My native land, good night!
Byron.
Many a bitter tear was shed, during the hasty flight of Queen Mary, over fallen hopes, future prospects1, and slaughtered2 friends. The deaths of the brave Douglas, and of the fiery4 but gallant5 young Seyton, seemed to affect the Queen as much as the fall from the throne, on which she had so nearly been again seated. Catherine Seyton devoured6 in secret her own grief, anxious to support the broken spirits of her mistress; and the Abbot, bending his troubled thoughts upon futurity, endeavoured in vain to form some plan which had a shadow of hope. The spirit of young Roland — for he also mingled7 in the hasty debates held by the companions of the Queen’s flight — continued unchecked and unbroken.
“Your Majesty8,” he said, “has lost a battle — Your ancestor, Bruce, lost seven successively, ere he sat triumphant9 on the Scottish throne, and proclaimed with the voice of a victor, in the field of Bannockburn, the independence of his country. Are not these heaths, which we may traverse at will, better than the locked, guarded, and lake-moated Castle of Lochleven?— We are free — in that one word there is comfort for all our losses.”
He struck a bold note, but the heart of Mary made no response.
“Better,” she said, “I had still been in Lochleven, than seen the slaughter3 made by rebels among the subjects who offered themselves to death for my sake. Speak not to me of farther efforts — they would only cost the lives of you, the friends who recommend them! I would not again undergo what I felt, when I saw from yonder mount the swords of the fell horsemen of Morton raging among the faithful Seytons and Hamiltons, for their loyalty11 to their Queen — I would not again feel what I felt when Douglas’s life-blood stained my mantle12 for his love to Mary Stewart — not to be empress of all that Britain’s seas enclose. Find for me some place where I can hide my unhappy head, which brings destruction on all who love it — it is the last favour that Mary asks of her faithful followers13.”
In this dejected mood, but still pursuing her flight with unabated rapidity, the unfortunate Mary, after having been joined by Lord Herries and a few followers, at length halted, for the first time, at the Abbey of Dundrennan, nearly sixty miles distant from the field of battle. In this remote quarter of Galloway, the Reformation not having yet been strictly14 enforced against the monks15, a few still lingered in their cells unmolested; and the Prior, with tears and reverence16, received the fugitive17 Queen at the gate of his convent.
“I bring you ruin, my good father,” said the Queen, as she was lifted from her palfrey.
“It is welcome,” said the Prior, “if it comes in the train of duty.”
Placed on the ground, and supported by her ladies, the Queen looked for an instant at her palfrey, which, jaded18 and drooping19 its head, seemed as if it mourned the distresses21 of its mistress.
“Good Roland,” said the Queen, whispering, “let Rosabelle be cared for — ask thy heart, and it will tell thee why I make this trifling22 request even in this awful hour.”
She was conducted to her apartment, and in the hurried consultation23 of her attendants, the fatal resolution of the retreat to England was finally adopted. In the morning it received her approbation24, and a messenger was despatched to the English warden25, to pray him for safe-conduct and hospitality, on the part of the Queen of Scotland. On the next day the Abbot Ambrose walked in the garden of the Abbey with Roland, to whom he expressed his disapprobation of the course pursued. “It is madness and ruin,” he said; “better commit herself to the savage26 Highlanders or wild Bordermen, than to the faith of Elizabeth. A woman to a rival woman — a presumptive successor to the keeping of a jealous and childless Queen!— Roland, Herries is true and loyal, but his counsel has ruined his mistress.”
“Ay, ruin follows us every where,” said an old man, with a spade in his hand, and dressed like a lay-brother, of whose presence, in the vehemence27 of his exclamation28, the Abbot had not been aware —“Gaze not on me with such wonder!— I am he who was the Abbot Boniface at Kennaquhair, who was the gardener Blinkhoolie at Lochleven, hunted round to the place in which I served my noviciate, and now ye are come to rouse me up again!— A weary life I have had for one to whom peace was ever the dearest blessing29!”
“We will soon rid you of our company, good father,” said the Abbot; “and the Queen will, I fear, trouble your retreat no more.”
“Nay30, you said as much before,” said the querulous old man, “and yet I was put forth31 from Kinross, and pillaged32 by troopers on the road.— They took from me the certificate that you wot of — that of the Baron33 — ay, he was a moss-trooper like themselves — You asked me of it, and I could never find it, but they found it — it showed the marriage of — of — my memory fails me — Now see how men differ! Father Nicholas would have told you an hundred tales of the Abbot Ingelram, on whose soul God have mercy!— He was, I warrant you, fourscore and six, and I am not more than — let me see ——”
“Was not Avenel the name you seek, my good father?” said Roland, impatiently, yet moderating his tone for fear of alarming or offending the infirm old man.
“Ay, right — Avenel, Julian Avenel — You are perfect in the name — I kept all the special confessions35, judging it held with my vow36 to do so — I could not find it when my successor, Ambrosius, spoke37 on’t — but the troopers found it, and the Knight38 who commanded the party struck his breast, till the target clattered39 like an empty watering-can.”
“Saint Mary!” said the Abbot, “in whom could such a paper excite such interest! What was the appearance of the knight, his arms, his colours?”
“Ye distract me with your questions — I dared hardly look at him — they charged me with bearing letters for the Queen, and searched my mail — This was all along of your doings at Lochleven.”
“I trust in God,” said the Abbot to Roland, who stood beside him, shivering and trembling “with impatience,” the paper has fallen into the hands of my brother — I heard he had been with his followers on the scout40 betwixt Stirling and Glasgow.— Bore not the Knight a holly-bough on his helmet?— Canst thou not remember?”
“Oh, remember — remember,” said the old man pettishly42; “count as many years as I do, if your plots will let you, and see what, and how much, you remember.— Why, I scarce remember the pear-mains which I graffed here with my own hands some fifty years since.”
At this moment a bugle43 sounded loudly from the beach.
“It is the death-blast to Queen Mary’s royalty,” said Ambrosius; “the English warden’s answer has been received, favourable44 doubtless, for when was the door of the trap closed against the prey45 which it was set for?— Droop20 not, Roland — this matter shall be sifted46 to the bottom — but we must not now leave the Queen — follow me — let us do our duty, and trust the issue with God — Farewell, good Father — I will visit thee again soon.”
He was about to leave the garden, followed by Roland, with half-reluctant steps. The Ex-Abbot resumed his spade.
“I could be sorry for these men,” he said, “ay, and for that poor Queen, but what avail earthly sorrows to a man of fourscore?— and it is a rare dropping morning for the early colewort.”
“He is stricken with age,” said Ambrosius, as he dragged Roland down to the sea-beach; “we must let him take his time to collect himself — nothing now can be thought on but the fate of the Queen.”
They soon arrived where she stood, surrounded by her little train, and by her side the sheriff of Cumberland, a gentleman of the house of Lowther, richly dressed and accompanied by soldiers. The aspect of the Queen exhibited a singular mixture of alacrity47 and reluctance48 to depart. Her language and gestures spoke hope and consolation49 to her attendants, and she seemed desirous to persuade even herself that the step she adopted was secure, and that the assurance she had received of kind reception was altogether satisfactory; but her quivering lip, and unsettled eye, betrayed at once her anguish50 at departing from Scotland, and her fears of confiding51 herself to the doubtful faith of England.
“Welcome, my Lord Abbot,” she said, speaking to Ambrosius, “and you, Roland Avenel, we have joyful52 news for you — our loving sister’s officer proffers53 us, in her name, a safe asylum54 from the rebels who have driven us from our home — only it grieves me we must here part from you for a short space.”
“Part from us, madam!” said the Abbot. “Is your welcome in England, then, to commence with the abridgment55 of your train, and dismissal of your counsellors?”
“Take it not thus, good Father,” said Mary; “the Warden and the Sheriff, faithful servants of our Royal Sister, deem it necessary to obey her instructions in the present case, even to the letter, and can only take upon them to admit me with my female attendants. An express will instantly be despatched from London, assigning me a place of residence; and I will speedily send to all of you whenever my Court shall be formed.”
“Your Court formed in England! and while Elizabeth lives and reigns56?” said the Abbot —“that will be when we shall see two suns in one heaven!”
“Do not think so,” replied the Queen; “we are well assured of our sister’s good faith. Elizabeth loves fame — and not all that she has won by her power and her wisdom will equal that which she will acquire by extending her hospitality to a distressed58 sister!— not all that she may hereafter do of good, wise, and great, would blot59 out the reproach of abusing our confidence.— Farewell, my page — now my knight — farewell for a brief season. I will dry the tears of Catherine, or I will weep with her till neither of us can weep longer.”— She held out her hand to Roland, who flinging himself on his knees, kissed it with much emotion. He was about to render the same homage60 to Catherine, when the Queen, assuming an air of sprightliness61, said, “Her lips, thou foolish boy! and, Catherine, coy it not — these English gentlemen should see, that, even in our cold clime, Beauty knows how to reward Bravery and Fidelity62!”
“We are not now to learn the force of Scottish beauty, or the mettle63 of Scottish valour,” said the Sheriff of Cumberland, courteously64 —“I would it were in my power to bid these attendants upon her who is herself the mistress of Scottish beauty, as welcome to England as my poor cares would make them. But our Queen’s orders are positive in case of such an emergence65, and they must not be disputed by her subject.— May I remind your Majesty that the tide ebbs66 fast?”
The Sheriff took the Queen’s hand, and she had already placed her foot on the gangway, by which she was to enter the skiff, when the Abbot, starting from a trance of grief and astonishment67 at the words of the Sheriff, rushed into the water, and seized upon her mantle.
“She foresaw it!— She foresaw it!”— he exclaimed —“she foresaw your flight into her realm; and, foreseeing it, gave orders you should be thus received. Blinded, deceived, doomed68 — Princess! your fate is sealed when you quit this strand69.— Queen of Scotland, thou shalt not leave thine heritage!” he continued, holding a still firmer grasp upon her mantle; “true men shall turn rebels to thy will, that they may save thee from captivity70 or death. Fear not the bills and bows whom that gay man has at his beck — we will withstand him by force. Oh, for the arm of my warlike brother!— Roland Avenel, draw thy sword.”
The Queen stood irresolute71 and frightened; one foot upon the plank72, the other on the sand of her native shore, which she was quitting for ever.
“What needs this violence, Sir Priest?” said the Sheriff of Cumberland; “I came hither at your Queen’s command, to do her service; and I will depart at her least order, if she rejects such aid as I can offer. No marvel73 is it if our Queen’s wisdom foresaw that such chance as this might happen amidst the turmoils74 of your unsettled State; and, while willing to afford fair hospitality to her Royal Sister, deemed it wise to prohibit the entrance of a broken army of her followers into the English frontier.”
“You hear,” said Queen Mary, gently unloosing her robe from the Abbot’s grasp, “that we exercise full liberty of choice in leaving this shore; and, questionless, the choice will remain free to us in going to France, or returning to our own dominions75, as we shall determine — Besides, it is too late — Your blessing, Father, and God speed thee!”
“May He have mercy on thee, Princess, and speed thee also!” said the Abbot, retreating. “But my soul tells me I look on thee for the last time!” The sails were hoisted76, the oars77 were plied57, the vessel78 went freshly on her way through the firth, which divides the shores of Cumberland from those of Galloway; but not till the vessel diminished to the size of a child’s frigate79, did the doubtful, and dejected, and dismissed followers of the Queen cease to linger on the sands; and long, long could they discern the kerchief of Mary, as she waved the oft-repeated signal of adieu to her faithful adherents80, and to the shores of Scotland.
If good tidings of a private nature could have consoled Roland for parting with his mistress, and for the distresses of his sovereign, he received such comfort some days subsequent to the Queen’s leaving Dundrennan. A breathless post — no other than Adam Woodcock — brought despatches from Sir Halbert Glendinning to the Abbot, whom he found with Roland, still residing at Dundrennan, and in vain torturing Boniface with fresh interrogations. The packet bore an earnest invitation to his brother to make Avenel Castle for a time his residence. “The clemency81 of the Regent,” said the writer, “has extended pardon both to Roland and to you, upon condition of your remaining a time under my wardship82. And I have that to communicate respecting the parentage of Roland, which not only you will willingly listen to, but which will be also found to afford me, as the husband of his nearest relative, some interest in the future course of his life.”
The Abbot read this letter, and paused, as if considering what were best for him to do. Meanwhile, Woodcock took Roland side, and addressed him as follows:—“Now, look, Mr. Roland, that you do not let any papestrie nonsense lure83 either the priest or you from the right quarry84. See you, you ever bore yourself as a bit of a gentleman. Read that, and thank God that threw old Abbot Boniface in our way, as two of the Seyton’s men were conveying him towards Dundrennan here.— We searched him for intelligence concerning that fair exploit of yours at Lochleven, that has cost many a man his life, and me a set of sore bones — and we found what is better for your purpose than ours.”
The paper which he gave, was, indeed, an attestation85 by Father Philip, subscribing86 himself unworthy Sacristan, and brother of the House of Saint Mary’s, stating, “that under a vow of secrecy87 he had united, in the holy sacrament of marriage, Julian Avenel and Catherine Graeme; but that Julian having repented88 of his union, he, Father Philip, had been sinfully prevailed on by him to conceal89 and disguise the same, according to a complot devised betwixt him and the said Julian Avenel, whereby the poor damsel was induced to believe that the ceremony had been performed by one not in holy orders, and having no authority to that effect. Which sinful concealment90 the undersigned conceived to be the cause why he was abandoned to the misguiding of a water-fiend, whereby he had been under a spell, which obliged him to answer every question, even touching91 the most solemn matters, with idle snatches of old songs, besides being sorely afflicted92 with rheumatic pains ever after. Wherefore he had deposited this testificate and confession34 with the day and date of the said marriage, with his lawful93 superior Boniface, Abbot of Saint Mary’s, sub sigillo confessionis .”
It appeared by a letter from Julian, folded carefully up with the certificate, that the Abbot Boniface had, in effect, bestirred himself in the affair, and obtained from the Baron a promise to avow94 his marriage; but the death of both Julian and his injured bride, together with the Abbot’s resignation, his ignorance of the fate of their unhappy offspring, and above all, the good father’s listless and inactive disposition95, had suffered the matter to become totally forgotten, until it was recalled by some accidental conversation with the Abbot Ambrosius concerning the fortunes of the Avenel family. At the request of his successor, the quondam Abbot made search for it; but as he would receive no assistance in looking among the few records of spiritual experiences and important confessions, which he had conscientiously96 treasured, it might have remained for ever hidden amongst them, but for the more active researches of Sir Halbert Glendinning.
“So that you are like to be heir of Avenel at last, Master Roland, after my lord and lady have gone to their place,” said Adam; “and as I have but one boon97 to ask, I trust you will not nick me with nay.”
“Not if it be in my power to say yes, my trusty friend.”
“Why then, I must needs, if I live to see that day, keep on feeding the eyases with unwashed flesh,” said Woodcock sturdily, as if doubting the reception that his request might meet with.
“Thou shalt feed them with what you list for me,” said Roland, laughing; “I am not many months older than when I left the Castle, but I trust I have gathered wit enough to cross no man of skill in his own vocation98.”
“Then I would not change places with the King’s falconer,” said Adam Woodcock, “nor with the Queen’s neither — but they say she will be mewed up and never need one.— I see it grieves you to think of it, and I could grieve for company; but what help for it?— Fortune will fly her own flight, let a man hollo himself hoarse99.”
The Abbot and Roland journeyed to Avenel, where the former was tenderly received by his brother, while the lady wept for joy to find that in her favourite orphan100 she had protected the sole surviving branch of her own family. Sir Halbert Glendinning and his household were not a little surprised at the change which a brief acquaintance with the world had produced in their former inmate101, and rejoiced to find, in the pettish41, spoiled, and presuming page, a modest and unassuming young man, too much acquainted with his own expectations and character, to be hot or petulant102 in demanding the consideration which was readily and voluntarily yielded to him. The old Major Domo Wingate was the first to sing his praises, to which Mistress Lilias bore a loud echo, always hoping that God would teach him the true gospel.
To the true gospel the heart of Roland had secretly long inclined, and the departure of the good Abbot for France, with the purpose of entering into some house of his order in that kingdom, removed his chief objection to renouncing103 the Catholic faith. Another might have existed in the duty which he owed to Magdalen Graeme, both by birth and from gratitude104. But he learned, ere he had been long a resident in Avenel, that his grandmother had died at Cologne, in the performance of a penance105 too severe for her age, which she had taken upon herself in behalf of the Queen and Church of Scotland, as soon as she heard of the defeat at Langside. The zeal106 of the Abbot Ambrosius was more regulated; but he retired107 into the Scottish convent of ———, and so lived there, that the fraternity were inclined to claim for him the honours of canonization. But he guessed their purpose, and prayed them, on his death-bed, to do no honours to the body of one as sinful as themselves; but to send his body and his heart to be buried in Avenel burial-aisle, in the monastery108 of Saint Mary’s, that the last Abbot of that celebrated109 house of devotion might sleep among its ruins.45
Long before that period arrived, Roland Avenel was wedded110 to Catherine Seyton, who, after two years’ residence with her unhappy mistress, was dismissed upon her being subjected to closer restraint than had been at first exercised. She returned to her father’s house, and as Roland was acknowledged for the successor and lawful heir of the ancient house of Avenel, greatly increased as the estate was by the providence111 of Sir Halbert Gleninning, there occurred no objections to the match on the part of her family. Her mother was recently dead when she first entered the convent; and her father, in the unsettled times which followed Queen Mary’s flight to England, was not averse10 to an alliance with a youth, who, himself loyal to Queen Mary, still held some influence, through means of Sir Halbert Glendinning, with the party in power.
Roland and Catherine, therefore, were united, spite of their differing faiths; and the White Lady, whose apparition112 had been infrequent when the house of Avenel seemed verging113 to extinction114, was seen to sport by her haunted well, with a zone of gold around her bosom115 as broad as the baldrick of an Earl.
The End
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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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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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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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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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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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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approbation
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warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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pillaged
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| v.抢劫，掠夺( pillage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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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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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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pettish
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| adj.易怒的，使性子的 | |
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pettishly
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bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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47
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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48
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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49
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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50
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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51
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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52
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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53
proffers
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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55
abridgment
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| n.删节，节本 | |
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56
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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57
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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58
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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59
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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60
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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61
sprightliness
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| n.愉快，快活 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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63
mettle
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| n.勇气，精神 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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65
emergence
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| n.浮现，显现，出现，（植物）突出体 | |
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66
ebbs
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| 退潮( ebb的名词复数 )； 落潮； 衰退 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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turmoils
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| n.混乱( turmoil的名词复数 )；焦虑 | |
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75
dominions
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| 统治权( dominion的名词复数 )； 领土； 疆土； 版图 | |
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hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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81
clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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82
wardship
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| 监护，保护 | |
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83
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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84
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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85
attestation
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| n.证词 | |
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86
subscribing
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| v.捐助( subscribe的现在分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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88
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent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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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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avow
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| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
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95
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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96
conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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97
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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98
vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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99
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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100
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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101
inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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102
petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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103
renouncing
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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104
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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105
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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106
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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107
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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108
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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109
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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110
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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112
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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113
verging
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| 接近，逼近（verge的现在分词形式） | |
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114
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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115
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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