These tears beseech you, and these chaste2 hands woo you
That never yet were heaved but to things holy —
Things like yourself — You are a God above us;
Be as a God, then, full of saving mercy!
Encouraged as she was by the courteous4 manners of her noble countryman, it was not without a feeling of something like terror that Jeanie felt herself in a place apparently5 so lonely with a man of such high rank. That she should have been permitted to wait on the Duke in his own house, and have been there received to a private interview, was in itself an uncommon6 and distinguished7 event in the annals of a life so simple as hers; but to find herself his travelling companion in a journey, and then suddenly to be left alone with him in so secluded8 a situation, had something in it of awful mystery. A romantic heroine might have suspected and dreaded9 the power of her own charms; but Jeanie was too wise to let such a silly thought intrude10 on her mind. Still, however, she had a most eager desire to know where she now was, and to whom she was to be presented.
She remarked that the Duke’s dress, though still such as indicated rank and fashion (for it was not the custom of men of quality at that time to dress themselves like their own coachmen or grooms), was nevertheless plainer than that in which she had seen him upon a former occasion, and was divested11, in particular, of all those badges of external decoration which intimated superior consequence. In short, he was attired12 as plainly as any gentleman of fashion could appear in the streets of London in a morning; and this circumstance helped to shake an opinion which Jeanie began to entertain, that, perhaps, he intended she should plead her cause in the presence of royalty13 itself. “But surely,” said she to, herself, “he wad hae putten on his braw star and garter, an he had thought o’ coming before the face of majesty14 — and after a’, this is mair like a gentleman’s policy than a royal palace.”
There was some sense in Jeanie’s reasoning; yet she was not sufficiently15 mistress either of the circumstances of etiquette16, or the particular relations which existed betwixt the government and the Duke of Argyle, to form an accurate judgment17. The Duke, as we have said, was at this time in open opposition18 to the administration of Sir Robert Walpole, and was understood to be out of favour with the royal family, to whom he had rendered such important services. But it was a maxim19 of Queen Caroline to bear herself towards her political friends with such caution, as if there was a possibility of their one day being her enemies, and towards political opponents with the same degree of circumspection21, as if they might again become friendly to her measures, Since Margaret of Anjou, no queen-consort22 had exercised such weight in the political affairs of England, and the personal address which she displayed on many occasions, had no small share in reclaiming23 from their political heresy24 many of those determined25 Tories, who, after the reign26 of the Stuarts had been extinguished in the person of Queen Anne, were disposed rather to transfer their allegiance to her brother the Chevalier de St. George, than to acquiesce27 in the settlement of the crown on the Hanover family. Her husband, whose most shining quality was courage in the field of battle, and who endured the office of King of England, without ever being able to acquire English habits, or any familiarity with English dispositions28, found the utmost assistance from the address of his partner, and while he jealously affected29 to do everything according to his own will and pleasure, was in secret prudent30 enough to take and follow the advice of his more adroit31 consort. He intrusted to her the delicate office of determining the various degrees of favour necessary to attach the wavering, or to confirm such as were already friendly, or to regain32 those whose good-will had been lost.
With all the winning address of an elegant, and, according to the times, an accomplished33 woman, Queen Caroline possessed34 the masculine soul of the other sex. She was proud by nature, and even her policy could not always temper her expressions of displeasure, although few were more ready at repairing any false step of this kind, when her prudence35 came up to the aid of her passions. She loved the real possession of power rather than the show of it, and whatever she did herself that was either wise or popular, she always desired that the King should have the full credit as well as the advantage of the measure, conscious that, by adding to his respectability, she was most likely to maintain her own. And so desirous was she to comply with all his tastes, that, when threatened with the gout, she had repeatedly had recourse to checking the fit, by the use of the cold bath, thereby36 endangering her life, that she might be able to attend the king in his walks.
It was a very consistent part of Queen Caroline’s character, to keep up many private correspondences with those to whom in public she seemed unfavourable, or who, for various reasons, stood ill with the court. By this means she kept in her hands the thread of many a political intrigue37, and, without pledging herself to anything, could often prevent discontent from becoming hatred38, and opposition from exaggerating itself into rebellion. If by any accident her correspondence with such persons chanced to be observed or discovered, which she took all possible pains to prevent, it was represented as a mere39 intercourse40 of society, having no reference to politics; an answer with which even the prime minister, Sir Robert Walpole, was compelled to remain satisfied, when he discovered that the Queen had given a private audience to Pulteney, afterwards Earl of Bath, his most formidable and most inveterate41 enemy.
In thus maintaining occasional intercourse with several persons who seemed most alienated42 from the crown, it may readily be supposed that Queen Caroline had taken care not to break entirely43 with the Duke of Argyle. His high birth, his great talents, the estimation in which he was held in his own country, the great services which he had rendered the house of Brunswick in 1715, placed him high in that rank of persons who were not to be rashly neglected. He had, almost by his single and unassisted talents, stopped the irruption of the banded force of all the Highland44 chiefs; there was little doubt, that, with the slightest encouragement, he could put them all in motion, and renew the civil war; and it was well known that the most flattering overtures45 had been transmitted to the Duke from the court of St. Germains. The character and temper of Scotland was still little known, and it was considered as a volcano, which might, indeed, slumber46 for a series of years, but was still liable, at a moment the least expected, to break out into a wasteful47 irruption. It was, therefore, of the highest importance to retain come hold over so important a personage as the Duke of Argyle, and Caroline preserved the power of doing so by means of a lady, with whom, as wife of George II., she might have been supposed to be on less intimate terms.
It was not the least instance of the Queen’s address, that she had contrived48 that one of her principal attendants, Lady Suffolk, should unite in her own person the two apparently inconsistent characters, of her husband’s mistress, and her own very obsequious49 and complaisant50 confidant. By this dexterous51 management the Queen secured her power against the danger which might most have threatened it — the thwarting52 influence of an ambitious rival; and if she submitted to the mortification53 of being obliged to connive54 at her husband’s infidelity, she was at least guarded against what she might think its most dangerous effects, and was besides at liberty, now and then, to bestow55 a few civil insults upon “her good Howard,” whom, however, in general, she treated with great decorum.1
Lady Suffolk lay under strong obligations to the Duke of Argyle, for reasons which may be collected from Horace Walpole’s Reminiscences of that reign, and through her means the Duke had some occasional correspondence with Queen Caroline, much interrupted, however, since the part he had taken in the debate concerning the Porteous mob, an affair which the Queen, though somewhat unreasonably56, was disposed to resent, rather as an intended and premeditated insolence57 to her own person and authority, than as a sudden ebullition of popular vengeance58. Still, however, the communication remained open betwixt them, though it had been of late disused on both sides. These remarks will be found necessary to understand the scene which is about to be presented to the reader.
From the narrow alley59 which they had traversed, the Duke turned into one of the same character, but broader and still longer. Here, for the first time since they had entered these gardens, Jeanie saw persons approaching them.
They were two ladies; one of whom walked a little behind the other, yet not so much as to prevent her from hearing and replying to whatever observation was addressed to her by the lady who walked foremost, and that without her having the trouble to turn her person. As they advanced very slowly, Jeanie had time to study their features and appearance. The Duke also slackened his pace, as if to give her time to collect herself, and repeatedly desired her not to be afraid. The lady who seemed the principal person had remarkably60 good features, though somewhat injured by the small-pox, that venomous scourge61 which each village Esculapius (thanks to Jenner) can now tame as easily as their tutelary62 deity63 subdued64 the Python. The lady’s eyes were brilliant, her teeth good, and her countenance65 formed to express at will either majesty or courtesy. Her form, though rather embonpoint, was nevertheless graceful66; and the elasticity67 and firmness of her step gave no room to suspect, what was actually the case, that she suffered occasionally from a disorder68 the most unfavourable to pedestrian exercise. Her dress was rather rich than gay, and her manner commanding and noble.
Her companion was of lower stature69, with light brown hair and expressive70 blue eyes. Her features, without being absolutely regular, were perhaps more pleasing than if they had been critically handsome. A melancholy71, or at least a pensive72 expression, for which her lot gave too much cause, predominated when she was silent, but gave way to a pleasing and good-humoured smile when she spoke73 to any one.
When they were within twelve or fifteen yards of these ladies, the Duke made a sign that Jeanie should stand still, and stepping forward himself, with the grace which was natural to him, made a profound obeisance74, which was formally, yet in a dignified75 manner, returned by the personage whom he approached.
“I hope,” she said, with an affable and condescending76 smile, “that I see so great a stranger at court, as the Duke of Argyle has been of late, in as good health as his friends there and elsewhere could wish him to enjoy.”
The Duke replied, “That he had been perfectly78 well;” and added, “that the necessity of attending to the public business before the House, as well as the time occupied by a late journey to Scotland, had rendered him less assiduous in paying his duty at the levee and drawing-room than he could have desired.”
“When your Grace can find time for a duty so frivolous,” replied the Queen, “you are aware of your title to be well received. I hope my readiness to comply with the wish which you expressed yesterday to Lady Suffolk, is, a sufficient proof that one of the royal family, at least, has not forgotten ancient and important services, in resenting something which resembles recent neglect.” This was said apparently with great good humour, and in a tone which expressed a desire of conciliation79.
The Duke replied, “That he would account himself the most unfortunate of men, if he could be supposed capable of neglecting his duty, in modes and circumstances when it was expected, and would have been agreeable. He was deeply gratified by the honour which her Majesty was now doing to him personally; and he trusted she would soon perceive that it was in a matter essential to his Majesty’s interest that he had the boldness to give her this trouble.”
“You cannot oblige me more, my Lord Duke,” replied the Queen, “than by giving me the advantage of your lights and experience on any point of the King’s service. Your Grace is aware, that I can only be the medium through which the matter is subjected to his Majesty’s superior wisdom; but if it is a suit which respects your Grace personally, it shall lose no support by being preferred through me.”
“It is no suit of mine, madam,” replied the Duke; “nor have I any to prefer for myself personally, although I feel in full force my obligation to your Majesty. It is a business which concerns his Majesty, as a lover of justice and of mercy, and which, I am convinced, may be highly useful in conciliating the unfortunate irritation80 which at present subsists81 among his Majesty’s good subjects in Scotland.”
There were two parts of this speech disagreeable to Caroline. In the first place, it removed the flattering notion she had adopted, that Argyle designed to use her personal intercession in making his peace with the administration, and recovering the employments of which he had been deprived; and next, she was displeased82 that he should talk of the discontents in Scotland as irritations83 to be conciliated, rather than suppressed.
Under the influence of these feelings, she answered hastily, “That his Majesty has good subjects in England, my Lord Duke, he is bound to thank God and the laws — that he has subjects in Scotland, I think he may thank God and his sword.”
The Duke, though a courtier, coloured slightly, and the Queen, instantly sensible of her error, added, without displaying the least change of countenance, and as if the words had been an original branch of the sentence —“And the swords of those real Scotchmen who are friends to the House of Brunswick, particularly that of his Grace of Argyle.”
“My sword, madam,” replied the Duke, “like that of my fathers, has been always at the command of my lawful85 king, and of my native country — I trust it is impossible to separate their real rights and interests. But the present is a matter of more private concern, and respects the person of an obscure individual.”
“What is the affair, my Lord?” said the Queen. “Let us find out what we are talking about, lest we should misconstrue and misunderstand each other.”
“The matter, madam,” answered the Duke of Argyle, “regards the fate of an unfortunate young woman in Scotland, now lying under sentence of death, for a crime of which I think it highly probable that she is innocent. And my humble86 petition to your Majesty is, to obtain your powerful intercession with the King for a pardon.”
It was now the Queen’s turn to colour, and she did so over cheek and brow, neck and bosom87. She paused a moment as if unwilling88 to trust her voice with the first expression of her displeasure; and on assuming the air of dignity and an austere89 regard of control, she at length replied, “My Lord Duke, I will not ask your motives90 for addressing to me a request, which circumstances have rendered such an extraordinary one. Your road to the King’s closet, as a peer and a privy-councillor, entitled to request an audience, was open, without giving me the pain of this discussion. I, at least, have had enough of Scotch84 pardons.”
The Duke was prepared for this burst of indignation, and he was not shaken by it. He did not attempt a reply while the Queen was in the first heat of displeasure, but remained in the same firm, yet respectful posture91, which he had assumed during the interview. The Queen, trained from her situation to self-command, instantly perceived the advantage she might give against herself by yielding to passion; and added, in the same condescending and affable tone in which she had opened the interview, “You must allow me some of the privileges of the sex, my Lord; and do not judge uncharitably of me, though I am a little moved at the recollection of the gross insult and outrage92 done in your capital city to the royal authority, at the very time when it was vested in my unworthy person. Your Grace cannot be surprised that I should both have felt it at the time, and recollected93 it now.”
“It is certainly a matter not speedily to be forgotten,” answered the Duke. “My own poor thoughts of it have been long before your Majesty, and I must have expressed myself very ill if I did not convey my detestation of the murder which was committed under such extraordinary circumstances. I might, indeed, be so unfortunate as to differ with his Majesty’s advisers94 on the degree in which it was either just or politic20 to punish the innocent instead of the guilty. But I trust your Majesty will permit me to be silent on a topic in which my sentiments have not the good fortune to coincide with those of more able men.”
“We will not prosecute96 a topic on which we may probably differ,” said the Queen. “One word, however, I may say in private — you know our good Lady Suffolk is a little deaf — the Duke of Argyle, when disposed to renew his acquaintance with his master and mistress, will hardly find many topics on which we should disagree.”
“Let me hope,” said the Duke, bowing profoundly to so flattering an intimation, “that I shall not be so unfortunate as to have found one on the present occasion.”
“I must first impose on your Grace the duty of confession,” said the Queen, “before I grant you absolution. What is your particular interest in this young woman? She does not seem” (and she scanned Jeanie, as she said this, with the eye of a connoisseur) “much qualified97 to alarm my friend the Duchess’s jealousy98.”
“I think your Majesty,” replied the Duke, smiling in his turn, “will allow my taste may be a pledge for me on that score.”
“Then, though she has not much the air d’une grande dame99, I suppose she is some thirtieth cousin in the terrible CHAPTER of Scottish genealogy100?”
“No, madam,” said the Duke; “but I wish some of my nearer relations had half her worth, honesty, and affection.”
“Her name must be Campbell, at least?” said Queen Caroline.
“No, madam; her name is not quite so distinguished, if I may be permitted to say so,” answered the Duke.
“Ah! but she comes from Inverary or Argyleshire?” said the Sovereign.
“She has never been farther north in her life than Edinburgh, madam.”
“Then my conjectures101 are all ended,” said the Queen, “and your Grace must yourself take the trouble to explain the affair of your prote’ge’e.”
With that precision and easy brevity which is only acquired by habitually103 conversing104 in the higher ranks of society, and which is the diametrical opposite of that protracted105 style of disquisition,
Which squires106 call potter, and which men call prose,
the Duke explained the singular law under which Effie Deans had received sentence of death, and detailed108 the affectionate exertions109 which Jeanie had made in behalf of a sister, for whose sake she was willing to sacrifice all but truth and conscience.
Queen Caroline listened with attention; she was rather fond, it must be remembered, of an argument, and soon found matter in what the Duke told her for raising difficulties to his request.
“It appears to me, my Lord,” she replied, “that this is a severe law. But still it is adopted upon good grounds, I am bound to suppose, as the law of the country, and the girl has been convicted under it. The very presumptions110 which the law construes111 into a positive proof of guilt95 exist in her case; and all that your Grace has said concerning the possibility of her innocence112 may be a very good argument for annulling113 the Act of Parliament, but cannot, while it stands good, be admitted in favour of any individual convicted upon the statute114.”
The Duke saw and avoided the snare115, for he was conscious, that, by replying to the argument, he must have been inevitably116 led to a discussion, in the course of which the Queen was likely to be hardened in her own opinion, until she became obliged, out of mere respect to consistency117, to let the criminal suffer.
Jeanie and Queen Caroline
“If your Majesty,” he said, “would condescend77 to hear my poor countrywoman herself, perhaps she may find an advocate in your own heart, more able than I am, to combat the doubts suggested by your understanding.”
The Queen seemed to acquiesce, and the Duke made a signal for Jeanie to advance from the spot where she had hitherto remained watching countenances118, which were too long accustomed to suppress all apparent signs of emotion, to convey to her any interesting intelligence. Her Majesty could not help smiling at the awe-struck manner in which the quiet demure119 figure of the little Scotchwoman advanced towards her, and yet more at the first sound of her broad northern accent. But Jeanie had a voice low and sweetly toned, an admirable thing in woman, and eke120 besought121 “her Leddyship to have pity on a poor misguided young creature,” in tones so affecting, that, like the notes of some of her native songs, provincial122 vulgarity was lost in pathos123.
“Stand up, young woman,” said the Queen, but in a kind tone, “and tell me what sort of a barbarous people your country-folk are, where child-murder is become so common as to require the restraint of laws like yours?”
“If your Leddyship pleases,” answered Jeanie, “there are mony places besides Scotland where mothers are unkind to their ain flesh and blood.”
It must be observed, that the disputes between George the Second and Frederick Prince of Wales were then at the highest, and that the good-natured part of the public laid the blame on the Queen. She coloured highly, and darted124 a glance of a most penetrating125 character first at Jeanie, and then at the Duke. Both sustained it unmoved; Jeanie from total unconsciousness of the offence she had given, and the Duke from his habitual102 composure. But in his heart he thought, My unlucky protegee has with this luckless answer shot dead, by a kind of chance-medley, her only hope of success.
Lady Suffolk, good-humouredly and skilfully126, interposed in this awkward crisis. “You should tell this lady,” she said to Jeanie, “the particular causes which render this crime common in your country.”
“Some thinks it’s the Kirk-session — that is — it’s the — it’s the cutty-stool, if your Leddyship pleases,” said Jeanie, looking down and courtesying.
“The what?” said Lady Suffolk, to whom the phrase was new, and who besides was rather deaf.
“That’s the stool of repentance127, madam, if it please your Leddyship,” answered Jeanie, “for light life and conversation, and for breaking the seventh command.” Here she raised her eyes to the Duke, saw his hand at his chin, and, totally unconscious of what she had said out of joint128, gave double effect to the innuendo129, by stopping short and looking embarrassed.
As for Lady Suffolk, she retired130 like a covering party, which, having interposed betwixt their retreating friends and the enemy, have suddenly drawn131 on themselves a fire unexpectedly severe.
The deuce take the lass, thought the Duke of Argyle to himself; there goes another shot — and she has hit with both barrels right and left!
Indeed the Duke had himself his share of the confusion, for, having acted as master of ceremonies to this innocent offender132, he felt much in the circumstances of a country squire107, who, having introduced his spaniel into a well-appointed drawing-room, is doomed133 to witness the disorder and damage which arises to china and to dress-gowns, in consequence of its untimely frolics. Jeanie’s last chance-hit, however, obliterated134 the ill impression which had arisen from the first; for her Majesty had not so lost the feelings of a wife in those of a Queen, but that she could enjoy a jest at the expense of “her good Suffolk.” She turned towards the Duke of Argyle with a smile, which marked that she enjoyed the triumph, and observed, “The Scotch are a rigidly135 moral people.” Then, again applying herself to Jeanie, she asked how she travelled up from Scotland.
“Upon my foot mostly, madam,” was the reply.
“What, all that immense way upon foot? — How far can you walk in a day.”
“Five-and-twenty miles and a bittock.”
“And a what?” said the Queen, looking towards the Duke of Argyle.
“And about five miles more,” replied the Duke.
“I thought I was a good walker,” said the Queen, “but this shames me sadly.”
“May your Leddyship never hae sae weary a heart, that ye canna be sensible of the weariness of the limbs,” said Jeanie. That came better off, thought the Duke; it’s the first thing she has said to the purpose.
“And I didna just a’thegither walk the haill way neither, for I had whiles the cast of a cart; and I had the cast of a horse from Ferrybridge — and divers136 other easements,” said Jeanie, cutting short her story, for she observed the Duke made the sign he had fixed137 upon.
“With all these accommodations,” answered the Queen, “you must have had a very fatiguing138 journey, and, I fear, to little purpose; since, if the King were to pardon your sister, in all probability it would do her little good, for I suppose your people of Edinburgh would hang her out of spite.”
She will sink herself now outright139, thought the Duke.
But he was wrong. The shoals on which Jeanie had touched in this delicate conversation lay under ground, and were unknown to her; this rock was above water, and she avoided it.
“She was confident,” she said, “that baith town and country wad rejoice to see his Majesty taking compassion140 on a poor unfriended creature.”
“His Majesty has not found it so in a late instance,” said the Queen; “but I suppose my Lord Duke would advise him to be guided by the votes of the rabble141 themselves, who should be hanged and who spared?”
“No, madam,” said the Duke; “but I would advise his Majesty to be guided by his own feelings, and those of his royal consort; and then I am sure punishment will only attach itself to guilt, and even then with cautious reluctance142.”
“Well, my Lord,” said her Majesty, “all these fine speeches do not convince me of the propriety143 of so soon showing any mark of favour to your — I suppose I must not say rebellious144? — but, at least, your very disaffected145 and intractable metropolis146. Why, the whole nation is in a league to screen the savage147 and abominable148 murderers of that unhappy man; otherwise, how is it possible but that, of so many perpetrators, and engaged in so public an action for such a length of time, one at least must have been recognised? Even this wench, for aught I can tell, may be a depositary of the secret. — Hark you, young woman, had you any friends engaged in the Porteous mob?”
“No, madam,” answered Jeanie, happy that the question was so framed that she could, with a good conscience, answer it in the negative.
“But I suppose,” continued the Queen, “if you were possessed of such a secret, you would hold it a matter of conscience to keep it to yourself?”
“I would pray to be directed and guided what was the line of duty, madam,” answered Jeanie.
“Yes, and take that which suited your own inclinations,” replied her Majesty.
“If it like you, madam,” said Jeanie, “I would hae gaen to the end of the earth to save the life of John Porteous, or any other unhappy man in his condition; but I might lawfully149 doubt how far I am called upon to be the avenger150 of his blood, though it may become the civil magistrate151 to do so. He is dead and gane to his place, and they that have slain152 him must answer for their ain act. But my sister, my puir sister, Effie, still lives, though her days and hours are numbered! She still lives, and a word of the King’s mouth might restore her to a brokenhearted auld153 man, that never in his daily and nightly exercise, forgot to pray that his Majesty might be blessed with a long and a prosperous reign, and that his throne, and the throne of his posterity154, might be established in righteousness. O madam, if ever ye kend what it was to sorrow for and with a sinning and a suffering creature, whose mind is sae tossed that she can be neither ca’d fit to live or die, have some compassion on our misery155! — Save an honest house from dishonour156, and an unhappy girl, not eighteen years of age, from an early and dreadful death! Alas157! it is not when we sleep soft and wake merrily ourselves that we think on other people’s sufferings. Our hearts are waxed light within us then, and we are for righting our ain wrangs and fighting our ain battles. But when the hour of trouble comes to the mind or to the body — and seldom may it visit your Leddyship — and when the hour of death comes, that comes to high and low — lang and late may it be yours! — Oh, my Leddy, then it isna what we hae dune158 for oursells, but what we hae dune for others, that we think on maist pleasantly. And the thoughts that ye hae intervened to spare the puir thing’s life will be sweeter in that hour, come when it may, than if a word of your mouth could hang the haill Porteous mob at the tail of ae tow.”
Tear followed tear down Jeanie’s cheeks, as, her features glowing and quivering with emotion, she pleaded her sister’s cause with a pathos which was at once simple and solemn.
“This is eloquence,” said her Majesty to the Duke of Argyle. “Young woman,” she continued, addressing herself to Jeanie, “I cannot grant a pardon to your sister — but you shall not want my warm intercession with his Majesty. Take this house-wife case,” she continued, putting a small embroidered159 needle-case into Jeanie’s hands; “do not open it now, but at your leisure — you will find something in it which will remind you that you have had an interview with Queen Caroline.”
Jeanie, having her suspicions thus confirmed, dropped on her knees, and would have expanded herself in gratitude160; but the Duke who was upon thorns lest she should say more or less than just enough, touched his chin once more.
“Our business is, I think, ended for the present, my Lord Duke,” said the Queen, “and, I trust, to your satisfaction. Hereafter I hope to see your Grace more frequently, both at Richmond and St. James’s. — Come Lady Suffolk, we must wish his Grace good-morning.”
They exchanged their parting reverences161, and the Duke, so soon as the ladies had turned their backs, assisted Jeanie to rise from the ground, and conducted her back through the avenue, which she trode with the feeling of one who walks in her sleep.
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beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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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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intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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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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royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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18
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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19
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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20
politic
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| adj.有智虑的；精明的；v.从政 | |
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21
circumspection
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| n.细心，慎重 | |
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22
consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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23
reclaiming
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| v.开拓( reclaim的现在分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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24
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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25
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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26
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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27
acquiesce
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| vi.默许，顺从，同意 | |
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28
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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29
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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30
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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31
adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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32
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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33
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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34
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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35
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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36
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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37
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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38
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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39
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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40
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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41
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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42
alienated
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| adj.感到孤独的，不合群的v.使疏远( alienate的过去式和过去分词 )；使不友好；转让；让渡（财产等） | |
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43
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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44
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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45
overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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46
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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47
wasteful
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| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
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48
contrived
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|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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49
obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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50
complaisant
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| adj.顺从的，讨好的 | |
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51
dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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52
thwarting
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| 阻挠( thwart的现在分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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53
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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54
connive
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| v.纵容；密谋 | |
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55
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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56
unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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57
insolence
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|
| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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58
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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59
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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60
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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61
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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62
tutelary
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| adj.保护的；守护的 | |
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63
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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64
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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65
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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66
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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67
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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68
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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69
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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70
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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71
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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72
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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73
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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74
obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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75
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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76
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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77
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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78
perfectly
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|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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79
conciliation
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| n.调解，调停 | |
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80
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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81
subsists
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的第三人称单数 ) | |
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82
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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83
irritations
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|
| n.激怒( irritation的名词复数 )；恼怒；生气；令人恼火的事 | |
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84
scotch
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|
| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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85
lawful
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|
| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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86
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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87
bosom
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|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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88
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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89
austere
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|
| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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90
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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91
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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92
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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93
recollected
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|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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95
guilt
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|
| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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96
prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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97
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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98
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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99
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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100
genealogy
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| n.家系，宗谱 | |
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101
conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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102
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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103
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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104
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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105
protracted
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|
| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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106
squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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107
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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108
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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109
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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110
presumptions
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| n.假定( presumption的名词复数 )；认定；推定；放肆 | |
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111
construes
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| v.解释（陈述、行为等）( construe的第三人称单数 )；翻译，作句法分析 | |
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112
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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113
annulling
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| v.宣告无效( annul的现在分词 )；取消；使消失；抹去 | |
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114
statute
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| n.成文法，法令，法规；章程，规则，条例 | |
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115
snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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116
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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117
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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118
countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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119
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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120
eke
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| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
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121
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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122
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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123
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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124
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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125
penetrating
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|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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126
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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127
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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128
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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129
innuendo
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| n.暗指，讽刺 | |
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130
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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131
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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132
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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133
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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134
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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135
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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136
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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137
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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138
fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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139
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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140
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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141
rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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142
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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143
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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144
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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145
disaffected
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| adj.（政治上）不满的，叛离的 | |
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146
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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147
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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148
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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149
lawfully
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| adv.守法地，合法地；合理地 | |
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150
avenger
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| n. 复仇者 | |
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151
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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152
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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153
auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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154
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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155
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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156
dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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157
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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158
dune
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| n.(由风吹积而成的)沙丘 | |
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159
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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160
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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161
reverences
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| n.尊敬，崇敬( reverence的名词复数 )；敬礼 | |
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