table. The Queen looked after him, and put her kerchief to her eyes.
“Now, Our Lady pity me,” she said, “for no sooner are my prison cares ended, than those which beset81 me as a woman and a Queen again thicken around me.— Happy Elizabeth! to whom political interest is every thing, and whose heart never betrays thy head.— And now must I seek this other boy, if I would prevent daggers-drawing betwixt him and the young Seyton.”
Roland Graeme was in the same oratory, but at such a distance from Douglas, that he could not overhear what passed betwixt the Queen and him. He also was moody82 and thoughtful, but cleared his brow at the Queen’s question, “How now, Roland? you are negligent83 in your attendance this morning. Are you so much overcome with your night’s ride?”
“Not so, gracious madam,” answered Graeme; “but I am told the page of Lochleven is not the page of Niddrie Castle; and so Master Henry Seyton hath in a manner been pleased to supersede84 my attendance.”
“Now, Heaven forgive me,” said the Queen, “how soon these cock-chickens begin to spar!— with children and boys, at least, I may be a queen.— I will have you friends.— Some one send me Henry Seyton hither.” As she spoke85 the last words aloud, the youth whom she had named entered the apartment. “Come hither,” she said, “Henry Seyton — I will have you give your hand to this youth, who so well aided in the plan of my escape.”
“Willingly, madam,” answered Seyton, “so that the youth will grant me, as a boon86, that he touch not the hand of another Seyton whom he knows of. My hand has passed current for hers with him before now — and to win my friendship, he must give up thoughts of my sister’s love.”
“Henry Seyton,” said the Queen, “does it become you to add any condition to my command?”
“Madam,” said Henry, “I am the servant of your Grace’s throne, son to the most loyal man in Scotland. Our goods, our castles, our blood, are yours: Our honour is in our own keeping. I could say more, but —”
“Nay, speak on, rude boy,” said the Queen; “what avails it that I am released from Lochleven, if I am thus enthralled87 under the yoke88 of my pretended deliverers, and prevented from doing justice to one who has deserved as well of me as yourself?”
“Be not in this distemperature for me, sovereign Lady,” said Roland; “this young gentleman, being the faithful servant of your Grace, and the brother of Catherine Seyton, bears that about him which will charm down my passion at the hottest.”
“I warn thee once more,” said Henry Seyton, haughtily89, “that you make no speech which may infer that the daughter of Lord Seyton can be aught to thee beyond what she is to every churl’s blood in Scotland.”
The Queen was again about to interfere90, for Roland’s complexion91 rose, and it became somewhat questionable92 how long his love for Catherine would suppress the natural fire of his temper. But the interposition of another person, hitherto unseen, prevented Mary’s interference, There was in the oratory a separate shrine93, enclosed with a high screen of pierced oak, within which was placed an image of Saint Bennet, of peculiar94 sanctity. From this recess, in which she had been probably engaged in her devotions, issued suddenly Magdalen Graeme, and addressed Henry Seyton, in reply to his last offensive expressions,—“And of what clay, then, are they moulded these Seytons, that the blood of the Graemes may not aspire96 to mingle79 with theirs? Know, proud boy, that when I call this youth my daughter’s child, I affirm his descent from Malise Earl of Strathern, called Malise with the Bright Brand; and I trow the blood of your house springs from no higher source.”
“Good mother,” said Seyton, “methinks your sanctity should make you superior to these worldly vanities; and indeed it seems to have rendered you somewhat oblivious97 touching98 them, since, to be of gentle descent, the father’s name and lineage must be as well qualified99 as the mother’s.”
“And if I say he comes of the blood of Avenel by the father’s side,” replied Magdalen Graeme, “name I not blood as richly coloured as thine own?”
“Of Avenel?” said the Queen; “is my page descended100 of Avenel?”
“Ay, gracious Princess, and the last male heir of that ancient house — Julian Avenel was his father, who fell in battle against the Southron.”
“I have heard the tale of sorrow,” said the Queen; “it was thy daughter, then, who followed that unfortunate baron63 to the field, and died on his body? Alas! how many ways does woman’s affection find to work out her own misery102! The tale has oft been told and sung in hall and bower103 — And thou, Roland, art that child of misfortune, who was left among the dead and dying? Henry Seyton, he is thine equal in blood and birth.”
“Scarcely so,” said Henry Seyton, “even were he legitimate104; but if the tale be told and sung aright, Julian Avenel was a false knight105, and his leman a frail106 and credulous107 maiden108.”
“Now, by Heaven, thou liest!” said Roland Graeme, and laid his hand on his sword. The entrance of Lord Seyton, however, prevented violence.
“Save me, my lord,” said the Queen, “and separate these wild and untamed spirits.”
“How, Henry,” said the Baron, “are my castle, and the Queen’s presence, no checks on thine insolence109 and impetuosity?— And with whom art thou brawling110?— unless my eyes spell that token false, it is with the very youth who aided me so gallantly111 in the skirmish with the Leslies — Let me look, fair youth, at the medal which thou wearest in thy cap. By Saint Bennet, it is the same!— Henry, I command thee to forbear him, as thou lovest my blessing112 ——”
“And as you honour my command,” said the Queen; “good service hath he done me.”
“Ay, madam,” replied young Seyton, “as when he carried the billet enclosed in the sword-sheath to Lochleven — marry, the good youth knew no more than a pack-horse what he was carrying.”
“But I who dedicated113 him to this great work,” said Magdalen Graeme —“I, by whose advice and agency this just heir hath been unloosed from her thraldom114 — I, who spared not the last remaining hope of a falling house in this great action — I, at least, knew and counselled; and what merit may be mine, let the reward, most gracious Queen, descend101 upon this youth. My ministry115 here is ended; you are free — a sovereign Princess, at the head of a gallant army, surrounded by valiant116 barons — My service could avail you no farther, but might well prejudice you; your fortune now rests upon men’s hearts and men’s swords. May they prove as trusty as the faith of women!”
“You will not leave us, mother,” said the Queen —“you whose practices in our favour were so powerful, who dared so many dangers, and wore so many disguises, to blind our enemies and to confirm our friends — you will not leave us in the dawn of our reviving fortunes, ere we have time to know and to thank you?”
“You cannot know her,” answered Magdalen Graeme, “who knows not herself — there are times, when, in this woman’s frame of mine, there is the strength of him of Gath — in this overtoiled brain, the wisdom of the most sage117 counsellor — and again the mist is on me, and my strength is weakness, my wisdom folly118. I have spoken before princes and cardinals119 — ay, noble Princess, even before the princes of thine own house of Lorraine; and I know not whence the words of persuasion120 came which flowed from my lips, and were drunk in by their ears.— And now, even when I most need words of persuasion, there is something which chokes my voice, and robs me of utterance121.”
“If there be aught in my power to do thee pleasure,” said the Queen, “the barely naming it shall avail as well as all thine eloquence122.”
“Sovereign Lady,” replied the enthusiast20, “it shames me that at this high moment something of human frailty123 should cling to one, whose vows124 the saints have heard, whose labours in the rightful cause Heaven has prospered127. But it will be thus while the living spirit is shrined in the clay of mortality — I will yield to the folly,” she said, weeping as she spoke, “and it shall be the last.” Then seizing Roland’s hand, she led him to the Queen’s feet, kneeling herself upon one knee, and causing him to kneel on both. “Mighty Princess,” she said, “look on this flower — it was found by a kindly128 stranger on a bloody129 field of battle, and long it was ere my anxious eyes saw, and my arms pressed, all that was left of my only daughter. For your sake, and for that of the holy faith we both profess130, I could leave this plant, while it was yet tender, to the nurture131 of strangers — ay, of enemies, by whom, perchance, his blood would have been poured forth132 as wine, had the heretic Glendinning known that he had in his house the heir of Julian Avenel. Since then I have seen him only in a few hours of doubt and dread133, and now I part with the child of my love — for ever — for ever!— Oh, for every weary step I have made in your rightful cause, in this and in foreign lands, give protection to the child whom I must no more call mine!”
“I swear to you, mother,” said the Queen, deeply affected134, “that, for your sake and his own, his happiness and fortunes shall be our charge!”
“I thank you, daughter of princes,” said Magdalen, and pressed her lips, first to the Queen’s hand, then to the brow of her grandson. “And now,” she said, drying her tears, and rising with dignity, “Earth has had its own, and Heaven claims the rest.— Lioness of Scotland, go forth and conquer! and if the prayers of a devoted votaress can avail thee, they will rise in many a land, and from many a distant shrine. I will glide135 like a ghost from land to land, from temple to temple; and where the very name of my country is unknown, the priests shall ask who is the Queen of that distant northern land, for whom the aged95 pilgrim was so fervent136 in prayer. Farewell! Honour be thine, and earthly prosperity, if it be the will of God — if not, may the penance137 thou shalt do here ensure thee happiness hereafter!— Let no one speak or follow me — my resolution is taken — my vow125 cannot be cancelled.”
She glided138 from their presence as she spoke, and her last look was upon her beloved grandchild. He would have risen and followed, but the Queen and Lord Seyton interfered139.
“Press not on her now,” said Lord Seyton, “if you would not lose her for ever. Many a time have we seen the sainted mother, and often at the most needful moment; but to press on her privacy, or to thwart140 her purpose, is a crime which she cannot pardon. I trust we shall yet see her at her need — a holy woman she is for certain, and dedicated wholly to prayer and penance; and hence the heretics hold her as one distracted, while true Catholics deem her a saint.”
“Let me then hope,” said the Queen, “that you, my lord, will aid me in the execution of her last request.”
“What! in the protection of my young second?— cheerfully — that is, in all that your majesty can think it fitting to ask of me.— Henry, give thy hand upon the instant to Roland Avenel, for so I presume he must now be called.”
“And shall be Lord of the Barony,” said the Queen, “if God prosper126 our rightful arms.”
“It can only be to restore it to my kind protectress, who now holds it,” said young Avenel. “I would rather be landless, all my life, than she lost a rood of ground by me.”
“Nay,” said the Queen, looking to Lord Seyton, “his mind matches his birth — Henry, thou hast not yet given thy hand.”
“It is his,” said Henry, giving it with some appearance of courtesy, but whispering Roland at the same time,—“For all this, thou hast not my sister’s.”
“May it please your Grace,” said Lord Seyton, “now that these passages are over, to honour our poor meal. Time it were that our banners were reflected in the Clyde. We must to horse with as little delay as may be.”
收听单词发音 |
1
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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3
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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bridles
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| 约束( bridle的名词复数 )； 限动器； 马笼头； 系带 | |
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dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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exhorted
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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brooked
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| 容忍，忍受（brook的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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emergence
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| n.浮现，显现，出现，（植物）突出体 | |
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enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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augment
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| vt.(使)增大，增加，增长，扩张 | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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26
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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27
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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28
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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29
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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30
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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31
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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32
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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33
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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34
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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35
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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36
garrisoned
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| 卫戍部队守备( garrison的过去式和过去分词 )； 派部队驻防 | |
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37
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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38
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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39
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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40
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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41
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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42
enraptured
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| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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44
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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45
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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46
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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47
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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49
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
atoned
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| v.补偿，赎（罪）( atone的过去式和过去分词 )；补偿，弥补，赎回 | |
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51
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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52
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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53
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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54
votaries
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| n.信徒( votary的名词复数 )；追随者；（天主教）修士；修女 | |
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55
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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56
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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57
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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58
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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59
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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60
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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61
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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62
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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63
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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64
barons
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| 男爵( baron的名词复数 )； 巨头； 大王； 大亨 | |
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65
traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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66
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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67
proffer
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| v.献出，赠送；n.提议，建议 | |
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68
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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69
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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70
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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71
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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72
shun
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| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
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73
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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74
malediction
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| n.诅咒 | |
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75
upbraid
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| v.斥责，责骂，责备 | |
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76
ails
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| 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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77
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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78
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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79
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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80
mingled
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| 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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81
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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82
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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83
negligent
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| adj.疏忽的；玩忽的；粗心大意的 | |
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84
supersede
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| v.替代；充任 | |
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85
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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86
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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87
enthralled
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| 迷住，吸引住( enthrall的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到非常愉快 | |
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88
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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89
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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90
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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91
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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92
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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93
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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94
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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95
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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96
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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97
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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98
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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99
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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100
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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101
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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102
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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103
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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104
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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105
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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106
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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107
credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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108
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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109
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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110
brawling
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| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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111
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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112
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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113
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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114
thraldom
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| n.奴隶的身份，奴役，束缚 | |
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115
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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116
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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117
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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118
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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119
cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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120
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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121
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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122
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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123
frailty
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| n.脆弱；意志薄弱 | |
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124
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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125
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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126
prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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127
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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129
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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130
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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131
nurture
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| 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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132
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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133
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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134
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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135
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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136
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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137
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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138
glided
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| 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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139
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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140
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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