Who rides on the court-gale; controls its tides;
Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies1;
Whose frown abases2, and whose smile exalts3.
He shines like any rainbow — and, perchance,
His colours are as transient.”
Old Play.
There was some little displeasure and confusion on the Countess’s brow, owing to her struggle with Varney’s pertinacity4; but it was exchanged for an expression of the purest joy and affection, as she threw herself into the arms of the noble stranger who entered, and clasping him to her bosom5, exclaimed, “At length — at length thou art come!”
Varney discreetly7 withdrew as his lord entered, and Janet was about to do the same, when her mistress signed to her to remain. She took her place at the farther end of the apartment, and continued standing8, as if ready for attendance.
Meanwhile the Earl, for he was of no inferior rank, returned his lady’s caress9 with the most affectionate ardour, but affected10 to resist when she strove to take his cloak from him.
“Nay,” she said, “but I will unmantle you. I must see if you have kept your word to me, and come as the great Earl men call thee, and not as heretofore like a private cavalier.”
“Thou art like the rest of the world, Amy,” said the Earl, suffering her to prevail in the playful contest; “the jewels, and feathers, and silk are more to them than the man whom they adorn11 — many a poor blade looks gay in a velvet12 scabbard.”
“But so cannot men say of thee, thou noble Earl,” said his lady, as the cloak dropped on the floor, and showed him dressed as princes when they ride abroad; “thou art the good and well-tried steel, whose inly worth deserves, yet disdains13, its outward ornaments14. Do not think Amy can love thee better in this glorious garb16 than she did when she gave her heart to him who wore the russet-brown cloak in the woods of Devon.”
“And thou too,” said the Earl, as gracefully17 and majestically19 he led his beautiful Countess towards the chair of state which was prepared for them both —“thou too, my love, hast donned a dress which becomes thy rank, though it cannot improve thy beauty. What think’st thou of our court taste?”
The lady cast a sidelong glance upon the great mirror as they passed it by, and then said, “I know not how it is, but I think not of my own person while I look at the reflection of thine. Sit thou there,” she said, as they approached the chair of state, “like a thing for men to worship and to wonder at.”
“Ay, love,” said the Earl, “if thou wilt20 share my state with me.”
“Not so,” said the Countess; “I will sit on this footstool at thy feet, that I may spell over thy splendour, and learn, for the first time, how princes are attired21.”
And with a childish wonder, which her youth and rustic23 education rendered not only excusable but becoming, mixed as it was with a delicate show of the most tender conjugal24 affection, she examined and admired from head to foot the noble form and princely attire22 of him who formed the proudest ornament15 of the court of England’s Maiden25 Queen, renowned26 as it was for splendid courtiers, as well as for wise counsellors. Regarding affectionately his lovely bride, and gratified by her unrepressed admiration27, the dark eye and noble features of the Earl expressed passions more gentle than the commanding and aspiring28 look which usually sat upon his broad forehead, and in the piercing brilliancy of his dark eye; and he smiled at the simplicity29 which dictated30 the questions she put to him concerning the various ornaments with which he was decorated.
“The embroidered31 strap32, as thou callest it, around my knee,” he said, “is the English Garter, an ornament which kings are proud to wear. See, here is the star which belongs to it, and here the Diamond George, the jewel of the order. You have heard how King Edward and the Countess of Salisbury —”
“Oh, I know all that tale,” said the Countess, slightly blushing, “and how a lady’s garter became the proudest badge of English chivalry33.”
“Even so,” said the Earl; “and this most honourable34 Order I had the good hap35 to receive at the same time with three most noble associates, the Duke of Norfolk, the Marquis of Northampton, and the Earl of Rutland. I was the lowest of the four in rank — but what then? he that climbs a ladder must begin at the first round.”
“But this other fair collar, so richly wrought36, with some jewel like a sheep hung by the middle attached to it, what,” said the young Countess, “does that emblem37 signify?”
“This collar,” said the Earl, “with its double fusilles interchanged with these knobs, which are supposed to present flint-stones sparkling with fire, and sustaining the jewel you inquire about, is the badge of the noble Order of the Golden Fleece, once appertaining to the House of Burgundy it hath high privileges, my Amy, belonging to it, this most noble Order; for even the King of Spain himself, who hath now succeeded to the honours and demesnes of Burgundy, may not sit in judgment39 upon a knight40 of the Golden Fleece, unless by assistance and consent of the Great Chapter of the Order.”
“And is this an Order belonging to the cruel King of Spain?” said the Countess. “Alas! my noble lord, that you will defile42 your noble English breast by bearing such an emblem! Bethink you of the most unhappy Queen Mary’s days, when this same Philip held sway with her in England, and of the piles which were built for our noblest, and our wisest, and our most truly sanctified prelates and divines — and will you, whom men call the standard-bearer of the true Protestant faith, be contented43 to wear the emblem and mark of such a Romish tyrant44 as he of Spain?”
“Oh, content you, my love,” answered the Earl; “we who spread our sails to gales45 of court favour cannot always display the ensigns we love the best, or at all times refuse sailing under colours which we like not. Believe me, I am not the less good Protestant, that for policy I must accept the honour offered me by Spain, in admitting me to this his highest order of knighthood. Besides, it belongs properly to Flanders; and Egmont, Orange, and others have pride in seeing it displayed on an English bosom.”
“Nay, my lord, you know your own path best,” replied the Countess. “And this other collar, to what country does this fair jewel belong?”
“To a very poor one, my love,” replied the Earl; “this is the Order of Saint Andrew, revived by the last James of Scotland. It was bestowed46 on me when it was thought the young widow of France and Scotland would gladly have wedded48 an English baron49; but a free coronet of England is worth a crown matrimonial held at the humour of a woman, and owning only the poor rocks and bogs50 of the north.”
The Countess paused, as if what the Earl last said had excited some painful but interesting train of thought; and, as she still remained silent, her husband proceeded:—
“And now, loveliest, your wish is gratified, and you have seen your vassal51 in such of his trim array as accords with riding vestments; for robes of state and coronets are only for princely halls.”
“Well, then,” said the Countess, “my gratified wish has, as usual, given rise to a new one.”
“And what is it thou canst ask that I can deny?” said the fond husband.
“I wished to see my Earl visit this obscure and secret bower,” said the Countess, “in all his princely array; and now, methinks I long to sit in one of his princely halls, and see him enter dressed in sober russet, as when he won poor Amy Robsart’s heart.”
“That is a wish easily granted,” said the Earl —“the sober russet shall be donned tomorrow, if you will.”
“But shall I,” said the lady, “go with you to one of your castles, to see how the richness of your dwelling52 will correspond with your peasant habit?”
“Why, Amy,” said the Earl, looking around, “are not these apartments decorated with sufficient splendour? I gave the most unbounded order, and, methinks, it has been indifferently well obeyed; but if thou canst tell me aught which remains53 to be done, I will instantly give direction.”
“Nay, my lord, now you mock me,” replied the Countess; “the gaiety of this rich lodging54 exceeds my imagination as much as it does my desert. But shall not your wife, my love — at least one day soon — be surrounded with the honour which arises neither from the toils56 of the mechanic who decks her apartment, nor from the silks and jewels with which your generosity57 adorns58 her, but which is attached to her place among the matronage, as the avowed60 wife of England’s noblest Earl?”
“One day?” said her husband. “Yes, Amy, my love, one day this shall surely happen; and, believe me, thou canst not wish for that day more fondly than I. With what rapture61 could I retire from labours of state, and cares and toils of ambition, to spend my life in dignity and honour on my own broad domains62, with thee, my lovely Amy, for my friend and companion! But, Amy, this cannot yet be; and these dear but stolen interviews are all I can give to the loveliest and the best beloved of her sex.”
“But why can it not be?” urged the Countess, in the softest tones of persuasion63 —“why can it not immediately take place — this more perfect, this uninterrupted union, for which you say you wish, and which the laws of God and man alike command? Ah! did you but desire it half as much as you say, mighty64 and favoured as you are, who or what should bar your attaining65 your wish?”
The Earl’s brow was overcast66.
“Amy,” he said, “you speak of what you understand not. We that toil55 in courts are like those who climb a mountain of loose sand — we dare make no halt until some projecting rock affords us a secure footing and resting-place. If we pause sooner, we slide down by our own weight, an object of universal derision. I stand high, but I stand not secure enough to follow my own inclination67. To declare my marriage were to be the artificer of my own ruin. But, believe me, I will reach a point, and that speedily, when I can do justice to thee and to myself. Meantime, poison not the bliss68 of the present moment, by desiring that which cannot at present be, Let me rather know whether all here is managed to thy liking69. How does Foster bear himself to you?— in all things respectful, I trust, else the fellow shall dearly rue41 it.”
“He reminds me sometimes of the necessity of this privacy,” answered the lady, with a sigh; “but that is reminding me of your wishes, and therefore I am rather bound to him than disposed to blame him for it.”
“I have told you the stern necessity which is upon us,” replied the Earl. “Foster is, I note, somewhat sullen70 of mood; but Varney warrants to me his fidelity71 and devotion to my service. If thou hast aught, however, to complain of the mode in which he discharges his duty, he shall abye it.”
“Oh, I have nought72 to complain of,” answered the lady, “so he discharges his task with fidelity to you; and his daughter Janet is the kindest and best companion of my solitude73 — her little air of precision sits so well upon her!”
“Is she indeed?” said the Earl. “She who gives you pleasure must not pass unrewarded.— Come hither, damsel.”
“Janet,” said the lady, “come hither to my lord.”
Janet, who, as we already noticed, had discreetly retired74 to some distance, that her presence might be no check upon the private conversation of her lord and lady, now came forward; and as she made her reverential curtsy, the Earl could not help smiling at the contrast which the extreme simplicity of her dress, and the prim75 demureness76 of her looks, made with a very pretty countenance77 and a pair of black eyes, that laughed in spite of their mistress’s desire to look grave.
“I am bound to you, pretty damsel,” said the Earl, “for the contentment which your service hath given to this lady.” As he said this, he took from his finger a ring of some price, and offered it to Janet Foster, adding, “Wear this, for her sake and for mine.”
“I am well pleased, my lord,” answered Janet demurely78, “that my poor service hath gratified my lady, whom no one can draw nigh to without desiring to please; but we of the precious Master Holdforth’s congregation seek not, like the gay daughters of this world, to twine80 gold around our fingers, or wear stones upon our necks, like the vain women of Tyre and of Sidon.”
“Oh, what! you are a grave professor of the precise sisterhood, pretty Mistress Janet,” said the Earl, “and I think your father is of the same congregation in sincerity81? I like you both the better for it; for I have been prayed for, and wished well to, in your congregations. And you may the better afford the lack of ornament, Mistress Janet, because your fingers are slender, and your neck white. But here is what neither Papist nor Puritan, latitudinarian nor precisian, ever boggles or makes mouths at. E’en take it, my girl, and employ it as you list.”
So saying, he put into her hand five broad gold pieces of Philip and Mary,
“I would not accept this gold either,” said Janet, “but that I hope to find a use for it which will bring a blessing83 on us all.”
“Even please thyself, pretty Janet,” said the Earl, “and I shall be well satisfied. And I prithee let them hasten the evening collation84.”
“I have bidden Master Varney and Master Foster to sup with us, my lord,” said the Countess, as Janet retired to obey the Earl’s commands; “has it your approbation85?”
“What you do ever must have so, my sweet Amy,” replied her husband; “and I am the better pleased thou hast done them this grace, because Richard Varney is my sworn man, and a close brother of my secret council; and for the present, I must needs repose86 much trust in this Anthony Foster.”
“I had a boon87 to beg of thee, and a secret to tell thee, my dear lord,” said the Countess, with a faltering88 accent.
“Let both be for tomorrow, my love,” replied the Earl. “I see they open the folding-doors into the banqueting-parlour, and as I have ridden far and fast, a cup of wine will not be unacceptable.”
So saying he led his lovely wife into the next apartment, where Varney and Foster received them with the deepest reverences89, which the first paid after the fashion of the court, and the second after that of the congregation. The Earl returned their salutation with the negligent90 courtesy of one long used to such homage91; while the Countess repaid it with a punctilious92 solicitude93, which showed it was not quite so familiar to her.
The banquet at which the company seated themselves corresponded in magnificence with the splendour of the apartment in which it was served up, but no domestic gave his attendance. Janet alone stood ready to wait upon the company; and, indeed, the board was so well supplied with all that could be desired, that little or no assistance was necessary. The Earl and his lady occupied the upper end of the table, and Varney and Foster sat beneath the salt, as was the custom with inferiors. The latter, overawed perhaps by society to which he was altogether unused, did not utter a single syllable94 during the repast; while Varney, with great tact95 and discernment, sustained just so much of the conversation as, without the appearance of intrusion on his part, prevented it from languishing96, and maintained the good-humour of the Earl at the highest pitch. This man was indeed highly qualified97 by nature to discharge the part in which he found himself placed, being discreet6 and cautious on the one hand, and, on the other, quick, keen-witted, and imaginative; so that even the Countess, prejudiced as she was against him on many accounts, felt and enjoyed his powers of conversation, and was more disposed than she had ever hitherto found herself to join in the praises which the Earl lavished98 on his favourite. The hour of rest at length arrived, the Earl and Countess retired to their apartment, and all was silent in the castle for the rest of the night.
Early on the ensuing morning, Varney acted as the Earl’s chamberlain as well as his master of horse, though the latter was his proper office in that magnificent household, where knights100 and gentlemen of good descent were well contented to hold such menial situations, as nobles themselves held in that of the sovereign. The duties of each of these charges were familiar to Varney, who, sprung from an ancient but somewhat decayed family, was the Earl’s page during his earlier and more obscure fortunes, and, faithful to him in adversity, had afterwards contrived101 to render himself no less useful to him in his rapid and splendid advance to fortune; thus establishing in him an interest resting both on present and past services, which rendered him an almost indispensable sharer of his confidence.
“Help me to do on a plainer riding-suit, Varney,” said the Earl, as he laid aside his morning-gown, flowered with silk and lined with sables102, “and put these chains and fetters103 there” (pointing to the collars of the various Orders which lay on the table) “into their place of security — my neck last night was well-nigh broke with the weight of them. I am half of the mind that they shall gall105 me no more. They are bonds which knaves106 have invented to fetter104 fools. How thinkest thou, Varney?”
“Faith, my good lord,” said his attendant, “I think fetters of gold are like no other fetters — they are ever the weightier the welcomer.”
“For all that, Varney,” replied his master, “I am well-nigh resolved they shall bind108 me to the court no longer. What can further service and higher favour give me, beyond the high rank and large estate which I have already secured? What brought my father to the block, but that he could not bound his wishes within right and reason? I have, you know, had mine own ventures and mine own escapes. I am well-nigh resolved to tempt109 the sea no further, but sit me down in quiet on the shore.”
“And gather cockle-shells, with Dan Cupid to aid you,” said Varney.
“How mean you by that, Varney?” said the Earl somewhat hastily.
“Nay, my lord,” said Varney, “be not angry with me. If your lordship is happy in a lady so rarely lovely that, in order to enjoy her company with somewhat more freedom, you are willing to part with all you have hitherto lived for, some of your poor servants may be sufferers; but your bounty110 hath placed me so high, that I shall ever have enough to maintain a poor gentleman in the rank befitting the high office he has held in your lordship’s family.”
“Yet you seem discontented when I propose throwing up a dangerous game, which may end in the ruin of both of us.”
“I, my lord?” said Varney; “surely I have no cause to regret your lordship’s retreat! It will not be Richard Varney who will incur111 the displeasure of majesty112, and the ridicule113 of the court, when the stateliest fabric114 that ever was founded upon a prince’s favour melts away like a morning frost-work. I would only have you yourself to be assured, my lord, ere you take a step which cannot be retracted115, that you consult your fame and happiness in the course you propose.”
“Speak on, then, Varney,” said the Earl; “I tell thee I have determined116 nothing, and will weigh all considerations on either side.”
“Well, then, my lord,” replied Varney, “we will suppose the step taken, the frown frowned, the laugh laughed, and the moan moaned. You have retired, we will say, to some one of your most distant castles, so far from court that you hear neither the sorrow of your friends nor the glee of your enemies, We will suppose, too, that your successful rival will be satisfied (a thing greatly to be doubted) with abridging117 and cutting away the branches of the great tree which so long kept the sun from him, and that he does not insist upon tearing you up by the roots. Well; the late prime favourite of England, who wielded118 her general’s staff and controlled her parliaments, is now a rural baron, hunting, hawking119, drinking fat ale with country esquires, and mustering120 his men at the command of the high sheriff —”
“Varney, forbear!” said the Earl.
“Nay, my lord, you must give me leave to conclude my picture. — Sussex governs England — the Queen’s health fails — the succession is to be settled — a road is opened to ambition more splendid than ambition ever dreamed of. You hear all this as you sit by the hob, under the shade of your hall-chimney. You then begin to think what hopes you have fallen from, and what insignificance121 you have embraced; and all that you might look babies in the eyes of your fair wife oftener than once a fortnight,”
“I say, Varney,” said the Earl, “no more of this. I said not that the step, which my own ease and comfort would urge me to, was to be taken hastily, or without due consideration to the public safety. Bear witness to me, Varney; I subdue122 my wishes of retirement123, not because I am moved by the call of private ambition, but that I may preserve the position in which I may best serve my country at the hour of need.— Order our horses presently; I will wear, as formerly124, one of the livery cloaks, and ride before the portmantle. Thou shalt be master for the day, Varney — neglect nothing that can blind suspicion. We will to horse ere men are stirring. I will but take leave of my lady, and be ready. I impose a restraint on my own poor heart, and wound one yet more dear to me; but the patriot125 must subdue the husband.
Having said this in a melancholy126 but firm accent, he left the dressing127 apartment.
“I am glad thou art gone,” thought Varney, “or, practised as I am in the follies128 of mankind, I had laughed in the very face of thee! Thou mayest tire as thou wilt of thy new bauble129, thy pretty piece of painted Eve’s flesh there, I will not be thy hindrance130. But of thine old bauble, ambition, thou shalt not tire; for as you climb the hill, my lord, you must drag Richard Varney up with you, and if he can urge you to the ascent131 he means to profit by, believe me he will spare neither whip nor spur, and for you, my pretty lady, that would be Countess outright132, you were best not thwart133 my courses, lest you are called to an old reckoning on a new score. ‘Thou shalt be master,’ did he say? By my faith, he may find that he spoke134 truer than he is aware of; and thus he who, in the estimation of so many wise-judging men, can match Burleigh and Walsingham in policy, and Sussex in war, becomes pupil to his own menial — and all for a hazel eye and a little cunning red and white, and so falls ambition. And yet if the charms of mortal woman could excuse a man’s politic135 pate136 for becoming bewildered, my lord had the excuse at his right hand on this blessed evening that has last passed over us. Well — let things roll as they may, he shall make me great, or I will make myself happy; and for that softer piece of creation, if she speak not out her interview with Tressilian, as well I think she dare not, she also must traffic with me for concealment137 and mutual139 support, in spite of all this scorn. I must to the stables. Well, my lord, I order your retinue140 now; the time may soon come that my master of the horse shall order mine own. What was Thomas Cromwell but a smith’s son? and he died my lord — on a scaffold, doubtless, but that, too, was in character. And what was Ralph Sadler but the clerk of Cromwell? and he has gazed eighteen fair lordships — via! I know my steerage as well as they.”
So saying, he left the apartment.
In the meanwhile the Earl had re-entered the bedchamber, bent141 on taking a hasty farewell of the lovely Countess, and scarce daring to trust himself in private with her, to hear requests again urged which he found it difficult to parry, yet which his recent conversation with his master of horse had determined him not to grant.
He found her in a white cymar of silk lined with furs, her little feet unstockinged and hastily thrust into slippers142; her unbraided hair escaping from under her midnight coif, with little array but her own loveliness, rather augmented144 than diminished by the grief which she felt at the approaching moment of separation.
“Now, God be with thee, my dearest and loveliest!” said the Earl, scarce tearing himself from her embrace, yet again returning to fold her again and again in his arms, and again bidding farewell, and again returning to kiss and bid adieu once more. “The sun is on the verge145 of the blue horizon — I dare not stay. Ere this I should have been ten miles from hence.”
Such were the words with which at length he strove to cut short their parting interview. “You will not grant my request, then?” said the Countess. “Ah, false knight! did ever lady, with bare foot in slipper143, seek boon of a brave knight, yet return with denial?”
“Anything, Amy, anything thou canst ask I will grant,” answered the Earl —“always excepting,” he said, “that which might ruin us both.”
“Nay,” said the Countess, “I urge not my wish to be acknowledged in the character which would make me the envy of England — as the wife, that is, of my brave and noble lord, the first as the most fondly beloved of English nobles. Let me but share the secret with my dear father! Let me but end his misery146 on my unworthy account — they say he is ill, the good old kind-hearted man!”
“They say?” asked the Earl hastily; “who says? Did not Varney convey to Sir Hugh all we dare at present tell him concerning your happiness and welfare? and has he not told you that the good old knight was following, with good heart and health, his favourite and wonted exercise. Who has dared put other thoughts into your head?”
“Oh, no one, my lord, no one,” said the Countess, something alarmed at the tone, in which the question was put; “but yet, my lord, I would fain be assured by mine own eyesight that my father is well.”
“Be contented, Amy; thou canst not now have communication with thy father or his house. Were it not a deep course of policy to commit no secret unnecessarily to the custody148 of more than must needs be, it were sufficient reason for secrecy149 that yonder Cornish man, yonder Trevanion, or Tressilian, or whatever his name is, haunts the old knight’s house, and must necessarily know whatever is communicated there.”
“My lord,” answered the Countess, “I do not think it so. My father has been long noted150 a worthy147 and honourable man; and for Tressilian, if we can pardon ourselves the ill we have wrought him, I will wager151 the coronet I am to share with you one day that he is incapable152 of returning injury for injury.”
“I will not trust him, however, Amy,” said her husband —“by my honour, I will not trust him, I would rather the foul153 fiend intermingle in our secret than this Tressilian!”
“And why, my lord?” said the Countess, though she shuddered154 slightly at the tone of determination in which he spoke; “let me but know why you think thus hardly of Tressilian?”
“Madam,” replied the Earl, “my will ought to be a sufficient reason. If you desire more, consider how this Tressilian is leagued, and with whom. He stands high in the opinion of this Radcliffe, this Sussex, against whom I am barely able to maintain my ground in the opinion of our suspicious mistress; and if he had me at such advantage, Amy, as to become acquainted with the tale of our marriage, before Elizabeth were fitly prepared, I were an outcast from her grace for ever — a bankrupt at once in favour and in fortune, perhaps, for she hath in her a touch of her father Henry — a victim, and it may be a bloody155 one, to her offended and jealous resentment156.”
“But why, my lord,” again urged his lady, “should you deem thus injuriously of a man of whom you know so little? What you do know of Tressilian is through me, and it is I who assure you that in no circumstances will be betray your secret. If I did him wrong in your behalf, my lord, I am now the more concerned you should do him justice. You are offended at my speaking of him, what would you say had I actually myself seen him?”
“If you had,” replied the Earl, “you would do well to keep that interview as secret as that which is spoken in a confessional. I seek no one’s ruin; but he who thrusts himself on my secret privacy were better look well to his future walk. The bear5 brooks157 no one to cross his awful path.”
“Awful, indeed!” said the Countess, turning very pale.
“You are ill, my love,” said the Earl, supporting her in his arms. “Stretch yourself on your couch again; it is but an early day for you to leave it. Have you aught else, involving less than my fame, my fortune, and my life, to ask of me?”
“Nothing, my lord and love,” answered the Countess faintly; “something there was that I would have told you, but your anger has driven it from my recollection.”
“Reserve it till our next meeting, my love,” said the Earl fondly, and again embracing her; “and barring only those requests which I cannot and dare not grant, thy wish must be more than England and all its dependencies can fulfil, if it is not gratified to the letter.”
Thus saying, he at length took farewell. At the bottom of the staircase he received from Varney an ample livery cloak and slouched hat, in which he wrapped himself so as to disguise his person and completely conceal138 his features. Horses were ready in the courtyard for himself and Varney; for one or two of his train, intrusted with the secret so far as to know or guess that the Earl intrigued158 with a beautiful lady at that mansion159, though her name and duality were unknown to them, had already been dismissed over-night.
Anthony Foster himself had in hand the rein160 of the Earl’s palfrey, a stout161 and able nag59 for the road; while his old serving-man held the bridle162 of the more showy and gallant163 steed which Richard Varney was to occupy in the character of master.
As the Earl approached, however, Varney advanced to hold his master’s bridle, and to prevent Foster from paying that duty to the Earl which he probably considered as belonging to his own office. Foster scowled164 at an interference which seemed intended to prevent his paying his court to his patron, but gave place to Varney; and the Earl, mounting without further observation, and forgetting that his assumed character of a domestic threw him into the rear of his supposed master, rode pensively165 out of the quadrangle, not without waving his hand repeatedly in answer to the signals which were made by the Countess with her kerchief from the windows of her apartment.
While his stately form vanished under the dark archway which led out of the quadrangle, Varney muttered, “There goes fine policy — the servant before the master!” then as he disappeared, seized the moment to speak a word with Foster. “Thou look’st dark on me, Anthony,” he said, “as if I had deprived thee of a parting nod of my lord; but I have moved him to leave thee a better remembrance for thy faithful service. See here! a purse of as good gold as ever chinked under a miser’s thumb and fore-finger. Ay, count them, lad,” said he, as Foster received the gold with a grim smile, “and add to them the goodly remembrance he gave last night to Janet.”
“How’s this? how’s this?” said Anthony Foster hastily; “gave he gold to Janet?”
“Ay, man, wherefore not?— does not her service to his fair lady require guerdon?”
“She shall have none on’t,” said Foster; “she shall return it. I know his dotage166 on one face is as brief as it is deep. His affections are as fickle167 as the moon.”
“Why, Foster, thou art mad — thou dost not hope for such good fortune as that my lord should cast an eye on Janet? Who, in the fiend’s name, would listen to the thrush while the nightingale is singing?”
“Thrush or nightingale, all is one to the fowler; and, Master Varney, you can sound the quail-pipe most daintily to wile168 wantons into his nets. I desire no such devil’s preferment for Janet as you have brought many a poor maiden to. Dost thou laugh? I will keep one limb of my family, at least, from Satan’s clutches, that thou mayest rely on. She shall restore the gold.”
“Ay, or give it to thy keeping, Tony, which will serve as well,” answered Varney; “but I have that to say which is more serious. Our lord is returning to court in an evil humour for us.”
“How meanest thou?” said Foster. “Is he tired already of his pretty toy — his plaything yonder? He has purchased her at a monarch’s ransom169, and I warrant me he rues170 his bargain.”
“Not a whit82, Tony,” answered the master of the horse; “he dotes on her, and will forsake171 the court for her. Then down go hopes, possessions, and safety — church-lands are resumed, Tony, and well if the holders172 be not called to account in Exchequer173.”
“That were ruin,” said Foster, his brow darkening with apprehensions174; “and all this for a woman! Had it been for his soul’s sake, it were something; and I sometimes wish I myself could fling away the world that cleaves175 to me, and be as one of the poorest of our church.”
“Thou art like enough to be so, Tony,” answered Varney; “but I think the devil will give thee little credit for thy compelled poverty, and so thou losest on all hands. But follow my counsel, and Cumnor Place shall be thy copyhold yet. Say nothing of this Tressilian’s visit — not a word until I give thee notice.”
“And wherefore, I pray you?” asked Foster, suspiciously.
“Dull beast!” replied Varney. “In my lord’s present humour it were the ready way to confirm him in his resolution of retirement, should he know that his lady was haunted with such a spectre in his absence. He would be for playing the dragon himself over his golden fruit, and then, Tony, thy occupation is ended. A word to the wise. Farewell! I must follow him.”
He turned his horse, struck him with the spurs, and rode off under the archway in pursuit of his lord.
“Would thy occupation were ended, or thy neck broken, damned pander176!” said Anthony Foster. “But I must follow his beck, for his interest and mine are the same, and he can wind the proud Earl to his will. Janet shall give me those pieces though; they shall be laid out in some way for God’s service, and I will keep them separate in my strong chest, till I can fall upon a fitting employment for them. No contagious177 vapour shall breathe on Janet — she shall remain pure as a blessed spirit, were it but to pray God for her father. I need her prayers, for I am at a hard pass. Strange reports are abroad concerning my way of life. The congregation look cold on me, and when Master Holdforth spoke of hypocrites being like a whited sepulchre, which within was full of dead men’s bones, methought he looked full at me. The Romish was a comfortable faith; Lambourne spoke true in that. A man had but to follow his thrift178 by such ways as offered — tell his beads179, hear a mass, confess, and be absolved180. These Puritans tread a harder and a rougher path; but I will try — I will read my Bible for an hour ere I again open mine iron chest.”
Varney, meantime, spurred after his lord, whom he found waiting for him at the postern gate of the park.
“You waste time, Varney,” said the Earl, “and it presses. I must be at Woodstock before I can safely lay aside my disguise, and till then I journey in some peril181.”
“It is but two hours’ brisk riding, my lord,” said Varney. “For me, I only stopped to enforce your commands of care and secrecy on yonder Foster, and to inquire about the abode182 of the gentleman whom I would promote to your lordship’s train, in the room of Trevors.”
“Is he fit for the meridian183 of the antechamber, think’st thou?” said the Earl.
“He promises well, my lord,” replied Varney; “but if your lordship were pleased to ride on, I could go back to Cumnor, and bring him to your lordship at Woodstock before you are out of bed.”
“Why, I am asleep there, thou knowest, at this moment,” said the Earl; “and I pray you not to spare horse-flesh, that you may be with me at my levee.”
So saying, he gave his horse the spur, and proceeded on his journey, while Varney rode back to Cumnor by the public road, avoiding the park. The latter alighted at the door of the bonny Black Bear, and desired to speak with Master Michael Lambourne, That respectable character was not long of appearing before his new patron, but it was with downcast looks.
“Thou hast lost the scent,” said Varney, “of thy comrade Tressilian. I know it by thy bang-dog visage. Is this thy alacrity184, thou impudent185 knave107?”
“Cogswounds!” said Lambourne, “there was never a trail so finely hunted. I saw him to earth at mine uncle’s here — stuck to him like bees’-wax — saw him at supper — watched him to his chamber99, and, presto186! he is gone next morning, the very hostler knows not where.”
“This sounds like practice upon me, sir,” replied Varney; “and if it proves so, by my soul you shall repent187 it!”
“Sir, the best hound will be sometimes at fault,” answered Lambourne; “how should it serve me that this fellow should have thus evanished? You may ask mine host, Giles Gosling — ask the tapster and hostler — ask Cicely, and the whole household, how I kept eyes on Tressilian while he was on foot. On my soul, I could not be expected to watch him like a sick nurse, when I had seen him fairly a-bed in his chamber. That will be allowed me, surely.”
Varney did, in fact, make some inquiry188 among the household, which confirmed the truth of Lambourne’s statement. Tressilian, it was unanimously agreed, had departed suddenly and unexpectedly, betwixt night and morning.
“But I will wrong no one,” said mine host; “he left on the table in his lodging the full value of his reckoning, with some allowance to the servants of the house, which was the less necessary that he saddled his own gelding, as it seems, without the hostler’s assistance.”
Thus satisfied of the rectitude of Lambourne’s conduct, Varney began to talk to him upon his future prospects189, and the mode in which he meant to bestow47 himself, intimating that he understood from Foster he was not disinclined to enter into the household of a nobleman.
“Have you,” said he, “ever been at court?”
“No,” replied Lambourne; “but ever since I was ten years old, I have dreamt once a week that I was there, and made my fortune.”
“It may be your own fault if your dream comes not true,” said Varney. “Are you needy190?”
“Um!” replied Lambourne; “I love pleasure.”
“That is a sufficient answer, and an honest one,” said Varney. “Know you aught of the requisites191 expected from the retainer of a rising courtier?”
“I have imagined them to myself, sir,” answered Lambourne; “as, for example, a quick eye, a close mouth, a ready and bold hand, a sharp wit, and a blunt conscience.”
“And thine, I suppose,” said Varney, “has had its edge blunted long since?”
“I cannot remember, sir, that its edge was ever over-keen,” replied Lambourne. “When I was a youth, I had some few whimsies192; but I rubbed them partly out of my recollection on the rough grindstone of the wars, and what remained I washed out in the broad waves of the Atlantic.”
“Thou hast served, then, in the Indies?”
“In both East and West,” answered the candidate for court service, “by both sea and land. I have served both the Portugal and the Spaniard, both the Dutchman and the Frenchman, and have made war on our own account with a crew of jolly fellows, who held there was no peace beyond the Line.”6
“Thou mayest do me, and my lord, and thyself, good service,” said Varney, after a pause. “But observe, I know the world — and answer me truly, canst thou be faithful?”
“Did you not know the world,” answered Lambourne, “it were my duty to say ay, without further circumstance, and to swear to it with life and honour, and so forth79. But as it seems to me that your worship is one who desires rather honest truth than politic falsehood, I reply to you, that I can be faithful to the gallows193’ foot, ay, to the loop that dangles194 from it, if I am well used and well recompensed — not otherwise.”
“To thy other virtues195 thou canst add, no doubt,” said Varney, in a jeering196 tone, “the knack197 of seeming serious and religious, when the moment demands it?”
“It would cost me nothing,” said Lambourne, “to say yes; but, to speak on the square, I must needs say no. If you want a hypocrite, you may take Anthony Foster, who, from his childhood, had some sort of phantom198 haunting him, which he called religion, though it was that sort of godliness which always ended in being great gain. But I have no such knack of it.”
“Well,” replied Varney, “if thou hast no hypocrisy199, hast thou not a nag here in the stable?”
“Ay, sir,” said Lambourne, “that shall take hedge and ditch with my Lord Duke’s best hunters. Then I made a little mistake on Shooter’s Hill, and stopped an ancient grazier whose pouches200 were better lined than his brain-pan, the bonny bay nag carried me sheer off in spite of the whole hue201 and cry.”
“Saddle him then instantly, and attend me,” said Varney. “Leave thy clothes and baggage under charge of mine host; and I will conduct thee to a service, in which, if thou do not better thyself, the fault shall not be fortune’s, but thine own.”
“Brave and hearty202!” said Lambourne, “and I am mounted in an instant.— Knave, hostler, saddle my nag without the loss of one second, as thou dost value the safety of thy noddle.— Pretty Cicely, take half this purse to comfort thee for my sudden departure.”
“Gogsnouns!” replied the father, “Cicely wants no such token from thee. Go away, Mike, and gather grace if thou canst, though I think thou goest not to the land where it grows.”
“Let me look at this Cicely of thine, mine host,” said Varney; “I have heard much talk of her beauty.”
“It is a sunburnt beauty,” said mine host, “well qualified to stand out rain and wind, but little calculated to please such critical gallants as yourself. She keeps her chamber, and cannot encounter the glance of such sunny-day courtiers as my noble guest.”
“Well, peace be with her, my good host,” answered Varney; “our horses are impatient — we bid you good day.”
“Does my nephew go with you, so please you?” said Gosling.
“Ay, such is his purpose,” answered Richard Varney.
“You are right — fully18 right,” replied mine host —“you are, I say, fully right, my kinsman203. Thou hast got a gay horse; see thou light not unaware204 upon a halter — or, if thou wilt needs be made immortal205 by means of a rope, which thy purpose of following this gentleman renders not unlikely, I charge thee to find a gallows as far from Cumnor as thou conveniently mayest. And so I commend you to your saddle.”
The master of the horse and his new retainer mounted accordingly, leaving the landlord to conclude his ill-omened farewell, to himself and at leisure; and set off together at a rapid pace, which prevented conversation until the ascent of a steep sandy hill permitted them to resume it.
“You are contented, then,” said Varney to his companion, “to take court service?”
“Ay, worshipful sir, if you like my terms as well as I like yours.”
“And what are your terms?” demanded Varney.
“If I am to have a quick eye for my patron’s interest, he must have a dull one towards my faults,” said Lambourne.
“Ay,” said Varney, “so they lie not so grossly open that he must needs break his shins over them.”
“Agreed,” said Lambourne. “Next, if I run down game, I must have the picking of the bones.”
“That is but reason,” replied Varney, “so that your betters are served before you.”
“Good,” said Lambourne; “and it only remains to be said, that if the law and I quarrel, my patron must bear me out, for that is a chief point.”
“Reason again,” said Varney, “if the quarrel hath happened in your master’s service.”
“For the wage and so forth, I say nothing,” proceeded Lambourne; “it is the secret guerdon that I must live by.”
“Never fear,” said Varney; “thou shalt have clothes and spending money to ruffle206 it with the best of thy degree, for thou goest to a household where you have gold, as they say, by the eye.”
“That jumps all with my humour,” replied Michael Lambourne; “and it only remains that you tell me my master’s name.”
“My name is Master Richard Varney,” answered his companion.
“But I mean,” said Lambourne, “the name of the noble lord to whose service you are to prefer me.”
“How, knave, art thou too good to call me master?” said Varney hastily; “I would have thee bold to others, but not saucy207 to me.”
“I crave208 your worship’s pardon,” said Lambourne, “but you seemed familiar with Anthony Foster; now I am familiar with Anthony myself.”
“Thou art a shrewd knave, I see,” replied Varney. “Mark me — I do indeed propose to introduce thee into a nobleman’s household; but it is upon my person thou wilt chiefly wait, and upon my countenance that thou wilt depend. I am his master of horse. Thou wilt soon know his name — it is one that shakes the council and wields209 the state.”
“By this light, a brave spell to conjure210 with,” said Lambourne, “if a man would discover hidden treasures!”
“Used with discretion211, it may prove so,” replied Varney; “but mark — if thou conjure with it at thine own hand, it may raise a devil who will tear thee in fragments.”
“Enough said,” replied Lambourne; “I will not exceed my limits.”
The travellers then resumed the rapid rate of travelling which their discourse212 had interrupted, and soon arrived at the Royal Park of Woodstock. This ancient possession of the crown of England was then very different from what it had been when it was the residence of the fair Rosamond, and the scene of Henry the Second’s secret and illicit213 amours; and yet more unlike to the scene which it exhibits in the present day, when Blenheim House commemorates214 the victory of Marlborough, and no less the genius of Vanbrugh, though decried215 in his own time by persons of taste far inferior to his own. It was, in Elizabeth’s time, an ancient mansion in bad repair, which had long ceased to be honoured with the royal residence, to the great impoverishment216 of the adjacent village. The inhabitants, however, had made several petitions to the Queen to have the favour of the sovereign’s countenance occasionally bestowed upon them; and upon this very business, ostensibly at least, was the noble lord, whom we have already introduced to our readers, a visitor at Woodstock.
Varney and Lambourne galloped217 without ceremony into the courtyard of the ancient and dilapidated mansion, which presented on that morning a scene of bustle218 which it had not exhibited for two reigns219. Officers of the Earl’s household, liverymen and retainers, went and came with all the insolent220 fracas221 which attaches to their profession. The neigh of horses and the baying of hounds were heard; for my lord, in his occupation of inspecting and surveying the manor222 and demesne38, was of course provided with the means of following his pleasure in the chase or park, said to have been the earliest that was enclosed in England, and which was well stocked with deer that had long roamed there unmolested. Several of the inhabitants of the village, in anxious hope of a favourable223 result from this unwonted visit, loitered about the courtyard, and awaited the great man’s coming forth. Their attention was excited by the hasty arrival of Varney, and a murmur224 ran amongst them, “The Earl’s master of the horse!” while they hurried to bespeak225 favour by hastily unbonneting, and proffering226 to hold the bridle and stirrup of the favoured retainer and his attendant.
“Stand somewhat aloof227, my masters!” said Varney haughtily228, “and let the domestics do their office.”
The mortified229 citizens and peasants fell back at the signal; while Lambourne, who had his eye upon his superior’s deportment, repelled230 the services of those who offered to assist him, with yet more discourtesy —“Stand back, Jack231 peasant, with a murrain to you, and let these knave footmen do their duty!”
While they gave their nags232 to the attendants of the household, and walked into the mansion with an air of superiority which long practice and consciousness of birth rendered natural to Varney, and which Lambourne endeavoured to imitate as well as he could, the poor inhabitants of Woodstock whispered to each other, “Well-a-day! God save us from all such misproud princoxes! An the master be like the men, why, the fiend may take all, and yet have no more than his due.”
“Silence, good neighbours!” said the bailiff, “keep tongue betwixt teeth; we shall know more by-and-by. But never will a lord come to Woodstock so welcome as bluff233 old King Harry234! He would horsewhip a fellow one day with his own royal hand, and then fling him an handful of silver groats, with his own broad face on them, to ‘noint the sore withal.”
“Ay, rest be with him!” echoed the auditors235; “it will be long ere this Lady Elizabeth horsewhip any of us.”
“There is no saying,” answered the bailiff. “Meanwhile, patience, good neighbours, and let us comfort ourselves by thinking that we deserve such notice at her Grace’s hands.”
Meanwhile, Varney, closely followed by his new dependant236, made his way to the hall, where men of more note and consequence than those left in the courtyard awaited the appearance of the Earl, who as yet kept his chamber. All paid court to Varney, with more or less deference237, as suited their own rank, or the urgency of the business which brought them to his lord’s levee. To the general question of, “When comes my lord forth, Master Varney?” he gave brief answers, as, “See you not my boots? I am but just returned from Oxford238, and know nothing of it,” and the like, until the same query239 was put in a higher tone by a personage of more importance. “I will inquire of the chamberlain, Sir Thomas Copely,” was the reply. The chamberlain, distinguished240 by his silver key, answered that the Earl only awaited Master Varney’s return to come down, but that he would first speak with him in his private chamber. Varney, therefore, bowed to the company, and took leave, to enter his lord’s apartment.
There was a murmur of expectation which lasted a few minutes, and was at length hushed by the opening of the folding-doors at the upper end or the apartment, through which the Earl made his entrance, marshalled by his chamberlain and the steward241 of his family, and followed by Richard Varney. In his noble mien242 and princely features, men read nothing of that insolence243 which was practised by his dependants244. His courtesies were, indeed, measured by the rank of those to whom they were addressed, but even the meanest person present had a share of his gracious notice. The inquiries245 which he made respecting the condition of the manor, of the Queen’s rights there, and of the advantages and disadvantages which might attend her occasional residence at the royal seat of Woodstock, seemed to show that he had most earnestly investigated the matter of the petition of the inhabitants, and with a desire to forward the interest of the place.
“Now the Lord love his noble countenance!” said the bailiff, who had thrust himself into the presence-chamber; “he looks somewhat pale. I warrant him he hath spent the whole night in perusing246 our memorial. Master Toughyarn, who took six months to draw it up, said it would take a week to understand it; and see if the Earl hath not knocked the marrow247 out of it in twenty-four hours!”
The Earl then acquainted them that he should move their sovereign to honour Woodstock occasionally with her residence during her royal progresses, that the town and its vicinity might derive248, from her countenance and favour, the same advantages as from those of her predecessors249. Meanwhile, he rejoiced to be the expounder250 of her gracious pleasure, in assuring them that, for the increase of trade and encouragement of the worthy burgesses of Woodstock, her Majesty was minded to erect251 the town into a Staple252 for wool.
This joyful253 intelligence was received with the acclamations not only of the better sort who were admitted to the audience-chamber, but of the commons who awaited without.
The freedom of the corporation was presented to the Earl upon knee by the magistrates254 of the place, together with a purse of gold pieces, which the Earl handed to Varney, who, on his part, gave a share to Lambourne, as the most acceptable earnest of his new service.
The Earl and his retinue took horse soon after to return to court, accompanied by the shouts of the inhabitants of Woodstock, who made the old oaks ring with re-echoing, “Long live Queen Elizabeth, and the noble Earl of Leicester!” The urbanity and courtesy of the Earl even threw a gleam of popularity over his attendants, as their haughty255 deportment had formerly obscured that of their master; and men shouted, “Long life to the Earl, and to his gallant followers256!” as Varney and Lambourne, each in his rank, rode proudly through the streets of Woodstock.
点击收听单词发音
1 eddies | |
(水、烟等的)漩涡,涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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2 abases | |
使谦卑( abase的第三人称单数 ); 使感到羞耻; 使降低(地位、身份等); 降下 | |
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3 exalts | |
赞扬( exalt的第三人称单数 ); 歌颂; 提升; 提拔 | |
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4 pertinacity | |
n.执拗,顽固 | |
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5 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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6 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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7 discreetly | |
ad.(言行)审慎地,慎重地 | |
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8 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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9 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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10 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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11 adorn | |
vt.使美化,装饰 | |
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12 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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13 disdains | |
鄙视,轻蔑( disdain的名词复数 ) | |
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14 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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15 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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16 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
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17 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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18 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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19 majestically | |
雄伟地; 庄重地; 威严地; 崇高地 | |
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20 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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21 attired | |
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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22 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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23 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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24 conjugal | |
adj.婚姻的,婚姻性的 | |
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25 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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26 renowned | |
adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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27 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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28 aspiring | |
adj.有志气的;有抱负的;高耸的v.渴望;追求 | |
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29 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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30 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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31 embroidered | |
adj.绣花的 | |
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32 strap | |
n.皮带,带子;v.用带扣住,束牢;用绷带包扎 | |
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33 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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34 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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35 hap | |
n.运气;v.偶然发生 | |
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36 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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37 emblem | |
n.象征,标志;徽章 | |
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38 demesne | |
n.领域,私有土地 | |
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39 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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40 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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41 rue | |
n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
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42 defile | |
v.弄污,弄脏;n.(山间)小道 | |
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43 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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44 tyrant | |
n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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45 gales | |
龙猫 | |
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46 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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48 wedded | |
adj.正式结婚的;渴望…的,执著于…的v.嫁,娶,(与…)结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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50 bogs | |
n.沼泽,泥塘( bog的名词复数 );厕所v.(使)陷入泥沼, (使)陷入困境( bog的第三人称单数 );妨碍,阻碍 | |
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51 vassal | |
n.附庸的;属下;adj.奴仆的 | |
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52 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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53 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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54 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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55 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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56 toils | |
网 | |
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57 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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58 adorns | |
装饰,佩带( adorn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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59 nag | |
v.(对…)不停地唠叨;n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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60 avowed | |
adj.公开声明的,承认的v.公开声明,承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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61 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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62 domains | |
n.范围( domain的名词复数 );领域;版图;地产 | |
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63 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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64 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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65 attaining | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的现在分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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66 overcast | |
adj.阴天的,阴暗的,愁闷的;v.遮盖,(使)变暗,包边缝;n.覆盖,阴天 | |
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67 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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68 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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69 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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70 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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71 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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72 nought | |
n./adj.无,零 | |
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73 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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74 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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75 prim | |
adj.拘泥形式的,一本正经的;n.循规蹈矩,整洁;adv.循规蹈矩地,整洁地 | |
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76 demureness | |
n.demure(拘谨的,端庄的)的变形 | |
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77 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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78 demurely | |
adv.装成端庄地,认真地 | |
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79 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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80 twine | |
v.搓,织,编饰;(使)缠绕 | |
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81 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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82 whit | |
n.一点,丝毫 | |
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83 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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84 collation | |
n.便餐;整理 | |
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85 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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86 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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87 boon | |
n.恩赐,恩物,恩惠 | |
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88 faltering | |
犹豫的,支吾的,蹒跚的 | |
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89 reverences | |
n.尊敬,崇敬( reverence的名词复数 );敬礼 | |
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90 negligent | |
adj.疏忽的;玩忽的;粗心大意的 | |
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91 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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92 punctilious | |
adj.谨慎的,谨小慎微的 | |
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93 solicitude | |
n.焦虑 | |
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94 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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95 tact | |
n.机敏,圆滑,得体 | |
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96 languishing | |
a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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97 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
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98 lavished | |
v.过分给予,滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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100 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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101 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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102 sables | |
n.紫貂( sable的名词复数 );紫貂皮;阴暗的;暗夜 | |
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103 fetters | |
n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 );束缚v.给…上脚镣,束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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104 fetter | |
n./vt.脚镣,束缚 | |
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105 gall | |
v.使烦恼,使焦躁,难堪;n.磨难 | |
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106 knaves | |
n.恶棍,无赖( knave的名词复数 );(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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107 knave | |
n.流氓;(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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108 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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109 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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110 bounty | |
n.慷慨的赠予物,奖金;慷慨,大方;施与 | |
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111 incur | |
vt.招致,蒙受,遭遇 | |
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112 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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113 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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114 fabric | |
n.织物,织品,布;构造,结构,组织 | |
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115 retracted | |
v.撤回或撤消( retract的过去式和过去分词 );拒绝执行或遵守;缩回;拉回 | |
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116 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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117 abridging | |
节略( abridge的现在分词 ); 减少; 缩短; 剥夺(某人的)权利(或特权等) | |
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118 wielded | |
手持着使用(武器、工具等)( wield的过去式和过去分词 ); 具有; 运用(权力); 施加(影响) | |
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119 hawking | |
利用鹰行猎 | |
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120 mustering | |
v.集合,召集,集结(尤指部队)( muster的现在分词 );(自他人处)搜集某事物;聚集;激发 | |
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121 insignificance | |
n.不重要;无价值;无意义 | |
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122 subdue | |
vt.制服,使顺从,征服;抑制,克制 | |
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123 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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124 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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125 patriot | |
n.爱国者,爱国主义者 | |
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126 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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127 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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128 follies | |
罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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129 bauble | |
n.美观而无价值的饰物 | |
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130 hindrance | |
n.妨碍,障碍 | |
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131 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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132 outright | |
adv.坦率地;彻底地;立即;adj.无疑的;彻底的 | |
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133 thwart | |
v.阻挠,妨碍,反对;adj.横(断的) | |
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134 spoke | |
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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135 politic | |
adj.有智虑的;精明的;v.从政 | |
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136 pate | |
n.头顶;光顶 | |
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137 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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138 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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139 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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140 retinue | |
n.侍从;随员 | |
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141 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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142 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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143 slipper | |
n.拖鞋 | |
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144 Augmented | |
adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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145 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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146 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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147 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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148 custody | |
n.监护,照看,羁押,拘留 | |
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149 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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150 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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151 wager | |
n.赌注;vt.押注,打赌 | |
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152 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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153 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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154 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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155 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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156 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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157 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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158 intrigued | |
adj.好奇的,被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式);激起…的兴趣或好奇心;“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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159 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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160 rein | |
n.疆绳,统治,支配;vt.以僵绳控制,统治 | |
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162 bridle | |
n.笼头,束缚;vt.抑制,约束;动怒 | |
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163 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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164 scowled | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165 pensively | |
adv.沉思地,焦虑地 | |
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166 dotage | |
n.年老体衰;年老昏聩 | |
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167 fickle | |
adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的,不坚定的 | |
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168 wile | |
v.诡计,引诱;n.欺骗,欺诈 | |
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169 ransom | |
n.赎金,赎身;v.赎回,解救 | |
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170 rues | |
v.对…感到后悔( rue的第三人称单数 ) | |
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171 forsake | |
vt.遗弃,抛弃;舍弃,放弃 | |
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172 holders | |
支持物( holder的名词复数 ); 持有者; (支票等)持有人; 支托(或握持)…之物 | |
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173 exchequer | |
n.财政部;国库 | |
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174 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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175 cleaves | |
v.劈开,剁开,割开( cleave的第三人称单数 ) | |
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176 pander | |
v.迎合;n.拉皮条者,勾引者;帮人做坏事的人 | |
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177 contagious | |
adj.传染性的,有感染力的 | |
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178 thrift | |
adj.节约,节俭;n.节俭,节约 | |
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179 beads | |
n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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180 absolved | |
宣告…无罪,赦免…的罪行,宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 ); 不受责难,免除责任 [义务] ,开脱(罪责) | |
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181 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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182 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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183 meridian | |
adj.子午线的;全盛期的 | |
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184 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
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185 impudent | |
adj.鲁莽的,卑鄙的,厚颜无耻的 | |
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186 presto | |
adv.急速地;n.急板乐段;adj.急板的 | |
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187 repent | |
v.悔悟,悔改,忏悔,后悔 | |
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188 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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189 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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190 needy | |
adj.贫穷的,贫困的,生活艰苦的 | |
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191 requisites | |
n.必要的事物( requisite的名词复数 ) | |
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192 whimsies | |
n.怪念头( whimsy的名词复数 );异想天开;怪脾气;与众不同的幽默感 | |
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193 gallows | |
n.绞刑架,绞台 | |
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194 dangles | |
悬吊着( dangle的第三人称单数 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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195 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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196 jeering | |
adj.嘲弄的,揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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197 knack | |
n.诀窍,做事情的灵巧的,便利的方法 | |
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198 phantom | |
n.幻影,虚位,幽灵;adj.错觉的,幻影的,幽灵的 | |
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199 hypocrisy | |
n.伪善,虚伪 | |
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200 pouches | |
n.(放在衣袋里或连在腰带上的)小袋( pouch的名词复数 );(袋鼠等的)育儿袋;邮袋;(某些动物贮存食物的)颊袋 | |
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201 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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202 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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203 kinsman | |
n.男亲属 | |
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204 unaware | |
a.不知道的,未意识到的 | |
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205 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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206 ruffle | |
v.弄皱,弄乱;激怒,扰乱;n.褶裥饰边 | |
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207 saucy | |
adj.无礼的;俊俏的;活泼的 | |
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208 crave | |
vt.渴望得到,迫切需要,恳求,请求 | |
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209 wields | |
手持着使用(武器、工具等)( wield的第三人称单数 ); 具有; 运用(权力); 施加(影响) | |
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210 conjure | |
v.恳求,祈求;变魔术,变戏法 | |
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211 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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212 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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213 illicit | |
adj.非法的,禁止的,不正当的 | |
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214 commemorates | |
n.纪念,庆祝( commemorate的名词复数 )v.纪念,庆祝( commemorate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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215 decried | |
v.公开反对,谴责( decry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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216 impoverishment | |
n.贫穷,穷困;贫化 | |
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217 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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218 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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219 reigns | |
n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 );君主统治时期;任期;当政期 | |
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220 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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221 fracas | |
n.打架;吵闹 | |
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222 manor | |
n.庄园,领地 | |
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223 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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224 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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225 bespeak | |
v.预定;预先请求 | |
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226 proffering | |
v.提供,贡献,提出( proffer的现在分词 ) | |
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227 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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228 haughtily | |
adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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229 mortified | |
v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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230 repelled | |
v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 );使厌恶;排斥;推开 | |
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231 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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232 nags | |
n.不断地挑剔或批评(某人)( nag的名词复数 );不断地烦扰或伤害(某人);无休止地抱怨;不断指责v.不断地挑剔或批评(某人)( nag的第三人称单数 );不断地烦扰或伤害(某人);无休止地抱怨;不断指责 | |
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233 bluff | |
v.虚张声势,用假象骗人;n.虚张声势,欺骗 | |
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234 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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235 auditors | |
n.审计员,稽核员( auditor的名词复数 );(大学课程的)旁听生 | |
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236 dependant | |
n.依靠的,依赖的,依赖他人生活者 | |
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237 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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238 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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239 query | |
n.疑问,问号,质问;vt.询问,表示怀疑 | |
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240 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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241 steward | |
n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
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242 mien | |
n.风采;态度 | |
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243 insolence | |
n.傲慢;无礼;厚颜;傲慢的态度 | |
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244 dependants | |
受赡养者,受扶养的家属( dependant的名词复数 ) | |
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245 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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246 perusing | |
v.读(某篇文字)( peruse的现在分词 );(尤指)细阅;审阅;匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览(某篇文字) | |
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247 marrow | |
n.骨髓;精华;活力 | |
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248 derive | |
v.取得;导出;引申;来自;源自;出自 | |
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249 predecessors | |
n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 );前辈;(被取代的)原有事物;前身 | |
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250 expounder | |
陈述者,说明者 | |
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251 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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252 staple | |
n.主要产物,常用品,主要要素,原料,订书钉,钩环;adj.主要的,重要的;vt.分类 | |
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253 joyful | |
adj.欢乐的,令人欢欣的 | |
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254 magistrates | |
地方法官,治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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255 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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256 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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