Ay, and when huntsmen wind the merry horn,
And from its covert1 starts the fearful prey2,
Who, warm’d with youth’s blood in his swelling3 veins4,
Would, like a lifeless clod, outstretched lie,
Shut out from all the fair creation offers?
Ethwald, Act I. Scene 1.
LIGHT meals procure5 light slumbers6; and therefore it is not surprising that, considering the fare which Caleb’s conscience, or his necessity, assuming, as will sometimes happen, that disguise, had assigned to the guests of Wolf’s Crag, their slumbers should have been short.
In the morning Bucklaw rushed into his host’s apartment with a loud halloo, which might have awaked the dead.
“Up! up! in the name of Heaven! The hunters are out, the only piece of sport I have seen this month; and you lie here, Master, on a bed that has little to recommend it, except that it may be something softer than the stone floor of your ancestor’s vault7.”
“I wish,” said Ravenswood, raising his head peevishly8, “you had forborne so early a jest, Mr. Hayston; it is really no pleasure to lose the very short repose9 which I had just begun to enjoy, after a night spent in thoughts upon fortune far harder than my couch, Bucklaw.”
“Pschaw, pshaw!” replied his guest; “get up — get up; the hounds are abroad. I have saddled the horses myself, for old Caleb was calling for grooms10 and lackeys11, and would never have proceeded without two hours’ apology for the absence of men that were a hundred miles off. Get up, Master; I say the hounds are out — get up, I say; the hunt is up.” And off ran Bucklaw.
“And I say,” said the Master, rising slowly, “that nothing can concern me less. Whose hounds come so near to us?”
“The Honourable12 Lord Brittlebrains’s,” answered Caleb, who had followed the impatient Laird of Bucklaw into his master’s bedroom, “and truly I ken13 nae title they have to be yowling and howling within the freedoms and immunities14 of your lordship’s right of free forestry15.”
“Nor I, Caleb,” replied Ravenswood, “excepting that they have bought both the lands and the right of forestry, and may think themselves entitled to exercise the rights they have paid their money for.”
“It may be sae, my lord,” replied Caleb; “but it’s no gentleman’s deed of them to come here and exercise such-like right, and your lordship living at your ain castle of Wolf’s Crag. Lord Brittlebrains would weel to remember what his folk have been.”
“And what we now are,” said the Master, with suppressed bitterness of feeling. “But reach me my cloak, Caleb, and I will indulge Bucklaw with a sight of this chase. It is selfish to sacrifice my guest’s pleasure to my own.”
“Sacrifice!” echoed Caleb, in a tone which seemed to imply the total absurdity16 of his master making the least concession17 in deference18 to any one —“sacrifice, indeed!— but I crave19 your honour’s pardon, and whilk doublet is it your pleasure to wear?”
“Any one you will, Caleb; my wardrobe, I suppose, is not very extensive.”
“Not extensive!” echoed his assistant; “when there is the grey and silver that your lordship bestowed20 on Hew21 Hildebrand, your outrider; and the French velvet22 that went with my lord your father — be gracious to him!— my lord your father’s auld23 wardrobe to the puir friends of the family; and the drap-deBerry ——”
“Which I gave to you, Caleb, and which, I suppose, is the only dress we have any chance to come at, except that I wore yesterday; pray, hand me that, and say no more about it.”
“If your honour has a fancy,” replied Caleb, “and doubtless it’s a sad-coloured suit, and you are in mourning; nevertheless, I have never tried on the drap-deBerry — ill wad it become me — and your honour having no change of claiths at this present — and it’s weel brushed, and as there are leddies down yonder ——”
“Ladies!” said Ravenswood; “and what ladies, pray?”
“What do I ken, your lordship? Looking down at them from the Warden’s Tower, I could but see them glent by wi’ their bridles24 ringing and their feathers fluttering, like the court of Elfland.”
“Well, well, Caleb,” replied the Master, “help me on with my cloak, and hand me my sword-belt. What clatter26 is that in the courtyard?”
“Just Bucklaw bringing out the horses,” said Caleb, after a glance through the window, “as if there werena men eneugh in the castle, or as if I couldna serve the turn of ony o’ them that are out o’ the gate.”
“Alas! Caleb, we should want little if your ability were equal to your will,” replied the Master.
“And I hope your lordship disna want that muckle,” said Caleb; “for, considering a’ things, I trust we support the credit of the family as weel as things will permit of,— only Bucklaw is aye sae frank and sae forward. And there he has brought out your lordship’s palfrey, without the saddle being decored wi’ the broidered sumpter-cloth! and I could have brushed it in a minute.”
“It is all very well,” said his master, escaping from him and descending27 the narrow and steep winding28 staircase which led to the courtyard.
“It MAY be a’ very weel,” said Caleb, somewhat peevishly; “but if your lordship wad tarry a bit, I will tell you what will NOT be very weel.”
“And what is that?” said Ravenswood, impatiently, but stopping at the same time.
“Why, just that ye suld speer ony gentleman hame to dinner; for I canna mak anither fast on a feast day, as when I cam ower Bucklaw wi’ Queen Margaret; and, to speak truth, if your lordship wad but please to cast yoursell in the way of dining wi’ Lord Bittlebrains, I’se warrand I wad cast about brawly for the morn; or if, stead o’ that, ye wad but dine wi’ them at the change-house, ye might mak your shift for the awing29: ye might say ye had forgot your purse, or that the carline awed30 ye rent, and that ye wad allow it in the settlement.”
“Or any other lie that cam uppermost, I suppose?” said his master. “Good-bye, Caleb; I commend your care for the honour of the family.” And, throwing himself on his horse, he followed Bucklaw, who, at the manifest risk of his neck, had begun to gallop31 down the steep path which led from the Tower as soon as he saw Ravenswood have his foot in the stirrup.
Caleb Balderstone looked anxiously after them, and shook his thin grey locks: “And I trust they will come to no evil; but they have reached the plain, and folk cannot say but that the horse are hearty32 and in spirits.” Animated33 by the natural impetuosity and fire of his temper, young Bucklaw rushed on with the careless speed of a whirlwind. Ravenswood was scarce more moderate in his pace, for his was a mind unwillingly34 roused from contemplative inactivity, but which, when once put into motion, acquired a spirit of forcible and violent progression. Neither was his eagerness proportioned in all cases to the motive35 of impulse, but might be compared to the sped of a stone, which rushes with like fury down the hill whether it was first put in motion by the arm of a giant or the hand of a boy. He felt, therefore, in no ordinary degree, the headlong impulse of the chase, a pastime so natural to youth of all ranks, that it seems rather to be an inherent passion in our animal nature, which levels all differences of rank and education, than an acquired habit of rapid exercise.
The repeated bursts of the French horn, which was then always used for the encouragement and direction of the hounds; the deep, though distant baying of the pack; the half-heard cries of the huntsmen; the half-seen forms which were discovered, now emerging from glens which crossed the moor36, now sweeping37 over its surface, now picking their way where it was impeded38 by morasses39; and, above all, the feeling of his own rapid motion, animated the Master of Ravenswood, at last for the moment, above the recollections of a more painful nature by which he was surrounded. The first thing which recalled him to those unpleasing circumstances was feeling that his horse, notwithstanding all the advantages which he received from his rider’s knowledge of the country, was unable to keep up with the chase. As he drew his bridle25 up with the bitter feeling that his poverty excluded him from the favourite recreation of his forefathers40, and indeed their sole employment when not engaged in military pursuits, he was accosted42 by a well-mounted stranger, who, unobserved, had kept near him during the earlier part of his career.
“Your horse is blown,” said the man, with a complaisance43 seldom used in a hunting-field. “Might I crave your honour to make use of mine?”
“Sir,” said Ravenswood, more surprised than pleased at such a proposal. “I really do not know how I have merited such a favour at a stranger’s hands.”
“Never ask a question about it, Master,” said Bucklaw, who, with great unwillingness44, had hitherto reined46 in his own gallant47 steed, not to outride his host and entertainer. “Take the goods the gods provide you, as the great John Dryden says; or stay — here, my friend, lend me that horse; I see you have been puzzled to rein45 him up this half-hour. I’ll take the devil out of him for you. Now, Master, do you ride mine, which will carry you like an eagle.”
And throwing the rein of his own horse to the Master of Ravenswood, he sprung upon that which the stranger resigned to him, and continued his career at full speed. “Was ever so thoughtless a being!” said the Master; “and you, my friend, how could you trust him with your horse?”
“The horse,” said the man, “belongs to a person who will make your honour, or any of your honourable friends, most welcome to him, flesh and fell.”
“And the owner’s name is ——?” asked Ravenswood.
“Your honour must excuse me, you will learn that from himself. If you please to take your friend’s horse, and leave me your galloway, I will meet you after the fall of the stag, for I hear they are blowing him at bay.”
“I believe, my friend, it will be the best way to recover your good horse for you,” answered Ravenswood; and mounting the nag48 of his friend Bucklaw, he made all the haste in his power to the spot where the blast of the horn announced that the stag’s career was nearly terminated.
These jovial49 sounds were intermixed with the huntsmen’s shouts of “Hyke a Talbot! Hyke a Teviot! now, boys, now!” and similar cheering halloos of the olden hunting-field, to which the impatient yelling of the hounds, now close of the object of their pursuit, gave a lively and unremitting chorus. The straggling riders began now to rally towards the scene of action, collecting from different points as to a common centre.
Bucklaw kept the start which he had gotten, and arrived first at the spot, where the stag, incapable50 of sustaining a more prolonged flight, had turned upon the hounds, and, in the hunter’s phrase, was at bay. With his stately head bent51 down, his sides white with foam52, his eyes strained betwixt rage and terror, the hunted animal had now in his turn become an object of intimidation53 to his pursuers. The hunters came up one by one, and watched an opportunity to assail54 him with some advantage, which, in such circumstances, can only be done with caution. The dogs stood aloof55 and bayed loudly, intimating at once eagerness and fear, and each of the sportsmen seemed to expect that his comrade would take upon him the perilous56 task of assaulting and disabling the animal. The ground, which was a hollow in the common or moor, afforded little advantage for approaching the stag unobserved; and general was the shout of triumph when Bucklaw, with the dexterity57 proper to an accomplished58 cavalier of the day, sprang from his horse, and dashing suddenly and swiftly at the stag, brought him to the ground by a cut on the hind59 leg with his short hunting-sword. The pack, rushing in upon their disabled enemy, soon ended his painful struggles, and solemnised his fall with their clamour; the hunters, with their horns and voices, whooping60 and blowing a mort, or death-note, which resounded61 far over the billows of the adjacent ocean.
The huntsman then withdrew the hounds from the throttled62 stag, and on his knee presented his knife to a fair female form, on a white palfrey, whose terror, or perhaps her compassion63, had till then kept her at some distance. She wore a black silk riding-mask, which was then a common fashion, as well for preserving the complexion64 from the sun and rain, as from an idea of decorum, which did not permit a lady to appear barefaced65 while engaged in a boisterous66 sport, and attended by a promiscuous67 company. The richness of her dress, however, as well as the mettle68 and form of her palfrey, together with the silvan compliment paid to her by the huntsman, pointed69 her out to Bucklaw as the principal person in the field. It was not without a feeling of pity, approaching even to contempt, that this enthusiastic hunter observed her refuse the huntsman’s knife, presented to her for the purpose of making the first incision70 in the stag’s breast, and thereby71 discovering the venison. He felt more than half inclined to pay his compliments to her; but it had been Bucklaw’s misfortune, that his habits of life had not rendered him familiarly acquainted with the higher and better classes of female society, so that, with all his natural audacity72, he felt sheepish and bashful when it became necessary to address a lady of distinction.
Taking unto himself heart of grace (to use his own phrase), he did at length summon up resolution enough to give the fair huntress good time of the day, and trust that her sport had answered her expectation. Her answer was very courteously73 and modestly expressed, and testified some gratitude74 to the gallant cavalier, whose exploit had terminated the chase so adroitly75, when the hounds and huntsmen seemed somewhat at a stand.
“Uds daggers76 and scabbard, madam,” said Bucklaw, whom this observation brought at once upon his own ground, “there is no difficulty or merit in that matter at all, so that a fellow is not too much afraid of having a pair of antlers in his guts78. I have hunted at force five hundred times, madam; and I never yet saw the stag at bay, by land or water, but I durst have gone roundly in on him. It is all use and wont79, madam; and I’ll tell you, madam, for all that, it must be done with good heed80 and caution; and you will do well, madam, to have your hunting-sword right sharp and double-edged, that you may strike either fore-handed or back-handed, as you see reason, for a hurt with a buck’s horn is a perilous ad somewhat venomous matter.”
“I am afraid, sir,” said the young lady, and her smile was scarce concealed81 by her vizard, “I shall have little use for such careful preparation.”
“But the gentleman says very right for all that, my lady,” said an old huntsman, who had listened to Bucklaw’s harangue82 with no small edification; “and I have heard my father say, who was a forester at the Cabrach, that a wild boar’s gaunch is more easily healed than a hurt from the deer’s horn, for so says the old woodman’s rhyme —
If thou be hurt with horn of hart, it brings thee to they bier;
But tusk83 of boar shall leeches84 heal, thereof have lesser85 fear.”
“An I might advise,” continued Bucklaw, who was now in his element, and desirous of assuming the whole management, “as the hounds are surbated and weary, the head of the stag should be cabaged in order to reward them; and if I may presume to speak, the huntsman, who is to break up the stag, ought to drink to your good ladyship’s health a good lusty bicker86 of ale, or a tass of brandy; for if he breaks him up without drinking, the venison will not keep well.”
This very agreeable prescription87 received, as will be readily believed, all acceptation from the huntsman, who, in requital88, offered to bucklaw the compliment of his knife, which the young lady had declined.
This polite proffer89 was seconded by his mistress. “I believe, sir,” she said, withdrawing herself from the circle, “that my father, for whose amusement Lord Bittlebrain’s hounds have been out today, will readily surrender all care of these matters to a gentleman of your experience.”
Then, bending gracefully90 from her horse, she wished him good morning, and, attended by one or two domestics, who seemed immediately attached to her service, retired92 from the scene of action, to which Bucklaw, too much delighted with an opportunity of displaying his woodcraft to care about man or woman either, paid little attention; but was soon stript to his doublet, with tucked-up sleeves, and naked arms up to the elbows in blood and grease, slashing93, cutting, hacking94, and hewing95, with the precision of Sir Tristrem himself, and wrangling96 and disputing with all around him concerning nombles, briskets, flankards, and raven-bones, then usual terms of the art of hunting, or of butchery, whichever the reader chooses to call it, which are now probably antiquated97.
When Ravenswood, who followed a short pace behind his friend, saw that the stag had fallen, his temporary ardour for the chase gave way to that feeling of reluctance98 which he endured at encountering in his fallen fortunes the gaze whether of equals or inferiors. He reined up his horse on the top of a gentle eminence99, from which he observed the busy and gay scene beneath him, and heard the whoops100 of the huntsmen, gaily101 mingled102 with the cry of the dogs, and the neighing and trampling103 of the horses. But these jovial sounds fell sadly on the ear of the ruined nobleman. The chase, with all its train of excitations, has ever since feudal104 times been accounted the almost exclusive privilege of the aristocracy, and was anciently their chief employment in times of peace. The sense that he was excluded by his situation from enjoying the silvan sport, which his rank assigned to him as a special prerogative105, and the feeling that new men were now exercising it over the downs which had been jealously reserved by his ancestors for their own amusement, while he, the heir of the domain106, was fain to hold himself at a distance from their party, awakened107 reflections calculated to depress deeply a mind like Ravenswood’s, which was naturally contemplative and melancholy108. His pride, however, soon shook off this feeling of dejection, and it gave way to impatience109 upon finding that his volatile110 friend Bucklaw seemed in no hurry to return with his borrowed steed, which Ravenswood, before leaving the field, wished to see restored to the obliging owner. As he was about to move towards the group of assembled huntsmen, he was joined by a horseman, who, like himself, had kept aloof during the fall of the deer.
This personage seemed stricken in years. He wore a scarlet111 cloak, buttoning high upon his face, and his hat was unlooped and slouched, probably by way of defence against the weather. His horse, a strong and steady palfrey, was calculated for a rider who proposed to witness the sport of the day rather than to share it. An attendant waited at some distance, and the whole equipment was that of an elderly gentleman of rank and fashion. He accosted Ravenswood very politely, but not without some embarrassment112.
“You seem a gallant young gentleman, sir,” he said, “and yet appear as indifferent to this brave sport as if you had my load of years on your shoulders.”
“I have followed the sport with more spirit on other occasions,” replied the Master; “at present, late events in my family must be my apology; and besides,” he added, “I was but indifferently mounted at the beginning of the sport.”
“I think,” said the stranger, “one of my attendants had the sense to accommodate your friend with a horse.”
“I was much indebted to his politeness and yours,” replied Ravenswood. “My friend is Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw, whom I dare say you will be sure to find in the thick of the keenest sportsmen. He will return your servant’s horse, and take my pony113 in exchange; and will add,” he concluded, turning his horse’s head from the stranger, “his best acknowledgments to mine for the accommodation.”
The Master of Ravenswood, having thus expressed himself, began to move homeward, with the manner of one who has taken leave of his company. But the stranger was not so to be shaken off. He turned his horse at the same time, and rode in the same direction, so near to the Master that, without outriding him, which the formal civility of the time, and the respect due to the stranger’s age and recent civility, would have rendered improper114, he could not easily escape from his company.
The stranger did not long remain silent. “This, then,” he said, “is the ancient Castle of Wolf’s Crag, often mentioned in the Scottish records,” looking to the old tower, then darkening under the influence of a stormy cloud, that formed its background; for at the distance of a short mile, the chase, having been circuitous115, had brought the hunters nearly back to the point which they had attained116 when Ravenswood and Bucklaw had set forward to join them.
Ravenswood answered this observation with a cold and distant assent117. “It was, as I have heard,” continued the stranger, unabashed by his coldness, “one of the most early possessions of the honourable family of Ravenswood.”
“Their earliest possession,” answered the Master, “and probably their latest.”
“I— I— I should hope not, sir,” answered the stranger, clearing his voice with more than one cough, and making an effort to overcome a certain degree of hesitation118; “Scotland knows what she owes to this ancient family, and remembers their frequent and honourable achievements. I have little doubt that, were it properly represented to her Majesty119 that so ancient and noble a family were subjected to dilapidation120 — I mean to decay — means might be found, ad re-aedificandum antiquam domum ——”
“I will save you the trouble, sir, of discussing this point farther,” interrupted the Master, haughtily121. “I am the heir of that unfortunate house — I am the Master of Ravenswood. And you, sir, who seem to be a gentleman of fashion and education, must be sensible that the next mortification122 after being unhappy is the being loaded with undesired commiseration123.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the elder horseman; “I did not know — I am sensible I ought not to have mentioned — nothing could be farther from my thoughts than to suppose ——”
“There are no apologies necessary, sir,” answered Ravenswood, “for here, I suppose, our roads separate, and I assure you that we part in perfect equanimity124 on my side.”
As speaking these words, he directed his horse’s head towards a narrow causeway, the ancient approach to Wolf’s Crag, of which it might be truly said, in the words of the Bard77 of Hope, that
Frequented by few was the grass-cover’d road,
Where the hunter of deer and the warrior125 trode,
To his hills that encircle the sea.
But, ere he could disengage himself from his companion, the young lady we have already mentioned came up to join the stranger, followed by her servants.
“Daughter,” said the stranger to the unmasked damsel, “this is the Master of Ravenswood.”
It would have been natural that the gentleman should have replied to this introduction; but there was something in the graceful91 form and retiring modesty126 of the female to whom he was thus presented, which not only prevented him from inquiring to whom, and by whom, the annunciation had been made, but which even for the time struck him absolutely mute. At this moment the cloud which had long lowered above the height on which Wolf’s Crag is situated127, and which now, as it advanced, spread itself in darker and denser128 folds both over land and sea, hiding the distant objects and obscuring those which were nearer, turning the sea to a leaden complexion and the heath to a darker brown, began now, by one or two distant peals129, to announce the thunders with which it was fraught130; while two flashes of lightning, following each other very closely, showed in the distance the grey turrets131 of Wolf’s Crag, and, more nearly, the rollowing billows of the ocean, crested132 suddenly with red and dazzling light.
The horse of the fair huntress showed symptoms of impatience and restiveness133, and it became impossible for Ravenswood, as a man or a gentleman, to leave her abruptly134 to the case of an aged41 father or her menial attendants. He was, or believed himself, obliged in courtesy to take hold of her bridle, and assist her in managing the unruly animal. While he was thus engaged, the old gentleman observed that the storm seemed to increase; that they were far from Lord Bittlebrains’s, whose guests they were for the present; and that he would be obliged to the Master of Ravenswood to point him the way to the nearest place of refuge from the storm. At the same time he cast a wistful and embarrassed look towards the Tower of Wolf’s Crag, which seemed to render it almost impossible for the owner to avoid offering an old man and a lady, in such an emergency, the temporary use of his house. Indeed, the condition of the young huntress made this courtesy indispensable; for, in the course of the services which he rendered, he could not but perceive that she trembled much, and was extremely agitated135, from her apprehensions136, doubtless, of the coming storm.
I know not if the Master of Ravenswood shared her terrors, but he was not entirely137 free from something like a similar disorder138 of nerves, as he observed, “The Tower of Wolf’s Crag has nothing to offer beyond the shelter of its roof, but if that can be acceptable at such a moment ——” he paused, as if the rest of the invitation stuck in his throat. But the old gentleman, his self-constituted companion, did not allow him to recede139 from the invitation, which he had rather suffered to be implied than directly expressed.
“The storm,” said the stranger, “must be an apology for waiving140 ceremony; his daughter’s health was weak, she had suffered much from a recent alarm; he trusted their intrusion on the Master of Ravenswood’s hospitality would not be altogether unpardonable in the circumstances of the case: his child’s safety must be dearer to him than ceremony.”
There was no room to retreat. The Master of Ravenswood led the way, continuing to keep hold of the lady’s bridle to prevent her horse from starting at some unexpected explosion of thunder. He was not so bewildered in his own hurried reflections but that he remarked, that the deadly paleness which had occupied her neck and temples, and such of her features as the riding-mask left exposed, gave place to a deep and rosy141 suffusion142; and he felt with embarrassment that a flush was by tacit sympathy excited in his own cheeks. The stranger, with watchfulness143 which he disguised under apprehensions of the safety of his daughter, continued to observe the expression of the Master’s countenance144 as they ascended145 the hill to Wolf’s Crag. When they stood in front of that ancient fortress146, Ravenswood’s emotions were of a very complicated description; and as he led the way into the rude courtyard, and hallooed to Caleb to give attendance, there was a tone of sternness, almost of fierceness, which seemed somewhat alien from the courtesies of one who is receiving honoured guests.
Caleb came; and not the paleness of the fair stranger at the first approach of the thunder, nor the paleness of any other person, in any other circumstances whatever, equalled that which overcame the thin cheeks of the disconsolate147 seneschal when he beheld148 this accession of guests to the castle, and reflected that the dinner hour was fast approaching. “Is he daft?” he muttered to himself;—“is he clean daft a’thegither, to bring lords and leddies, and a host of folk behint them, and twal o’clock chappit?” Then approaching the Master, he craved149 pardon for having permitted the rest of his people to go out to see the hunt, observing, that “They wad never think of his lordship coming back till mirk night, and that he dreaded150 they might play the truant151.”
“Silence, Balderstone!” said Ravenswood, sternly; “your folly152 is unseasonable. Sir and madam,” he said, turning to his guests, “this old man, and a yet older and more imbecile female domestic, form my whole retinue153. Our means of refreshing154 you are more scanty155 than even so miserable156 a retinue, and a dwelling157 so dilapidated, might seem to promise you; but, such as they may chance to be, you may command them.”
The elder stranger, struck with the ruined and even savage158 appearance of the Tower, rendered still more disconsolate by the lowering and gloomy sky, and perhaps not altogether unmoved by the grave and determined159 voice in which their host addressed them, looked round him anxiously, as if he half repented160 the readiness with which he had accepted the offered hospitality. But there was now no opportunity of receding161 from the situation in which he had placed himself.
As for Caleb, he was so utterly162 stunned163 by his master’s public and unqualified acknowledgment of the nakedness of the land, that for two minutes he could only mutter within his hebdomadal beard, which had not felt the razor for six days, “He’s daft — clean daft — red wud, and awa’ wit! But deil hae Caleb Balderstone,” said he, collecting his powers of invention and resource, “if the family shall lose credit, if he were as mad as the seven wise masters!” He then boldly advanced, and in spite of his master’s frowns and impatience, gravely asked, “If he should not serve up some slight refection for the young leddy, and a glass of tokay, or old sack — or ——”
“Truce to this ill-timed foolery,” said the Master, sternly; “put the horses into the stable, and interrupt us no more with your absurdities164.”
“Your honour’s pleasure is to be obeyed aboon a’ things,” said Caleb; “nevertheless, as for the sack and tokay which it is not your noble guests’ pleasure to accept ——”
But here the voice of Bucklaw, heard even above the clattering165 of hoofs166 and braying167 of horns with which it mingled, announced that he was scaling the pathway to the Tower at the head of the greater part of the gallant hunting train.
“The deil be in me,” said Caleb, taking heart in spite of this new invasion of Philistines168, “if they shall beat me yet! The hellicat ne’er-do-weel! to bring such a crew here, that will expect to find brandy as plenty as ditch-water, and he kenning169 sae absolutely the case in whilk we stand for the present! But I trow, could I get rid of thae gaping170 gowks of flunkies that hae won into the courtyard at the back of their betters, as mony a man gets preferment, I could make a’ right yet.”
The measures which he took to execute this dauntless resolution, the reader shall learn in the next chapter.
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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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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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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peevishly
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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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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11
lackeys
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| n.听差( lackey的名词复数 )；男仆（通常穿制服）；卑躬屈膝的人；被待为奴仆的人 | |
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12
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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13
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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14
immunities
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| 免除，豁免( immunity的名词复数 )； 免疫力 | |
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15
forestry
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| n.森林学；林业 | |
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16
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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17
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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18
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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19
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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20
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
hew
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| v.砍；伐；削 | |
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22
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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23
auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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24
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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25
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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26
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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27
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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28
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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29
awing
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| adj.& adv.飞翔的[地]v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的现在分词 ) | |
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30
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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32
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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33
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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34
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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35
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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36
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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37
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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38
impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
morasses
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| n.缠作一团( morass的名词复数 )；困境；沼泽；陷阱 | |
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40
forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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41
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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42
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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43
complaisance
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| n.彬彬有礼，殷勤，柔顺 | |
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44
unwillingness
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| n. 不愿意，不情愿 | |
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45
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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46
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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47
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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48
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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49
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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50
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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51
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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52
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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53
intimidation
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| n.恐吓，威胁 | |
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54
assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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55
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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56
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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57
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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58
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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59
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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60
whooping
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| 发嗬嗬声的，发咳声的 | |
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61
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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62
throttled
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| v.扼杀( throttle的过去式和过去分词 )；勒死；使窒息；压制 | |
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63
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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64
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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65
barefaced
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| adj.厚颜无耻的，公然的 | |
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66
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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67
promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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68
mettle
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| n.勇气，精神 | |
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69
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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70
incision
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| n．切口，切开 | |
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71
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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72
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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73
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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74
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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75
adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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76
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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77
bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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78
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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79
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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80
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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81
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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82
harangue
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| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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83
tusk
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| n.獠牙，长牙，象牙 | |
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84
leeches
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| n.水蛭( leech的名词复数 )；蚂蟥；榨取他人脂膏者；医生 | |
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85
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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86
bicker
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| vi.(为小事)吵嘴，争吵 | |
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87
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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88
requital
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| n.酬劳；报复 | |
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89
proffer
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| v.献出，赠送；n.提议，建议 | |
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90
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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91
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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92
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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93
slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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94
hacking
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| n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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95
hewing
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的现在分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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96
wrangling
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| v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的现在分词 ) | |
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97
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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98
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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99
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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100
whoops
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| int.呼喊声 | |
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101
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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102
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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103
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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104
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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105
prerogative
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| n.特权 | |
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106
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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107
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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108
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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109
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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110
volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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111
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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112
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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113
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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114
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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115
circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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116
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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117
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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118
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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119
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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120
dilapidation
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| n.倒塌；毁坏 | |
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121
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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122
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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123
commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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124
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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125
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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126
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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127
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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128
denser
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| adj. 不易看透的, 密集的, 浓厚的, 愚钝的 | |
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129
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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130
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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131
turrets
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| （六角）转台( turret的名词复数 )； （战舰和坦克等上的）转动炮塔； （摄影机等上的）镜头转台； （旧时攻城用的）塔车 | |
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132
crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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133
restiveness
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| n.倔强，难以驾御 | |
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134
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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135
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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136
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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137
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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138
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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139
recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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140
waiving
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| v.宣布放弃( waive的现在分词 )；搁置；推迟；放弃（权利、要求等） | |
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141
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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142
suffusion
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| n.充满 | |
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143
watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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144
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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145
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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147
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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148
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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149
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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150
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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151
truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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152
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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153
retinue
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| n.侍从；随员 | |
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154
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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155
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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156
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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157
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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158
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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159
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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160
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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161
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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162
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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163
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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164
absurdities
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| n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 )；荒谬；谬论；荒谬的行为 | |
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165
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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166
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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167
braying
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| v.发出驴叫似的声音( bray的现在分词 )；发嘟嘟声；粗声粗气地讲话（或大笑）；猛击 | |
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168
philistines
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| n.市侩，庸人( philistine的名词复数 )；庸夫俗子 | |
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169
kenning
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| n.比喻的复合辞v.知道( ken的现在分词 )；懂得；看到；认出 | |
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170
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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