When John Willet saw that the horsemen wheeled smartly round, and drew up three abreast1 in the narrow road, waiting for him and his man to join them, it occurred to him with unusual precipitation that they must be highwaymen; and had Hugh been armed with a blunderbuss, in place of his stout3 cudgel, he would certainly have ordered him to fire it off at a venture, and would, while the word of command was obeyed, have consulted his own personal safety in immediate4 flight. Under the circumstances of disadvantage, however, in which he and his guard were placed, he deemed it prudent5 to adopt a different style of generalship, and therefore whispered his attendant to address them in the most peaceable and courteous6 terms. By way of acting7 up to the spirit and letter of this instruction, Hugh stepped forward, and flourishing his staff before the very eyes of the rider nearest to him, demanded roughly what he and his fellows meant by so nearly galloping8 over them, and why they scoured9 the king’s highway at that late hour of night.
The man whom be addressed was beginning an angry reply in the same strain, when be was checked by the horseman in the centre, who, interposing with an air of authority, inquired in a somewhat loud but not harsh or unpleasant voice:
‘Pray, is this the London road?’
‘If you follow it right, it is,’ replied Hugh roughly.
‘Nay, brother,’ said the same person, ‘you’re but a churlish Englishman, if Englishman you be — which I should much doubt but for your tongue. Your companion, I am sure, will answer me more civilly. How say you, friend?’
‘I say it IS the London road, sir,’ answered John. ‘And I wish,’ he added in a subdued10 voice, as he turned to Hugh, ‘that you was in any other road, you vagabond. Are you tired of your life, sir, that you go a-trying to provoke three great neck-or-nothing chaps, that could keep on running over us, back’ards and for’ards, till we was dead, and then take our bodies up behind ’em, and drown us ten miles off?’
‘How far is it to London?’ inquired the same speaker.
‘Why, from here, sir,’ answered John, persuasively11, ‘it’s thirteen very easy mile.’
The adjective was thrown in, as an inducement to the travellers to ride away with all speed; but instead of having the desired effect, it elicited12 from the same person, the remark, ‘Thirteen miles! That’s a long distance!’ which was followed by a short pause of indecision.
‘Pray,’ said the gentleman, ‘are there any inns hereabouts?’ At the word ‘inns,’ John plucked up his spirit in a surprising manner; his fears rolled off like smoke; all the landlord stirred within him.
‘There are no inns,’ rejoined Mr Willet, with a strong emphasis on the plural13 number; ‘but there’s a Inn — one Inn — the Maypole Inn. That’s a Inn indeed. You won’t see the like of that Inn often.’
‘You keep it, perhaps?’ said the horseman, smiling.
‘I do, sir,’ replied John, greatly wondering how he had found this out.
‘And how far is the Maypole from here?’
‘About a mile’— John was going to add that it was the easiest mile in all the world, when the third rider, who had hitherto kept a little in the rear, suddenly interposed:
‘And have you one excellent bed, landlord? Hem2! A bed that you can recommend — a bed that you are sure is well aired — a bed that has been slept in by some perfectly14 respectable and unexceptionable person?’
‘We don’t take in no tagrag and bobtail at our house, sir,’ answered John. ‘And as to the bed itself —’
‘Say, as to three beds,’ interposed the gentleman who had spoken before; ‘for we shall want three if we stay, though my friend only speaks of one.’
‘No, no, my lord; you are too good, you are too kind; but your life is of far too much importance to the nation in these portentous16 times, to be placed upon a level with one so useless and so poor as mine. A great cause, my lord, a mighty17 cause, depends on you. You are its leader and its champion, its advanced guard and its van. It is the cause of our altars and our homes, our country and our faith. Let ME sleep on a chair — the carpet — anywhere. No one will repine if I take cold or fever. Let John Grueby pass the night beneath the open sky — no one will repine for HIM. But forty thousand men of this our island in the wave (exclusive of women and children) rivet18 their eyes and thoughts on Lord George Gordon; and every day, from the rising up of the sun to the going down of the same, pray for his health and vigour19. My lord,’ said the speaker, rising in his stirrups, ‘it is a glorious cause, and must not be forgotten. My lord, it is a mighty cause, and must not be endangered. My lord, it is a holy cause, and must not be deserted20.’
‘It IS a holy cause,’ exclaimed his lordship, lifting up his hat with great solemnity. ‘Amen.’
‘John Grueby,’ said the long-winded gentleman, in a tone of mild reproof21, ‘his lordship said Amen.’
‘I heard my lord, sir,’ said the man, sitting like a statue on his horse.
‘And do not YOU say Amen, likewise?’
To which John Grueby made no reply at all, but sat looking straight before him.
‘You surprise me, Grueby,’ said the gentleman. ‘At a crisis like the present, when Queen Elizabeth, that maiden22 monarch23, weeps within her tomb, and Bloody24 Mary, with a brow of gloom and shadow, stalks triumphant25 —’
‘Oh, sir,’ cied the man, gruffly, ‘where’s the use of talking of Bloody Mary, under such circumstances as the present, when my lord’s wet through, and tired with hard riding? Let’s either go on to London, sir, or put up at once; or that unfort’nate Bloody Mary will have more to answer for — and she’s done a deal more harm in her grave than she ever did in her lifetime, I believe.’
By this time Mr Willet, who had never beard so many words spoken together at one time, or delivered with such volubility and emphasis as by the long-winded gentleman; and whose brain, being wholly unable to sustain or compass them, had quite given itself up for lost; recovered so far as to observe that there was ample accommodation at the Maypole for all the party: good beds; neat wines; excellent entertainment for man and beast; private rooms for large and small parties; dinners dressed upon the shortest notice; choice stabling, and a lock-up coach-house; and, in short, to run over such recommendatory scraps26 of language as were painted up on various portions of the building, and which in the course of some forty years he had learnt to repeat with tolerable correctness. He was considering whether it was at all possible to insert any novel sentences to the same purpose, when the gentleman who had spoken first, turning to him of the long wind, exclaimed, ‘What say you, Gashford? Shall we tarry at this house he speaks of, or press forward? You shall decide.’
‘I would submit, my lord, then,’ returned the person he appealed to, in a silky tone, ‘that your health and spirits — so important, under Providence27, to our great cause, our pure and truthful28 cause’— here his lordship pulled off his hat again, though it was raining hard —‘require refreshment29 and repose30.’
‘Go on before, landlord, and show the way,’ said Lord George Gordon; ‘we will follow at a footpace.’
‘If you’ll give me leave, my lord,’ said John Grueby, in a low voice, ‘I’ll change my proper place, and ride before you. The looks of the landlord’s friend are not over honest, and it may be as well to be cautious with him.’
‘John Grueby is quite right,’ interposed Mr Gashford, falling back hastily. ‘My lord, a life so precious as yours must not be put in peril31. Go forward, John, by all means. If you have any reason to suspect the fellow, blow his brains out.’
John made no answer, but looking straight before him, as his custom seemed to be when the secretary spoke15, bade Hugh push on, and followed close behind him. Then came his lordship, with Mr Willet at his bridle32 rein33; and, last of all, his lordship’s secretary — for that, it seemed, was Gashford’s office.
Hugh strode briskly on, often looking back at the servant, whose horse was close upon his heels, and glancing with a leer at his bolster34 case of pistols, by which he seemed to set great store. He was a square-built, strong-made, bull-necked fellow, of the true English breed; and as Hugh measured him with his eye, he measured Hugh, regarding him meanwhile with a look of bluff35 disdain36. He was much older than the Maypole man, being to all appearance five-and-forty; but was one of those self-possessed37, hard-headed, imperturbable38 fellows, who, if they are ever beaten at fisticuffs, or other kind of warfare39, never know it, and go on coolly till they win.
‘If I led you wrong now,’ said Hugh, tauntingly40, ‘you’d — ha ha ha!— you’d shoot me through the head, I suppose.’
John Grueby took no more notice of this remark than if he had been deaf and Hugh dumb; but kept riding on quite comfortably, with his eyes fixed41 on the horizon.
‘Did you ever try a fall with a man when you were young, master?’ said Hugh. ‘Can you make any play at single-stick?’
John Grueby looked at him sideways with the same contented42 air, but deigned43 not a word in answer.
‘— Like this?’ said Hugh, giving his cudgel one of those skilful44 flourishes, in which the rustic45 of that time delighted. ‘Whoop!’
‘— Or that,’ returned John Grueby, beating down his guard with his whip, and striking him on the head with its butt46 end. ‘Yes, I played a little once. You wear your hair too long; I should have cracked your crown if it had been a little shorter.’
It was a pretty smart, loud-sounding rap, as it was, and evidently astonished Hugh; who, for the moment, seemed disposed to drag his new acquaintance from his saddle. But his face betokening48 neither malice49, triumph, rage, nor any lingering idea that he had given him offence; his eyes gazing steadily50 in the old direction, and his manner being as careless and composed as if he had merely brushed away a fly; Hugh was so puzzled, and so disposed to look upon him as a customer of almost supernatural toughness, that he merely laughed, and cried ‘Well done!’ then, sheering off a little, led the way in silence.
Before the lapse51 of many minutes the party halted at the Maypole door. Lord George and his secretary quickly dismounting, gave their horses to their servant, who, under the guidance of Hugh, repaired to the stables. Right glad to escape from the inclemency52 of the night, they followed Mr Willet into the common room, and stood warming themselves and drying their clothes before the cheerful fire, while he busied himself with such orders and preparations as his guest’s high quality required.
As he bustled53 in and out of the room, intent on these arrangements, he had an opportunity of observing the two travellers, of whom, as yet, he knew nothing but the voice. The lord, the great personage who did the Maypole so much honour, was about the middle height, of a slender make, and sallow complexion54, with an aquiline55 nose, and long hair of a reddish brown, combed perfectly straight and smooth about his ears, and slightly powdered, but without the faintest vestige56 of a curl. He was attired57, under his greatcoat, in a full suit of black, quite free from any ornament58, and of the most precise and sober cut. The gravity of his dress, together with a certain lankness59 of cheek and stiffness of deportment, added nearly ten years to his age, but his figure was that of one not yet past thirty. As he stood musing60 in the red glow of the fire, it was striking to observe his very bright large eye, which betrayed a restlessness of thought and purpose, singularly at variance61 with the studied composure and sobriety of his mien62, and with his quaint47 and sad apparel. It had nothing harsh or cruel in its expression; neither had his face, which was thin and mild, and wore an air of melancholy63; but it was suggestive of an indefinable uneasiness; which infected those who looked upon him, and filled them with a kind of pity for the man: though why it did so, they would have had some trouble to explain.
Gashford, the secretary, was taller, angularly made, high-shouldered, bony, and ungraceful. His dress, in imitation of his superior, was demure64 and staid in the extreme; his manner, formal and constrained65. This gentleman had an overhanging brow, great hands and feet and ears, and a pair of eyes that seemed to have made an unnatural66 retreat into his head, and to have dug themselves a cave to hide in. His manner was smooth and humble67, but very sly and slinking. He wore the aspect of a man who was always lying in wait for something that WOULDN’T come to pass; but he looked patient — very patient — and fawned68 like a spaniel dog. Even now, while he warmed and rubbed his hands before the blaze, he had the air of one who only presumed to enjoy it in his degree as a commoner; and though he knew his lord was not regarding him, he looked into his face from time to time, and with a meek69 and deferential70 manner, smiled as if for practice.
Such were the guests whom old John Willet, with a fixed and leaden eye, surveyed a hundred times, and to whom he now advanced with a state candlestick in each hand, beseeching71 them to follow him into a worthier72 chamber73. ‘For my lord,’ said John — it is odd enough, but certain people seem to have as great a pleasure in pronouncing titles as their owners have in wearing them —‘this room, my lord, isn’t at all the sort of place for your lordship, and I have to beg your lordship’s pardon for keeping you here, my lord, one minute.’
With this address, John ushered74 them upstairs into the state apartment, which, like many other things of state, was cold and comfortless. Their own footsteps, reverberating75 through the spacious76 room, struck upon their hearing with a hollow sound; and its damp and chilly77 atmosphere was rendered doubly cheerless by contrast with the homely78 warmth they had deserted.
It was of no use, however, to propose a return to the place they had quitted, for the preparations went on so briskly that there was no time to stop them. John, with the tall candlesticks in his hands, bowed them up to the fireplace; Hugh, striding in with a lighted brand and pile of firewood, cast it down upon the hearth79, and set it in a blaze; John Grueby (who had a great blue cockade in his hat, which he appeared to despise mightily) brought in the portmanteau he had carried on his horse, and placed it on the floor; and presently all three were busily engaged in drawing out the screen, laying the cloth, inspecting the beds, lighting80 fires in the bedrooms, expediting the supper, and making everything as cosy81 and as snug82 as might be, on so short a notice. In less than an hour’s time, supper had been served, and ate, and cleared away; and Lord George and his secretary, with slippered83 feet, and legs stretched out before the fire, sat over some hot mulled wine together.
‘So ends, my lord,’ said Gashford, filling his glass with great complacency, ‘the blessed work of a most blessed day.’
‘And of a blessed yesterday,’ said his lordship, raising his head.
‘Ah!’— and here the secretary clasped his hands —‘a blessed yesterday indeed! The Protestants of Suffolk are godly men and true. Though others of our countrymen have lost their way in darkness, even as we, my lord, did lose our road to-night, theirs is the light and glory.’
‘Did I move them, Gashford?’ said Lord George.
‘Move them, my lord! Move them! They cried to be led on against the Papists, they vowed84 a dreadful vengeance85 on their heads, they roared like men possessed —’
‘But not by devils,’ said his lord.
‘By devils! my lord! By angels.’
‘Yes — oh surely — by angels, no doubt,’ said Lord George, thrusting his hands into his pockets, taking them out again to bite his nails, and looking uncomfortably at the fire. ‘Of course by angels — eh Gashford?’
‘You do not doubt it, my lord?’ said the secretary.
‘No — No,’ returned his lord. ‘No. Why should I? I suppose it would be decidedly irreligious to doubt it — wouldn’t it, Gashford? Though there certainly were,’ he added, without waiting for an answer, ‘some plaguy ill-looking characters among them.’
‘When you warmed,’ said the secretary, looking sharply at the other’s downcast eyes, which brightened slowly as he spoke; ‘when you warmed into that noble outbreak; when you told them that you were never of the lukewarm or the timid tribe, and bade them take heed86 that they were prepared to follow one who would lead them on, though to the very death; when you spoke of a hundred and twenty thousand men across the Scottish border who would take their own redress87 at any time, if it were not conceded; when you cried “Perish the Pope and all his base adherents88; the penal89 laws against them shall never be repealed90 while Englishmen have hearts and hands”— and waved your own and touched your sword; and when they cried “No Popery!” and you cried “No; not even if we wade91 in blood,” and they threw up their hats and cried “Hurrah! not even if we wade in blood; No Popery! Lord George! Down with the Papists — Vengeance on their heads:” when this was said and done, and a word from you, my lord, could raise or still the tumult92 — ah! then I felt what greatness was indeed, and thought, When was there ever power like this of Lord George Gordon’s!’
‘It’s a great power. You’re right. It is a great power!’ he cried with sparkling eyes. ‘But — dear Gashford — did I really say all that?’
‘And how much more!’ cried the secretary, looking upwards93. ‘Ah! how much more!’
‘And I told them what you say, about the one hundred and forty thousand men in Scotland, did I!’ he asked with evident delight. ‘That was bold.’
‘Our cause is boldness. Truth is always bold.’
‘Certainly. So is religion. She’s bold, Gashford?’
‘The true religion is, my lord.’
‘And that’s ours,’ he rejoined, moving uneasily in his seat, and biting his nails as though he would pare them to the quick. ‘There can be no doubt of ours being the true one. You feel as certain of that as I do, Gashford, don’t you?’
‘Does my lord ask ME,’ whined94 Gashford, drawing his chair nearer with an injured air, and laying his broad flat hand upon the table; ‘ME,’ he repeated, bending the dark hollows of his eyes upon him with an unwholesome smile, ‘who, stricken by the magic of his eloquence95 in Scotland but a year ago, abjured96 the errors of the Romish church, and clung to him as one whose timely hand had plucked me from a pit?’
‘True. No — No. I— I didn’t mean it,’ replied the other, shaking him by the hand, rising from his seat, and pacing restlessly about the room. ‘It’s a proud thing to lead the people, Gashford,’ he added as he made a sudden halt.
‘By force of reason too,’ returned the pliant97 secretary.
‘Ay, to be sure. They may cough and jeer98, and groan99 in Parliament, and call me fool and madman, but which of them can raise this human sea and make it swell100 and roar at pleasure? Not one.’
‘Not one,’ repeated Gashford.
‘Which of them can say for his honesty, what I can say for mine; which of them has refused a minister’s bribe101 of one thousand pounds a year, to resign his seat in favour of another? Not one.’
‘Not one,’ repeated Gashford again — taking the lion’s share of the mulled wine between whiles.
‘And as we are honest, true, and in a sacred cause, Gashford,’ said Lord George with a heightened colour and in a louder voice, as he laid his fevered hand upon his shoulder, ‘and are the only men who regard the mass of people out of doors, or are regarded by them, we will uphold them to the last; and will raise a cry against these un-English Papists which shall re-echo through the country, and roll with a noise like thunder. I will be worthy102 of the motto on my coat of arms, “Called and chosen and faithful.”
‘Called,’ said the secretary, ‘by Heaven.’
‘I am.’
‘Chosen by the people.’
‘Yes.’
‘Faithful to both.’
‘To the block!’
It would be difficult to convey an adequate idea of the excited manner in which he gave these answers to the secretary’s promptings; of the rapidity of his utterance103, or the violence of his tone and gesture; in which, struggling through his Puritan’s demeanour, was something wild and ungovernable which broke through all restraint. For some minutes he walked rapidly up and down the room, then stopping suddenly, exclaimed,
‘Gashford — YOU moved them yesterday too. Oh yes! You did.’
‘I shone with a reflected light, my lord,’ replied the humble secretary, laying his hand upon his heart. ‘I did my best.’
‘You did well,’ said his master, ‘and are a great and worthy instrument. If you will ring for John Grueby to carry the portmanteau into my room, and will wait here while I undress, we will dispose of business as usual, if you’re not too tired.’
‘Too tired, my lord!— But this is his consideration! Christian104 from head to foot.’ With which soliloquy, the secretary tilted105 the jug106, and looked very hard into the mulled wine, to see how much remained.
John Willet and John Grueby appeared together. The one bearing the great candlesticks, and the other the portmanteau, showed the deluded107 lord into his chamber; and left the secretary alone, to yawn and shake himself, and finally to fall asleep before the fire.
‘Now, Mr Gashford sir,’ said John Grueby in his ear, after what appeared to him a moment of unconsciousness; ‘my lord’s abed.’
‘Oh. Very good, John,’ was his mild reply. ‘Thank you, John. Nobody need sit up. I know my room.’
‘I hope you’re not a-going to trouble your head to-night, or my lord’s head neither, with anything more about Bloody Mary,’ said John. ‘I wish the blessed old creetur had never been born.’
‘I said you might go to bed, John,’ returned the secretary. ‘You didn’t hear me, I think.’
‘Between Bloody Marys, and blue cockades, and glorious Queen Besses, and no Poperys, and Protestant associations, and making of speeches,’ pursued John Grueby, looking, as usual, a long way off, and taking no notice of this hint, ‘my lord’s half off his head. When we go out o’ doors, such a set of ragamuffins comes a-shouting after us, “Gordon forever!” that I’m ashamed of myself and don’t know where to look. When we’re indoors, they come a-roaring and screaming about the house like so many devils; and my lord instead of ordering them to be drove away, goes out into the balcony and demeans himself by making speeches to ’em, and calls ’em “Men of England,” and “Fellow-countrymen,” as if he was fond of ’em and thanked ’em for coming. I can’t make it out, but they’re all mixed up somehow or another with that unfort’nate Bloody Mary, and call her name out till they’re hoarse108. They’re all Protestants too — every man and boy among ’em: and Protestants are very fond of spoons, I find, and silver-plate in general, whenever area-gates is left open accidentally. I wish that was the worst of it, and that no more harm might be to come; but if you don’t stop these ugly customers in time, Mr Gashford (and I know you; you’re the man that blows the fire), you’ll find ’em grow a little bit too strong for you. One of these evenings, when the weather gets warmer and Protestants are thirsty, they’ll be pulling London down,— and I never heard that Bloody Mary went as far as THAT.’
Gashford had vanished long ago, and these remarks had been bestowed109 on empty air. Not at all discomposed by the discovery, John Grueby fixed his hat on, wrongside foremost that he might be unconscious of the shadow of the obnoxious110 cockade, and withdrew to bed; shaking his head in a very gloomy and prophetic manner until he reached his chamber.
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plural
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| n.复数；复数形式；adj.复数的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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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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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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rivet
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| n.铆钉；vt.铆接，铆牢；集中(目光或注意力) | |
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vigour
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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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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monarch
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bloody
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triumphant
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scraps
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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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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bolster
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| n.枕垫；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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36
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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37
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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38
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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39
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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tauntingly
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| 嘲笑地，辱骂地； 嘲骂地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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42
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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43
deigned
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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47
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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48
betokening
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的现在分词 ) | |
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49
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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50
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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51
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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52
inclemency
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| n.险恶，严酷 | |
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53
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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54
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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lankness
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| n.空白，单调，空虚 | |
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60
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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62
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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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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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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fawned
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| v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的过去式和过去分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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worthier
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| 应得某事物( worthy的比较级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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73
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reverberating
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的现在分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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76
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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78
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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80
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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81
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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82
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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83
slippered
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| 穿拖鞋的 | |
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84
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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85
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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86
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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87
redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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88
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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89
penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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90
repealed
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| 撤销，废除( repeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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92
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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93
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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94
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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95
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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96
abjured
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| v.发誓放弃( abjure的过去式和过去分词 )；郑重放弃（意见）；宣布撤回（声明等）；避免 | |
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97
pliant
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| adj.顺从的；可弯曲的 | |
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98
jeer
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| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
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99
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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100
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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101
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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102
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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103
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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104
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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105
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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106
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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107
deluded
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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109
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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