Paint Scotland greeting ower her thrissle,
Her mutchkin stoup as toom’s a whistle,
And d — n’d excisemen in a bustle1,
Seizing a stell,
Triumphant2 crushin’t like a mussel,
Or lampit shell
Burns.
During the period of Mr. Bertram’s active magistracy, he did not forget the affairs of the revenue. Smuggling3, for which the Isle4 of Man then afforded peculiar5 facilities, was general, or rather universal, all along the southwestern coast of Scotland. Almost all the common people were engaged in these practices; the gentry6 connived7 at them, and the officers of the revenue were frequently discountenanced in the exercise of their duty by those who should have protected them.
There was at this period, employed as a riding-officer or supervisor8, in that part of the country a certain Francis Kennedy, already named in our narrative10 — a stout11, resolute12, and active man, who had made seizures13 to a great amount, and was proportionally hated by those who had an interest in the fair trade, as they called the pursuit of these contraband14 adventurers. This person was natural son to a gentleman of good family, owing to which circumstance, and to his being of a jolly, convivial15 disposition16, and singing a good song, he was admitted to the occasional society of the gentlemen of the country, and was a member of several of their clubs for practising athletic17 games, at which he was particularly expert.
At Ellangowan Kennedy was a frequent and always an acceptable guest. His vivacity18 relieved Mr. Bertram of the trouble of thought, and the labour which it cost him to support a detailed19 communication of ideas; while the daring and dangerous exploits which he had undertaken in the discharge of his office formed excellent conversation. To all these revenue adventures did the Laird of Ellangowan seriously incline, and the amusement which he derived20 from Kennedy’s society formed an excellent reason for countenancing21 and assisting the narrator in the execution of his invidious and hazardous22 duty.
‘Frank Kennedy,’ he said, ‘was a gentleman, though on the wrang side of the blanket; he was connected with the family of Ellangowan through the house of Glengubble. The last Laird of Glengubble would have brought the estate into the Ellangowan line; but, happening to go to Harrigate, he there met with Miss Jean Hadaway — by the by, the Green Dragon at Harrigate is the best house of the twa — but for Frank Kennedy, he’s in one sense a gentleman born, and it’s a shame not to support him against these blackguard smugglers.’
After this league had taken place between judgment24 and execution, it chanced that Captain Dirk Hatteraick had landed a cargo25 of spirits and other contraband goods upon the beach not far from Ellangowan, and, confiding26 in the indifference27 with which the Laird had formerly28 regarded similar infractions of the law, he was neither very anxious to conceal29 nor to expedite the transaction. The consequence was that Mr. Frank Kennedy, armed with a warrant from Ellangowan, and supported by some of the Laird’s people who knew the country, and by a party of military, poured down upon the kegs, bales, and bags, and after a desperate affray, in which severe wounds were given and received, succeeded in clapping the broad arrow upon the articles, and bearing them off in triumph to the next custom-house. Dirk Hatteraick vowed30, in Dutch, German, and English, a deep and full revenge, both against the gauger31 and his abettors; and all who knew him thought it likely he would keep his word.
A few days after the departure of the gipsy tribe, Mr. Bertram asked his lady one morning at breakfast whether this was not little Harry32’s birthday.
‘Five years auld33 exactly, this blessed day,’ answered the lady; ‘so we may look into the English gentleman’s paper.’
Mr. Bertram liked to show his authority in trifles. ‘No, my dear, not till to-morrow. The last time I was at quarter-sessions the sheriff told us that dies — that dies inceptus — in short, you don’t understand Latin, but it means that a term-day is not begun till it’s ended.’
‘That sounds like nonsense, my dear.’
‘May be so, my dear; but it may be very good law for all that. I am sure, speaking of term-days, I wish, as Frank Kennedy says, that Whitsunday would kill Martinmas and be hanged for the murder; for there I have got a letter about that interest of Jenny Cairns’s, and deil a tenant’s been at the Place yet wi’ a boddle of rent, nor will not till Candlemas. But, speaking of Frank Kennedy, I daresay he’ll be here the day, for he was away round to Wigton to warn a king’s ship that’s lying in the bay about Dirk Hatteraick’s lugger being on the coast again, and he’ll be back this day; so we’ll have a bottle of claret and drink little Harry’s health.’
‘I wish,’ replied the lady, ‘Frank Kennedy would let Dirk Hatteraick alane. What needs he make himself mair busy than other folk? Cannot he sing his sang, and take his drink, and draw his salary, like Collector Snail34, honest man, that never fashes ony body? And I wonder at you, Laird, for meddling35 and making. Did we ever want to send for tea or brandy frae the borough-town when Dirk Hatteraick used to come quietly into the bay?’
‘Mrs. Bertram, you know nothing of these matters. Do you think it becomes a magistrate36 to let his own house be made a receptacle for smuggled37 goods? Frank Kennedy will show you the penalties in the act, and ye ken9 yoursell they used to put their run goods into the Auld Place of Ellangowan up by there.’
‘Oh dear, Mr. Bertram, and what the waur were the wa’s and the vault38 o’ the auld castle for having a whin kegs o’ brandy in them at an orra time? I am sure ye were not obliged to ken ony thing about it; and what the waur was the King that the lairds here got a soup o’ drink and the ladies their drap o’ tea at a reasonable rate? — it’s a shame to them to pit such taxes on them! — and was na I much the better of these Flanders head and pinners that Dirk Hatteraick sent me a’ the way from Antwerp? It will be lang or the King sends me ony thing, or Frank Kennedy either. And then ye would quarrel with these gipsies too! I expect every day to hear the barnyard’s in a low.’
‘I tell you once more, my dear, you don’t understand these things — and there’s Frank Kennedy coming galloping40 up the avenue.’
‘Aweel! aweel! Ellangowan,’ said the lady, raising her voice as the Laird left the room, ‘I wish ye may understand them yoursell, that’s a’!’
From this nuptial41 dialogue the Laird joyfully42 escaped to meet his faithful friend, Mr. Kennedy, who arrived in high spirits. ‘For the love of life, Ellangowan,’ he said, ‘get up to the castle! you’ll see that old fox Dirk Hatteraick, and his Majesty’s hounds in full cry after him.’ So saying, he flung his horse’s bridle44 to a boy, and ran up the ascent45 to the old castle, followed by the Laird, and indeed by several others of the family, alarmed by the sound of guns from the sea, now distinctly heard.
On gaining that part of the ruins which commanded the most extensive outlook, they saw a lugger, with all her canvass46 crowded, standing47 across the bay, closely pursued by a sloop48 of war, that kept firing upon the chase from her bows, which the lugger returned with her stern-chasers. ‘They’re but at long bowls yet,’ cried Kennedy, in great exultation49, ‘but they will be closer by and by. D— n him, he’s starting his cargo! I see the good Nantz pitching overboard, keg after keg! That’s a d — d ungenteel thing of Mr. Hatteraick, as I shall let him know by and by. Now, now! they’ve got the wind of him! that’s it, that’s it! Hark to him! hark to him! Now, my dogs! now, my dogs! Hark to Ranger50, hark!’
‘I think,’ said the old gardener to one of the maids, ‘the ganger’s fie,’ by which word the common people express those violent spirits which they think a presage51 of death.
Meantime the chase continued. The lugger, being piloted with great ability, and using every nautical52 shift to make her escape, had now reached, and was about to double, the headland which formed the extreme point of land on the left side of the bay, when a ball having hit the yard in the slings53, the mainsail fell upon the deck. The consequence of this accident appeared inevitable54, but could not be seen by the spectators; for the vessel55, which had just doubled the headland, lost steerage, and fell out of their sight behind the promontory56. The sloop of war crowded all sail to pursue, but she had stood too close upon the cape43, so that they were obliged to wear the vessel for fear of going ashore57, and to make a large tack58 back into the bay, in order to recover sea-room enough to double the headland.
‘They ‘ll lose her, by —, cargo and lugger, one or both,’ said Kennedy; ‘I must gallop39 away to the Point of Warroch (this was the headland so often mentioned), and make them a signal where she has drifted to on the other side. Good-bye for an hour, Ellangowan; get out the gallon punch-bowl and plenty of lemons. I’ll stand for the French article by the time I come back, and we’ll drink the young Laird’s health in a bowl that would swim the collector’s yawl.’ So saying, he mounted his horse and galloped59 off.
About a mile from the house, and upon the verge60 of the woods, which, as we have said, covered a promontory terminating in the cape called the Point of Warroch, Kennedy met young Harry Bertram, attended by his tutor, Dominie Sampson. He had often promised the child a ride upon his galloway; and, from singing, dancing, and playing Punch for his amusement, was a particular favourite. He no sooner came scampering61 up the path, than the boy loudly claimed his promise; and Kennedy, who saw no risk, in indulging him, and wished to tease the Dominie, in whose visage he read a remonstrance62, caught up Harry from the ground, placed him before him, and continued his route; Sampson’s ‘Peradventure, Master Kennedy-’ being lost in the clatter63 of his horse’s feet. The pedagogue64 hesitated a moment whether he should go after them; but Kennedy being a person in full confidence of the family, and with whom he himself had no delight in associating, ‘being that he was addicted65 unto profane66 and scurrilous67 jests,’ he continued his own walk at his own pace, till he reached the Place of Ellangowan.
The spectators from the ruined walls of the castle were still watching the sloop of war, which at length, but not without the loss of considerable time, recovered sea-room enough to weather the Point of Warroch, and was lost to their sight behind that wooded promontory. Some time afterwards the discharges of several cannon68 were heard at a distance, and, after an interval69, a still louder explosion, as of a vessel blown up, and a cloud of smoke rose above the trees and mingled70 with the blue sky. All then separated on their different occasions, auguring71 variously upon the fate of the smuggler23, but the majority insisting that her capture was inevitable, if she had not already gone to the bottom.
‘It is near our dinner-time, my dear,’ said Mrs. Bertram to her husband; ‘will it be lang before Mr. Kennedy comes back?’
‘I expect him every moment, my dear,’ said the Laird; ‘perhaps he is bringing some of the officers of the sloop with him.’
‘My stars, Mr. Bertram! why did not ye tell me this before, that we might have had the large round table? And then, they’re a’ tired o’ saut meat, and, to tell you the plain truth, a rump o’ beef is the best part of your dinner. And then I wad have put on another gown, and ye wadna have been the waur o’ a clean neck — cloth yoursell. But ye delight in surprising and hurrying one. I am sure I am no to baud out for ever against this sort of going on; but when folk’s missed, then they are moaned.’
‘Pshaw, pshaw! deuce take the beef, and the gown, and table, and the neck-cloth! we shall do all very well. Where’s the Dominie, John? (to a servant who was busy about the table) where’s the Dominie and little Harry?’
‘Mr. Sampson’s been at hame these twa hours and mair, but I dinna think Mr. Harry cam hame wi’ him.’
‘Not come hame wi’ him?’ said the lady; ‘desire Mr. Sampson to step this way directly.’
‘Mr. Sampson,’ said she, upon his entrance, ‘is it not the most extraordinary thing in this world wide, that you, that have free up-putting — bed, board, and washing — and twelve pounds sterling72 a year, just to look after that boy, should let him out of your sight for twa or three hours?’
Sampson made a bow of humble73 acknowledgment at each pause which the angry lady made in her enumeration74 of the advantages of his situation, in order to give more weight to her remonstrance, and then, in words which we will not do him the injustice75 to imitate, told how Mr. Francis Kennedy ‘had assumed spontaneously the charge of Master Harry, in despite of his remonstrances76 in the contrary.’
‘I am very little obliged to Mr. Francis Kennedy for his pains,’ said the lady, peevishly77; ‘suppose he lets the boy drop from his horse, and lames78 him? or suppose one of the cannons79 comes ashore and kills him? or suppose — ’
‘Or suppose, my dear,’ said Ellangowan, ‘what is much more likely than anything else, that they have gone aboard the sloop or the prize, and are to come round the Point with the tide?’
‘And then they may be drowned,’ said the lady.
‘Verily,’ said Sampson, ‘I thought Mr. Kennedy had returned an hour since. Of a surety I deemed I heard his horse’s feet.’
‘That,’ said John, with a broad grin, ‘was Grizzel chasing the humble-cow out of the close.’
Sampson coloured up to the eyes, not at the implied taunt80, which he would never have discovered, or resented if he had, but at some idea which crossed his own mind. ‘I have been in an error,’ he said; ‘of a surety I should have tarried for the babe.’ So saying, he snatched his bone-headed cane81 and hat, and hurried away towards Warroch wood faster than he was ever known to walk before or after.
The Laird lingered some time, debating the point with the lady. At length he saw the sloop of war again make her appearance; but, without approaching the shore, she stood away to the westward82 with all her sails set, and was soon out of sight. The lady’s state of timorous83 and fretful apprehension84 was so habitual85 that her fears went for nothing with her lord and master; but an appearance of disturbance86 and anxiety among the servants now excited his alarm, especially when he was called out of the room, and told in private that Mr. Kennedy’s horse had come to the stable door alone, with the saddle turned round below its belly87 and the reins88 of the bridle broken; and that a farmer had informed them in passing that there was a smuggling lugger burning like a furnace on the other side of the Point of Warroch, and that, though he had come through the wood, he had seen or heard nothing of Kennedy or the young Laird, ‘only there was Dominie Sampson gaun rampauging about like mad, seeking for them.’
All was now bustle at Ellangowan. The Laird and his servants, male and female, hastened to the wood of Warroch. The tenants89 and cottagers in the neighbourhood lent their assistance, partly out of zeal90, partly from curiosity. Boats were manned to search the sea-shore, which, on the other side of the Point, rose into high and indented91 rocks. A vague suspicion was entertained, though too horrible to be expressed, that the child might have fallen from one of these cliffs.
The evening had begun to close when the parties entered the wood, and dispersed92 different ways in quest of the boy and his companion. The darkening of the atmosphere, and the hoarse93 sighs of the November wind through the naked trees, the rustling94 of the withered95 leaves which strewed96 the glades97, the repeated halloos of the different parties, which often drew them together in expectation of meeting the objects of their search, gave a cast of dismal98 sublimity99 to the scene.
At length, after a minute and fruitless investigation100 through the wood, the searchers began to draw together into one body, and to compare notes. The agony of the father grew beyond concealment101, yet it scarcely equalled the anguish102 of the tutor. ‘Would to God I had died for him!’ the affectionate creature repeated, in notes of the deepest distress103. Those who were less interested rushed into a tumultuary discussion of chances and possibilities. Each gave his opinion, and each was alternately swayed by that of the others. Some thought the objects of their search had gone aboard the sloop; some that they had gone to a village at three miles’ distance; some whispered they might have been on board the lugger, a few planks104 and beams of which the tide now drifted ashore.
At this instant a shout was heard from the beach, so loud, so shrill105, so piercing, so different from every sound which the woods that day had rung to, that nobody hesitated a moment to believe that it conveyed tidings, and tidings of dreadful import. All hurried to the place, and, venturing without scruple106 upon paths which at another time they would have shuddered107 to look at, descended108 towards a cleft109 of the rock, where one boat’s crew was already landed. ‘Here, sirs, here! this way, for God’s sake! this way! this way!’ was the reiterated110 cry. Ellangowan broke through the throng111 which had already assembled at the fatal spot, and beheld112 the object of their terror. It was the dead body of Kennedy. At first sight he seemed to have perished by a fall from the rocks, which rose above the spot on which he lay in a perpendicular113 precipice114 of a hundred feet above the beach. The corpse115 was lying half in, half out of the water; the advancing tide, raising the arm and stirring the clothes, had given it at some distance the appearance of motion, so that those who first discovered the body thought that life remained. But every spark had been long extinguished.
‘My bairn! my bairn!’ cried the distracted father, ‘where can he be?’ A dozen mouths were opened to communicate hopes which no one felt. Some one at length mentioned — the gipsies! In a moment Ellangowan had reascended the cliffs, flung himself upon the first horse he met, and rode furiously to the huts at Derncleugh. All was there dark and desolate116; and, as he dismounted to make more minute search, he stumbled over fragments of furniture which had been thrown out of the cottages, and the broken wood and thatch117 which had been pulled down by his orders. At that moment the prophecy, or anathema118, of Meg Merrilies fell heavy on his mind. ‘You have stripped the thatch from seven cottages; see that the roof-tree of your own house stand the surer!’
‘Restore,’ he cried, ‘restore my bairn! bring me back my son, and all shall be forgot and forgiven!’ As he uttered these words in a sort of frenzy119, his eye caught a glimmering120 of light in one of the dismantled121 cottages; it was that in which Meg Merrilies formerly resided. The light, which seemed to proceed from fire, glimmered122 not only through the window, but also through the rafters of the hut where the roofing had been torn off.
He flew to the place; the entrance was bolted. Despair gave the miserable123 father the strength of ten men; he rushed against the door with such violence that it gave way before the momentum124 of his weight and force. The cottage was empty, but bore marks of recent habitation: there was fire on the hearth125, a kettle, and some preparation for food. As he eagerly gazed around for something that might confirm his hope that his child yet lived, although in the power of those strange people, a man entered the hut.
It was his old gardener. ‘O sir!’ said the old man, ‘such a night as this I trusted never to live to see! ye maun come to the Place directly!’
‘Is my boy found? is he alive? have ye found Harry Bertram? Andrew, have ye found Harry Bertram?’
‘No, sir; but-’
‘Then he is kidnapped! I am sure of it, Andrew! as sure as that I tread upon earth! She has stolen him; and I will never stir from this place till I have tidings of my bairn!’
‘O, but ye maun come hame, sir! ye maun come hame! We have sent for the Sheriff, and we’ll seta watch here a’ night, in case the gipsies return; but you — ye maun come hame, sir, for my lady’s in the dead-thraw.’
Bertram turned a stupefied and unmeaning eye on the messenger who uttered this calamitous126 news; and, repeating the words ‘in the dead-thraw!’ as if he could not comprehend their meaning, suffered the old man to drag him towards his horse. During the ride home he only said, ‘Wife and bairn baith — mother and son baith, — sair, sair to abide127!’
It is needless to dwell upon the new scene of agony which awaited him. The news of Kennedy’s fate had been eagerly and incautiously communicated at Ellangowan, with the gratuitous128 addition, that, doubtless, ‘he had drawn129 the young Laird over the craig with him, though the tide had swept away the child’s body; he was light, puir thing, and would flee farther into the surf.’
Mrs. Bertram heard the tidings; she was far advanced in her pregnancy130; she fell into the pains of premature131 labour, and, ere Ellangowan had recovered his agitated132 faculties133, so as to comprehend the full distress of his situation, he was the father of a female infant, and a widower134.
1 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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2 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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3 smuggling | |
n.走私 | |
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4 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
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5 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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6 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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7 connived | |
v.密谋 ( connive的过去式和过去分词 );搞阴谋;默许;纵容 | |
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8 supervisor | |
n.监督人,管理人,检查员,督学,主管,导师 | |
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9 ken | |
n.视野,知识领域 | |
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10 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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12 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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13 seizures | |
n.起获( seizure的名词复数 );没收;充公;起获的赃物 | |
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14 contraband | |
n.违禁品,走私品 | |
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15 convivial | |
adj.狂欢的,欢乐的 | |
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16 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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17 athletic | |
adj.擅长运动的,强健的;活跃的,体格健壮的 | |
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18 vivacity | |
n.快活,活泼,精神充沛 | |
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19 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
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20 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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21 countenancing | |
v.支持,赞同,批准( countenance的现在分词 ) | |
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22 hazardous | |
adj.(有)危险的,冒险的;碰运气的 | |
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23 smuggler | |
n.走私者 | |
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24 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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25 cargo | |
n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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26 confiding | |
adj.相信人的,易于相信的v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的现在分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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27 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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28 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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29 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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30 vowed | |
起誓,发誓(vow的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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31 gauger | |
n.收税官 | |
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32 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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33 auld | |
adj.老的,旧的 | |
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34 snail | |
n.蜗牛 | |
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35 meddling | |
v.干涉,干预(他人事务)( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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36 magistrate | |
n.地方行政官,地方法官,治安官 | |
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37 smuggled | |
水货 | |
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38 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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39 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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40 galloping | |
adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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41 nuptial | |
adj.婚姻的,婚礼的 | |
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42 joyfully | |
adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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43 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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44 bridle | |
n.笼头,束缚;vt.抑制,约束;动怒 | |
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45 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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46 canvass | |
v.招徕顾客,兜售;游说;详细检查,讨论 | |
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47 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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48 sloop | |
n.单桅帆船 | |
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49 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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50 ranger | |
n.国家公园管理员,护林员;骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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51 presage | |
n.预感,不祥感;v.预示 | |
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52 nautical | |
adj.海上的,航海的,船员的 | |
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53 slings | |
抛( sling的第三人称单数 ); 吊挂; 遣送; 押往 | |
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54 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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55 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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56 promontory | |
n.海角;岬 | |
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57 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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58 tack | |
n.大头钉;假缝,粗缝 | |
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59 galloped | |
(使马)飞奔,奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 ); 快速做[说]某事 | |
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60 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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61 scampering | |
v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑,惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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62 remonstrance | |
n抗议,抱怨 | |
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63 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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64 pedagogue | |
n.教师 | |
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65 addicted | |
adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
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66 profane | |
adj.亵神的,亵渎的;vt.亵渎,玷污 | |
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67 scurrilous | |
adj.下流的,恶意诽谤的 | |
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68 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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69 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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70 mingled | |
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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71 auguring | |
v.预示,预兆,预言( augur的现在分词 );成为预兆;占卜 | |
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72 sterling | |
adj.英币的(纯粹的,货真价实的);n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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73 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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74 enumeration | |
n.计数,列举;细目;详表;点查 | |
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75 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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76 remonstrances | |
n.抱怨,抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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77 peevishly | |
adv.暴躁地 | |
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78 lames | |
瘸的( lame的第三人称单数 ); 站不住脚的; 差劲的; 蹩脚的 | |
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79 cannons | |
n.加农炮,大炮,火炮( cannon的名词复数 ) | |
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80 taunt | |
n.辱骂,嘲弄;v.嘲弄 | |
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81 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
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82 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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83 timorous | |
adj.胆怯的,胆小的 | |
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84 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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85 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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86 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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87 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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88 reins | |
感情,激情; 缰( rein的名词复数 ); 控制手段; 掌管; (成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的)保护带 | |
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89 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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90 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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91 indented | |
adj.锯齿状的,高低不平的;缩进排版 | |
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92 dispersed | |
adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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93 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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94 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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95 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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96 strewed | |
v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 );散落于;点缀;撒满 | |
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97 glades | |
n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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98 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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99 sublimity | |
崇高,庄严,气质高尚 | |
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100 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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101 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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102 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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103 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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104 planks | |
(厚)木板( plank的名词复数 ); 政纲条目,政策要点 | |
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105 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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106 scruple | |
n./v.顾忌,迟疑 | |
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107 shuddered | |
v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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108 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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109 cleft | |
n.裂缝;adj.裂开的 | |
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110 reiterated | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111 throng | |
n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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112 beheld | |
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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113 perpendicular | |
adj.垂直的,直立的;n.垂直线,垂直的位置 | |
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114 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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115 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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116 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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117 thatch | |
vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部;n.茅草(屋) | |
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118 anathema | |
n.诅咒;被诅咒的人(物),十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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119 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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120 glimmering | |
n.微光,隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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121 dismantled | |
拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 ); 拆卸; 废除; 取消 | |
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122 glimmered | |
v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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124 momentum | |
n.动力,冲力,势头;动量 | |
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125 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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126 calamitous | |
adj.灾难的,悲惨的;多灾多难;惨重 | |
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127 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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128 gratuitous | |
adj.无偿的,免费的;无缘无故的,不必要的 | |
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129 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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130 pregnancy | |
n.怀孕,怀孕期 | |
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131 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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132 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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133 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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134 widower | |
n.鳏夫 | |
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