“Nay, by Our Lady, that it is not,” said Mysie; “I know the favour

of both the Glendinnings well, and I think this rider be not of our

country. He has a crimson velvet bonnet, and long brown hair falling

down under it, and a beard on his upper lip, and his chin clean and

close shaved, save a small patch on the point of the chin, and a

sky-blue jerkin slashed and lined with white satin, and trunk-hose to

suit, and no weapon but a rapier and dagger--Well, if I was a man, I

would never wear weapon but the rapier! it is so slender and becoming,

instead of having a cartload of iron at my back, like my father's

broad-sword with its great rusty basket-hilt. Do you not delight in the

rapier and poniard, lady?”

“The best sword,” answered Mary, “if I must needs answer a question of

the sort, is that which is drawn in the best cause, and which is best

used when it is out of the scabbard.”

“But can you not guess who this stranger should be?” said Mysie.

“Indeed, I cannot even attempt it; but to judge by his companion, it is

no matter how little he is known,” replied Mary.

“My benison on his bonny face,” said Mysie, “if he is not going to

alight here! Now, I am as much pleased as if my father had given me the

silver earrings he has promised me so often;--nay, you had as well come

to the window, for you must see him by and by whether you will or not.”

I do not know how much sooner Mary Avenel might have sought the point

of observation, if she had not been scared from it by the unrestrained

curiosity expressed by her buxom friend; but at length the same feeling

prevailed over her sense of dignity, and satisfied with having displayed

all the indifference that was necessary in point of decorum, she no

longer thought herself bound to restrain her curiosity.

From the outshot or projecting window, she could perceive that Christie

of the Clinthill was attended on the present occasion by a very gay and

gallant cavalier, who, from the nobleness of his countenance and manner,

his rich and handsome dress, and the showy appearance of his horse and

furniture, must, she agreed with her new friend, be a person of some

consequence.

Christie also seemed conscious of something, which made him call out

with more than his usual insolence of manner, “What, ho! so ho!

the house! Churl peasants, will no one answer when I call?--Ho!

Martin,--Tibb,--Dame Glendinning--a murrain on you, must we stand

keeping our horses in the cold here, and they steaming with heat, when

we have ridden so sharply?”

At length he was obeyed, and old Martin made his appearance. “Ha!” said

Christie, “art thou there, old Truepenny? here, stable me these steeds,

and see them well bedded, and stretch thine old limbs by rubbing them

down; and see thou quit not the stable till there is not a turned hair

on either of them.”

Martin took the horses to the stable as commanded, but suppressed not

his indignation a moment after he could vent it with safety. “Would not

any one think,” he said to Jasper, an old ploughman, who, in coming to

his assistance, had heard Christie's imperious injunctions, “that this

loon, this Christie of the Clinthill, was laird or lord at least of him?

No such thing, man! I remember him a little dirty turnspit boy in the

house of Avenel, that every body in a frosty morning like this warmed

his fingers by kicking or cuffing! and now he is a gentleman, and

swears, d--n him and renounce him, as if the gentlemen could not so

much as keep their own wickedness to themselves, without the like of

him going to hell in their very company, and by the same road. I have as

much a mind as ever I had to my dinner, to go back and tell him to sort

his horse himself, since he is as able as I am.”

“Hout tout, man!” answered Jasper, “keep a calm sough; better to fleech

a fool than fight with him.”

Martin acknowledged the truth of the proverb, and, much comforted

therewith, betook himself to cleaning the stranger's horse with great

assiduity, remarking, it was a pleasure to handle a handsome nag,

and turned over the other to the charge of Jasper. Nor was it until

Christie's commands were literally complied with that he deemed it

proper, after fitting ablutions, to join the party in the spence; not

for the purpose of waiting upon them, as a mere modern reader might

possibly expect, but that he might have his share of dinner in their

company.

In the meanwhile, Christie had presented his companion to Dame

Glendinning as Sir Piercie Shafton, a friend of his and of his master,

come to spend three or four days with little din in the tower. The good

dame could not conceive how she was entitled to such an honour, and

would fain have pleaded her want of every sort of convenience to

entertain a guest of that quality. But, indeed, the visiter, when

he cast his eyes round the bare walls, eyed the huge black chimney,

scrutinized the meagre and broken furniture of the apartment, and

beheld the embarrassment of the mistress of the family, intimated great

reluctance to intrude upon Dame Glendinning a visit, which could scarce,

from all appearances, prove otherwise than an inconvenience to her, and

a penance to himself.

But the reluctant hostess and her guest had to do with an inexorable

man, who silenced all expostulations with, “such was his master's

pleasure. And, moreover,” he continued, “though the Baron of Avenel's

will must, and ought to prove law to all within ten miles around him,

yet here, dame,” he said, “is a letter from your petticoated baron, the

lord-priest yonder, who enjoins you, as you regard his pleasure, that

you afford to this good knight such decent accommodation as is in your

power, suffering him to live as privately as he shall desire.--And

for you, Sir Piercie Shafton,” continued Christie, “you will judge for

yourself, whether secrecy and safety is not more your object even now,

than soft beds and high cheer. And do not judge of the dame's goods

by the semblance of her cottage; for you will see by the dinner she is

about to spread for us, that the vassal of the kirk is seldom found with

her basket bare.” To Mary Avenel, Christie presented the stranger, after

the best fashion he could, as to the niece of his master the baron.

While he thus laboured to reconcile Sir Piercie Shafton to his fate, the

widow, having consulted her son Edward on the real import of the Lord

Abbot's injunction, and having found that Christie had given a true

exposition, saw nothing else left for her but to make that fate as easy

as she could to the stranger. He himself also seemed reconciled to his

lot by some feeling probably of strong necessity, and accepted with

a good grace the hospitality which the dame offered with a very

indifferent one.

In fact, the dinner, which soon smoked before the assembled guests,

was of that substantial kind which warrants plenty and comfort. Dame

Glendinning had cooked it after her best manner; and, delighted with the

handsome appearance which her good cheer made when placed on the table,

forgot both her plans and the vexations which interrupted them, in the

hospitable duty of pressing her assembled visiters to eat and drink,

watching every trencher as it waxed empty, and loading it with fresh

supplies ere the guest could utter a negative.

In the meanwhile, the company attentively regarded each other's motions,

and seemed endeavouring to form a judgment of each other's character.

Sir Piercie Shafton condescended to speak to no one but to Mary Avenel,

and on her he conferred exactly the same familiar and compassionate,

though somewhat scornful sort of attention, which a pretty fellow of

these days will sometimes condescend to bestow on a country miss, when

there is no prettier or more fashionable woman present. The manner

indeed was different, for the etiquette of those times did not permit

Sir Piercie Shafton to pick his teeth, or to yawn, or to gabble like the

beggar whose tongue (as he says) was cut out by the Turks, or to affect

deafness or blindness, or any other infirmity of the organs. But though

the embroidery of his conversation was different, the groundwork was the

same, and the high-flown and ornate compliments with which the gallant

knight of the sixteenth century inter-larded his conversation, were as

much the offspring of egotism and self-conceit, as the jargon of the

coxcombs of our own days.

The English knight was, however, something daunted at finding that Mary

Avenel listened with an air of indifference, and answered with wonderful

brevity, to all the fine things which ought, as he conceived, to have

dazzled her with their brilliancy, and puzzled her by their obscurity.

But if he was disappointed in making the desired, or rather the expected

impression, upon her whom he addressed, Sir Piercie Shafton's discourse

was marvellous in the ears of Mysie the Miller's daughter, and not the

less so that she did not comprehend the meaning of a single word which

he uttered. Indeed, the gallant knight's language was far too courtly to

be understood by persons of much greater acuteness than Mysie's.

It was about this period, that the “only rare poet of his time, the

witty, comical, facetiously-quick, and quickly-facetious, John Lylly--he

that sate at Apollo's table, and to whom Phoebus gave a wreath of his

own bays without snatching” [Footnote: Such, and yet more extravagant,

are the compliments paid to this author by his editor, Blount.

Notwithstanding all exaggeration, Lylly was really a man of wit and

imagination, though both were deformed by the most unnatural affectation

that ever disgraced a printed page.]--he, in short, who wrote that

singularly coxcomical work, called _Euphues and his England_, was in the

very zenith of his absurdity and his reputation. The quaint, forced,

and unnatural style which he introduced by his “Anatomy of Wit,” had

a fashion as rapid as it was momentary--all the court ladies were his

scholars, and to _parler Euphuisme_, was as necessary a qualification to

a courtly gallant, as those of understanding how to use his rapier, or

to dance a measure.

It was no wonder that the Maid of the Mill was soon as effectually

blinded by the intricacies of this erudite and courtly style of

conversation, as she had ever been by the dust of her father's own

meal-sacks. But there she sate with her mouth and eyes as open as the

mill-door and the two windows, showing teeth as white as her father's

bolted flour, and endeavouring to secure a word or two for her own

future use out of the pearls of rhetoric which Sir Piercie Shafton

scattered around him with such bounteous profusion.

For the male part of the company, Edward felt ashamed of his own manner

and slowness of speech, when he observed the handsome young courtier,

with an ease and volubility of which he had no conception, run over

all the commonplace topics of high-flown gallantry. It is true the good

sense and natural taste of young Glendinning soon informed him that the

gallant cavalier was speaking nonsense. But, alas! where is the man of

modest merit, and real talent, who has not suffered from being outshone

in conversation and outstripped in the race of life, by men of less

reserve, and of qualities more showy, though less substantial? and well

constituted must the mind be, that can yield up the prize without envy

to competitors more worthy than himself.

Edward Glendinning had no such philosophy. While he despised the jargon

of the gay cavalier, he envied the facility with which he could run on,

as well as the courtly tone and expression, and the perfect ease and

elegance with which he offered all the little acts of politeness to

which the duties of the table gave opportunity. And if I am to speak

truth, I must own that he envied those qualities the more as they

were all exercised in Mary Avenel's service, and, although only so

far accepted as they could not be refused, intimated a wish on the

stranger's part to place himself in her good graces, as the only person

in the room to whom he thought it worth while to recommend himself. His

title, rank, and very handsome figure, together with some sparks of wit

and spirit which flashed across the cloud of nonsense which he uttered,

rendered him, as the words of the old song say, “a lad for a lady's

viewing;” so that poor Edward, with all his real worth and acquired

knowledge, in his home-spun doublet, blue cap, and deerskin trowsers,

looked like a clown beside the courtier, and, feeling the full

inferiority, nourished no good-will to him by whom he was eclipsed.

Christie, on the other hand, as soon as he had satisfied to the full a

commodious appetite, by means of which persons of his profession could,

like the wolf and eagle, gorge themselves with as much food at one meal

as might serve them for several days, began also to feel himself more in

the back-ground than he liked to be. This worthy had, amongst his other

good qualities, an excellent opinion of himself; and, being of a bold

and forward disposition, had no mind to be thrown into the shade by

any one. With an impudent familiarity which such persons mistake for

graceful ease, he broke in upon the knight's finest speeches with as

little remorse as he would have driven the point of his lance through a

laced doublet. Sir Piercie Shafton, a man of rank and high birth, by no

means encouraged or endured this familiarity, and requited the intruder

either with total neglect, or such laconic replies as intimated a

sovereign contempt for the rude spearman, who affected to converse with

him upon terms of equality.

The Miller held his peace; for, as his usual conversation turned chiefly

on his clapper and toll-dish, he had no mind to brag of his wealth in

presence of Christie of the Clinthill, or to intrude his discourse on

the English cavalier.

A little specimen of the conversation may not be out of place, were it

but to show young ladies what fine things they have lost by living when

Euphuism is out of fashion.

“Credit me, fairest lady,” said the knight, “that such is the cunning

of our English courtiers, of the hodiernal strain, that, as they

have infinitely refined upon the plain and rusticial discourse of

our fathers, which, as I may say, more beseemed the mouths of country

roisterers in a May-game than that of courtly gallants in a galliard,

so I hold it ineffably and unutterably impossible, that those who may

succeed us in that garden of wit and courtesy shall alter or amend it.

Venus delighted but in the language of Mercury, Bucephalus will stoop to

no one but Alexander, none can sound Apollo's pipe but Orpheus.”

“Valiant sir,” said Mary, who could scarcely help laughing, “we have

but to rejoice in the chance which hath honoured this solitude with a

glimpse of the sun of courtesy, though it rather blinds than enlightens

us.”

“Pretty and quaint, fairest lady,” answered the Euphuist. “Ah, that I

had with me my Anatomy of Wit--that all-to-be-unparalleled volume--that

quintessence of human wit--that treasury of quaint

invention--that exquisitively-pleasant-to-read, and

inevitably-necessary-to-be-remembered manual, of all that is worthy

to be known--which indoctrines the rude in civility, the dull in

intellectuality, the heavy in jocosity, the blunt in gentility, the

vulgar in nobility, and all of them in that unutterable perfection, of

human utterance, that eloquence which no other eloquence is sufficient

to praise, that art which, when we call it by its own name of Euphuism,

we bestow on it its richest panegyric.”

“By Saint Mary,” said Christie of the Clinthill, “if your worship

had told me that you had left such stores of wealth as you talk of at

Prudhoe Castle, Long Dickie and I would have had them off with us if man

and horse could have carried them; but you told us of no treasure I wot

of, save the silver tongs for turning up your mustachoes.”

The knight treated this intruder's mistake--for certainly Christie had

no idea that all these epithets which sounded so rich and splendid,

were lavished upon a small quarto volume--with a stare, and then turning

again to Mary Avenel, the only person whom he thought worthy to address,

he proceeded in his strain of high-flown oratory, “Even thus,” said he,

“do hogs contemn the splendour of Oriental pearls; even thus are the

delicacies of a choice repast in vain offered to the long-eared grazer

of the common, who turneth from them to devour a thistle. Surely as

idle is it to pour forth the treasures of oratory before the eyes of the

ignorant, and to spread the dainties of the intellectual banquet before

those who are, morally and metaphysically speaking, no better than

asses.”

“Sir Knight, since that is your quality,” said Edward, “we cannot strive

with you in loftiness of language; but I pray you in fair courtesy,

while you honour my father's house with your presence, to spare us such

vile comparisons.”

“Peace, good villagio,” said the knight, gracefully waving his hand, “I

prithee peace, kind rustic; and you, my guide, whom I may scarce call

honest, let me prevail upon you to imitate the laudable taciturnity of

that honest yeoman, who sits as mute as a mill-post, and of that

comely damsel, who seems as with her ears she drank in what she did not

altogether comprehend, even as a palfrey listening to a lute, whereof,

howsoever, he knoweth not the gamut.”

“Marvellous fine words,” at length said Dame Glendinning, who began to

be tired of sitting so long silent, “marvellous fine words, neighbour

Happer, are they not?”

“Brave words--very brave words--very exceeding pyet words,” answered the

Miller; “nevertheless, to speak my mind, a lippy of bran were worth a

bushel of them.”

“I think so too, under his worship's favour,” answered Christie of the

Clinthill. “I well remember that at the race of Morham, as we call

it, near Berwick, I took a young Southern fellow out of saddle with my

lance, and cast him, it might be, a gad's length from his nag; and so,

as he had some gold on his laced doublet, I deemed he might ha' the like

on it in his pocket too, though that is a rule that does not aye hold

good--So I was speaking to him of ransom, and out he comes with a

handful of such terms as his honour there hath gleaned up, and craved me

for mercy, as I was a true son of Mars, and such like.”

“And obtained no mercy at thy hand, I dare be sworn,” said the knight,

who deigned not to speak Euphuism excepting to the fair sex.

“By my troggs,” replied Christie, “I would have thrust my lance down his

throat, but just then they flung open that accursed postern-gate, and

forth pricked old Hunsdon, and Henry Carey, and as many fellows at their

heels as turned the chase northward again. So I e'en pricked Bayard with

the spur, and went off with the rest; for a man should ride when he may

not wrestle, as they say in Tynedale.”

“Trust me,” said the knight, again turning to Mary Avenel, “if I do

not pity you, lady, who, being of noble blood, are thus in a manner

compelled to abide in the cottage of the ignorant, like the precious

stone in the head of the toad, or like a precious garland on the brow of

an ass.--But soft, what gallant have we here, whose garb savoureth more

of the rustic than doth his demeanour, and whose looks seem more lofty

than his habit; even as--”

“I pray you, Sir Knight,” said Mary, “to spare your courtly similitudes

for refined ears, and give me leave to name unto you my foster-brother,

Halbert Glendinning.”

“The son of the good dame of the cottage, as I opine,” answered the

English knight; “for by some such name did my guide discriminate

the mistress of this mansion, which you, madam, enrich with your

presence.--And yet, touching this juvenal, he hath that about him which

belongeth to higher birth, for all are not black who dig coals--”

“Nor all white who are millers,” said honest Happer, glad to get in a

word, as they say, edgeways.

Halbert, who had sustained the glance of the Englishman with some

impatience, and knew not what to make of his manner and language,

replied with some asperity, “Sir Knight, we have in this land of

Scotland an ancient saying, 'Scorn not the bush that bields you'--you

are a guest of my father's house to shelter you from danger, if I am

rightly informed by the domestics. Scoff not its homeliness, nor that of

its inmates--ye might long have abidden at the court of England, ere

we had sought your favour, or cumbered you with our society. Since your

fate has sent you hither amongst us, be contented with such fare and

such converse as we can afford you, and scorn us not for our kindness;

for the Scots wear short patience and long daggers.”

All eyes were turned on Halbert while he was thus speaking, and

there was a general feeling that his countenance had an expression of

intelligence, and his person an air of dignity, which they had never

before observed. Whether it were that the wonderful Being with whom

he had so lately held communication, had bestowed on him a grace and

dignity of look and bearing which he had not before, or whether the

being conversant in high matters, and called to a destiny beyond that

of other men, had a natural effect in giving becoming confidence to his

language and manner, we pretend not to determine. But it was evident

to all, that, from this day, young Halbert was an altered man; that

he acted with the steadiness, promptitude, and determination,

which belonged to riper years, and bore himself with a manner which

appertained to higher rank.

The knight took the rebuke with good humour. “By my mine honour,” he

said, “thou hast reason on thy side, good juvenal--nevertheless, I spoke

not as in ridicule of the roof which relieves me, but rather in your own

praise, to whom, if this roof be native, thou mayst nevertheless rise

from its lowliness; even as the lark, which maketh its humble nest

in the furrow, ascendeth towards the sun, as well as the eagle which

buildeth her eyry in the cliff.”

This high-flown discourse was interrupted by Dame Glendinning, who, with

all the busy anxiety of a mother, was loading her son's trencher with

food, and dinning in his ear her reproaches on account of his prolonged

absence. “And see,” she said, “that you do not one day get such a sight

while you are walking about among the haunts of them that are not of our

flesh and bone, as befell Mungo Murray when he slept on the greensward

ring of the Auld Kirkhill at sunset, and wakened at daybreak in the wild

hills of Breadalbane. And see that, when you are looking for deer, the

red stag does not gall you as he did Diccon Thorburn, who never

overcast the wound that he took from a buck's horn. And see, when you go

swaggering about with a long broadsword by your side, whilk it

becomes no peaceful man to do, that you dinna meet with them that have

broadsword and lance both--there are enow of rank riders in this land,

that neither fear God nor regard man.”

Here her eye “in a fine frenzy rolling,” fell full upon that of Christie

of the Clinthill, and at once her fears for having given offence

interrupted the current of maternal rebuke, which, like rebuke

matrimonial, may be often better meant than timed. There was something

of sly and watchful significance in Christie's eye, an eye gray, keen,

fierce, yet wily, formed to express at once cunning, and malice, which

made the dame instantly conjecture she had said too much, while she

saw in imagination her twelve goodly cows go lowing down the glen in a

moonlight night, with half a score of Border spearsmen at their heels.

Her voice, therefore, sunk from the elevated tone of maternal authority

into a whimpering apologetic sort of strain, and she proceeded to say,

“It is no that I have ony ill thoughts of the Border riders, for Tibb

Tacket there has often heard me say that I thought spear and bridle as

natural to a Borderman as a pen to a priest, or a feather-fan to a lady;

and--have you not heard me say it, Tibb?”

Tibb showed something less than her expected alacrity in attesting her

mistress's deep respect for the freebooters of the southland hills; but,

thus conjured, did at length reply, “Hout ay, mistress, I'se warrant I

have heard you say something like that.”

“Mother!” said Halbert, in a firm and commanding tone of voice, “what

or whom is it that you fear under my father's roof?--I well hope that

it harbours not a guest in whose presence you are afraid to say your

pleasure to me or my brother? I am sorry I have been detained so late,

being ignorant of the fair company which I should encounter on my

return.--I pray you let this excuse suffice: and what satisfies you,

will, I trust, be nothing less than acceptable to your guests.”

An answer calculated so jistly betwixt the submission due to his parent,

and the natural feeling of dignity in one who was by birth master of

the mansion, excited universal satisfaction. And as Elspeth herself

confessed to Tibb on the same evening, “She did not think it had been in

the callant. Till that night, he took pets and passions if he was spoke

to, and lap through the house like a four-year-auld at the least word of

advice that was minted at him, but now he spoke as grave and as douce as

the Lord Abbot himself. She kendna,” she said, “what might be the upshot

of it, but it was like he was a wonderfu' callant even now.”

The party then separated, the young men retiring to their apartments,

the elder to their household cares. While Christie went to see his horse

properly accommodated, Edward betook himself to his book, and Halbert,

who was as ingenious in employing his hands as he had hitherto appeared

imperfect in mental exertion, applied himself to constructing a place

of concealment in the floor of his apartment by raising a plank, beneath

which he resolved to deposit that copy of the Holy Scriptures which had

been so strangely regained from the possession of men and spirits.

In the meanwhile Sir Piercie Shafton sate still as a stone, in the chair

in which he had deposited himself, his hands folded on his breast, his

legs stretched straight out before him and resting upon the heels, his

eyes cast up to the ceiling as if he had meant to count every mesh of

every cobweb with which the arched roof was canopied, wearing at the

same time a face of as solemn and imperturbable gravity, as if his

existence had depended on the accuracy of his calculation.

He could scarce be roused from his listless state of contemplative

absorption so as to take some supper, a meal at which the younger

females appeared not. Sir Piercie stared around twice or thrice as if he

missed something; but he asked not for them, and only evinced his sense

of a proper audience being wanting, by his abstraction and absence of

mind, seldom speaking until he was twice addressed, and then replying,

without trope or figure, in that plain English which nobody could speak

better when he had a mind.

Christie, finding himself in undisturbed possession of the conversation,

indulged all who chose to listen with details of his own wild and

inglorious warfare, while Dame Elspeth's curch bristled with horror,

and Tibb Tacket, rejoiced to find herself once more in the company of

a jackman, listened to his tales, like Desdemona to Othello's, with

undisguised delight. Meantime the two young Glendinnings were each

wrapped up in his own reflections, and only interrupted in them by the

signal to move bedward.

* * * * *

Chapter the Fifteenth.

He strikes no coin, 'tis true, but coins new phrases,

And vends them forth as knaves vend gilded counters,

Which wise men scorn, and fools accept in payment.

OLD PLAY.

In the morning Christie of the Clinthill was nowhere to be seen. As this

worthy personage did seldom pique himself on sounding a trumpet before

his movements, no one was surprised at his moonlight departure, though

some alarm was excited lest he had not made it empty-handed. So, in the

language of the national ballad,

Some ran to cupboard, and some to kist,

But nought was away that could be mist.

All was in order, the key of the stable left above the door, and that of

the iron-grate in the inside of the lock. In short, the retreat had been

made with scrupulous attention to the security of the garrison, and so

far Christie left them nothing to complain of.

The safety of the premises was ascertained by Halbert, who instead of

catching up a gun or cross-bow, and sallying out for the day as had been

his frequent custom, now, with a gravity beyond his years, took a survey

of all around the tower, and then returned to the spence, or public

apartment, in which, at the early hour of seven, the morning meal was

prepared.

There he found the Euphuist in the same elegant posture of abstruse

calculation which he had exhibited on the preceding evening, his arms

folded in the same angle, his eyes turned up to the same cobwebs, and

his heels resting on the ground as before. Tired of this affectation of

indolent importance, and not much flattered with his guest's persevering

in it to the last, Halbert resolved at once to break the ice, being

determined to know what circumstance had brought to the tower of

Glendinning a guest at once so supercilious and so silent.

“Sir Knight,” he said with some firmness, “I have twice given you good

morning, to which the absence of your mind hath, I presume, prevented

you from yielding attention, or from making return. This exchange of

courtesy is at your pleasure to give or withhold--But, as what I have

further to say concerns your comfort and your motions in an especial

manner, I will entreat you to give me some signs of attention, that I

may be sure I am not wasting my words on a monumental image.”

At this unexpected address, Sir Piercie Shafton opened his eyes, and

afforded the speaker a broad stare; but as Halbert returned the glance

without either confusion or dismay, the knight thought proper to

change his posture, draw in his legs, raise his eyes, fix them on young

Glendinning, and assume the appearance of one who listens to what is

said to him. Nay, to make his purpose more evident, he gave voice to his

resolution in these words, “Speak! we do hear.”

“Sir Knight,” said the youth, “it is the custom of this Halidome, or

patrimony of St. Mary's, to trouble with inquiries no guests who receive

our hospitality, providing they tarry in our house only for a single

revolution of the sun. We know that both criminals and debtors come

hither for sanctuary, and we scorn to extort from the pilgrim, whom

chance may make our guest, an avowal of the cause of his pilgrimage and

penance. But when one so high above our rank as yourself, Sir Knight,

and especially one to whom the possession of such pre-eminence is not

indifferent, shows his determination to be our guest for a longer time,

it is our usage to inquire of him whence he comes, and what is the cause

of his journey?”

The English knight gaped twice or thrice before he answered, and then

replied in a bantering tone, “Truly, good villagio, your question hath

in it somewhat of embarrassment, for you ask me of things concerning

which I am not as yet altogether determined what answer I may find it

convenient to make. Let it suffice thee, kind juvenal, that thou hast

the Lord Abbot's authority for treating me to the best of that power

of thine, which, indeed, may not always so well suffice for my

accommodation as either of us would desire.”

“I must have a more precise answer than this, Sir Knight,” said the

young Glendinning.

“Friend,” said the knight, “be not outrageous. It may suit your northern

manners thus to press harshly upon the secrets of thy betters; but

believe me, that even as the lute, struck by an unskilful hand, doth

produce discords, so----” At this moment the door of the apartment

opened, and Mary Avenel presented herself--“But who can talk of

discords,” said the knight, assuming his complimentary vein and humour,

“when the soul of harmony descends upon us in the presence of surpassing

beauty! For even as foxes, wolves, and other animals void of sense and

reason, do fly from the presence of the resplendent sun of heaven when

he arises in his glory, so do strife, wrath, and all ireful passions

retreat, and, as it were, scud away, from the face which now beams upon

us, with power to compose our angry passions, illuminate our errors and

difficulties, soothe our wounded minds, and lull to rest our disorderly

apprehensions; for as the heat and warmth of the eye of day is to the

material and physical world, so is the eye which I now bow down before

to that of the intellectual microcosm.”

He concluded with a profound bow; and Mary Avenel, gazing from one to

the other, and plainly seeing that something was amiss, could only say,

“For heaven's sake, what is the meaning of this?”

The newly-acquired tact and intelligence of her foster-brother was as

yet insufficient to enable him to give an answer. He was quite uncertain

how he ought to deal with a guest, who preserving a singularly high tone

of assumed superiority and importance, seemed nevertheless so little

serious in what he said, that it was quite impossible to discern with

accuracy whether he was in jest or earnest.

Forming, however, the internal resolution to bring Sir Piercie Shafton

to a reckoning at a more fit place and season, he resolved to prosecute

the matter no farther at present; and the entrance of his mother with

the damsel of the Mill, and the return of the honest Miller from the

stack-yard, where he had been numbering and calculating the probable

amount of the season's grist, rendered farther discussion impossible for

the moment.

In the course of the calculation it could not but strike the man of meal

and grindstones, that after the church's dues were paid, and after all

which he himself could by any means deduct from the crop, still the

residue which must revert to Dame Glendinning could not be less than

considerable. I wot not if this led the honest Miller to nourish any

plans similar to those adopted by Elspeth; but it is certain that he

accepted with grateful alacrity an invitation which the dame gave to his

daughter, to remain a week or two as her guest at Glendearg.

The principal persons being thus in high good humour with each other,

all business gave place to the hilarity of the morning repast; and so

much did Sir Piercie appear gratified by the attention which was paid to

every word that he uttered by the nut-brown Mysie, that, notwithstanding

his high birth and distinguished quality, he bestowed on her some of the

more ordinary and second-rate tropes of his elocution.

Mary Avenel, when relieved from the awkwardness of feeling the full

weight of his conversation addressed to herself, enjoyed it much

more; and the good knight, encouraged by those conciliating marks of

approbation from the sex, for whose sake he cultivated his oratorical

talents, made speedy intimation of his purpose to be more communicative

than he had shown himself in his conversation with Halbert Glendinning,

and gave them to understand, that it was in consequence of some pressing

danger that he was at present their involuntary guest.

The conclusion of the breakfast was a signal for the separation of the

company. The Miller went to prepare for his departure; his daughter

to arrange matters for her unexpected stay; Edward was summoned to

consultation by Martin concerning some agricultural matter, in which

Halbert could not be brought to interest himself; the dame left the room

upon her household concerns, and Mary was in the act of following her,

when she suddenly recollected, that if she did so, the strange knight

and Halbert must be left alone together, at the risk of another quarrel.

The maiden no sooner observed this circumstance, than she instantly

returned from the door of the apartment, and, seating herself in a small

stone window-seat, resolved to maintain that curb which she was sensible

her presence imposed on Halbert Glendinning, of whose quick temper she

had some apprehensions.

The stranger marked her motions, and, either interpreting them as

inviting his society, or obedient to those laws of gallantry which

permitted him not to leave a lady in silence and solitude, he instantly

placed himself near to her side and opened the conversation as

follows:--

“Credit me, fair lady” he said, addressing Mary Avenel, “it much

rejoiceth me, being, as I am, a banished man from the delights of mine

own country, that I shall find here in this obscure and silvan cottage

of the north, a fair form and a candid soul, with whom I may explain my

mutual sentiments. And let me pray you in particular, lovely lady, that,

according to the universal custom now predominant in our court, the

garden of superior wits, you will exchange with me some epithet whereby

you may mark my devotion to your service. Be henceforward named, for

example, my Protection, and let me be your Affability.”

“Our northern and country manners, Sir Knight, do not permit us to

exchange epithets with those to whom we are strangers,” replied Mary

Avenel.

“Nay, but see now,” said the knight, “how you are startled! even as the

unbroken steed, which swerves aside from the shaking of a handkerchief,

though he must in time encounter the waving of a pennon. This courtly

exchange of epithets of honour, is no more than the compliments which

pass between valour and beauty, wherever they meet, and under whatever

circumstances. Elizabeth of England herself calls Philip Sydney

her Courage, and he in return calls that princess his Inspiration.

Wherefore, my fair Protection, for by such epithet it shall be mine to

denominate you--”

“Not without the young lady's consent, sir!” interrupted Halbert; “most

truly do I hope your courtly and quaint breeding will not so far prevail

over the more ordinary rules of civil behaviour.”

“Fair tenant of an indifferent copyhold,” replied the knight, with the

same coolness and civility of mien, but in a tone somewhat more lofty

than he used to the young lady, “we do not in the southern parts, much

intermingle discourse, save with those with whom we may stand on some

footing of equality; and I must, in all discretion, remind you, that the

necessity which makes us inhabitants of the same cabin, doth not place

us otherwise on a level with each other.”

“By Saint Mary,” replied young Glendinning, “it is my thought that it

does; for plain men hold, that he who asks the shelter is indebted to

him who gives it; and so far, therefore, is our rank equalized while

this roof covers us both.”

“Thou art altogether deceived,” answered Sir Piercie; “and that thou

mayst fully adapt thyself to our relative condition, know that I account

not myself thy guest, but that of thy master, the Lord Abbot of Saint

Mary's, who, for reasons best known to himself and me, chooseth to

administer his hospitality to me through the means of thee, his servant

and vassal, who art, therefore, in good truth, as passive an instrument

of my accommodation as this ill-made and rugged joint-stool on which

I sit, or as the wooden trencher from which I eat my coarse commons.

Wherefore,” he added, turning to Mary, “fairest mistress, or rather,

as I said before, most lovely Protection--” [Footnote: There are many

instances to be met with in the ancient dramas of this whimsical and

conceited custom of persons who formed an intimacy, distinguishing:

each, other by some quaint epithet. In _Every Man out of his Humour_,

there is a humorous debate upon names most fit to bind the relation

betwixt Sogliardo and Cavaliero Shift, which ends by adopting those of

Countenance and Resolution. What is more to the point is in the speech

of Hedon, a voluptuary and a courtier in _Cynthia's Revels_. “you

know that I call Madam Plilantia my _Honour,_ and she calls me her

_Ambition._ Now, when I meet her in the presence, anon, I will come to

her and say, 'Sweet Honour, I have hitherto contented my sense with the

lilies of your hand, and now I will taste the roses of your lip.' To

which she cannot but blushing answer, 'Nay, now you are too ambitious;'

and then do I reply, 'I cannot be too ambitious of Honour, sweet lady.

Wilt not be good?'”--I think there is some remnant of this foppery

preserved in masonic lodges, where each brother is distinguished by a

name in the Lodge, signifying some abstract quality as Discretion, or

the like. See the poems of Gavin Wilson.]

Mary Avenel was about to reply to him, when the stern, fierce, and

resentful expression of voice and countenance with which Halbert

exclaimed, “not from the King of Scotland, did he live, would I brook

such terms!” induced her to throw herself between him and the stranger,

exclaiming, “for God's sake, Halbert, beware what you do!”

“Fear not, fairest Protection,” replied Sir Piercie, with the utmost

serenity, “that I can be provoked by this rustical and mistaught juvenal

to do aught misbecoming your presence or mine own dignity; for as soon

shall the gunner's linstock give fire unto the icicle, as the spark of

passion inflame my blood, tempered as it is to serenity by the respect

due to the presence of my gracious Protection.”

“You may well call her your protection, Sir Knight” said Halbert; “by

Saint Andrew, it is the only sensible word I have heard you speak! But

we may meet where her protection shall no longer afford you shelter.”

“Fairest Protection,” continued the courtier, not even honouring with a

look, far less with a direct reply, the threat of the incensed Halbert,

“doubt not that thy faithful Affability will be more commoved by the

speech of this rudesby, than the bright and serene moon is perturbed by

the baying of the cottage-cur, proud of the height of his own dunghill,

which, in his conceit, lifteth him nearer unto the majestic luminary.”

To what lengths so unsavoury a simile might have driven Halbert's

indignation, is left uncertain; for at that moment Edward rushed into

the apartment with the intelligence that two most important officers

of the Convent, the Kitchener and Refectioner, were just arrived with

a sumpter-mule, loaded with provisions, announcing that the Lord

Abbot, the Sub-Prior, and the Sacristan, were on their way thither. A

circumstance so very extraordinary had never been recorded in the annals

of Saint Mary's, or in the traditions of Glendearg, though there was a

faint legendary report that a certain Abbot had dined there in old days,

after having been bewildered in a hunting expedition amongst the wilds

which lie to the northward. But that the present Lord Abbot should

have taken a voluntary journey to so wild and dreary a spot, the very

Kamtschatka of the Halidome, was a thing never dreamt of; and the news

excited the greatest surprise in all the members of the family saving

Halbert alone.

This fiery youth was too full of the insult he had received to think of

anything as unconnected with it. “I am glad of it,” he exclaimed; “I

am glad the Abbot comes hither. I will know of him by what right this

stranger is sent hither to domineer over us under our father's roof, as

if we were slaves and not freemen. I will tell the proud priest to his

beard--”

“Alas! alas! my brother,” said Edward, “think what these words may cost

thee!”

“And what will, or what can they cost me,” said Halbert, “that I should

sacrifice my human feelings and my justifiable resentment to the fear of

what the Abbot can do?”

“Our mother--our mother!” exclaimed Edward; “think, if she is deprived

of her home, expelled from her property, how can you amend what your

rashness may ruin?”

“It is too true, by Heaven!” said Halbert, striking his forehead. Then,

stamping his foot against the floor to express the full energy of the

passion to which he dared no longer give vent, he turned round and left

the apartment.

Mary Avenel looked at the stranger knight, while she was endeavouring to

frame a request that he would not report the intemperate violence of her

foster-brother to the prejudice of his family, in the mind of the Abbot.

But Sir Piercie, the very pink of courtesy, conjectured her meaning from

her embarrassment, and waited not to be entreated.

“Credit me, fairest Protection,” said he, “your Affability is less than

capable of seeing or hearing, far less of reciting or reiterating, aught

of an unseemly nature which may have chanced while I enjoyed the Elysium

of your presence. The winds of idle passion may indeed rudely agitate

the bosom of the rude; but the heart of the courtier is polished to

resist them. As the frozen lake receives not the influence of the

breeze, even so--”

The voice of Dame Glendinning, in shrill summons, here demanded Mary

Avenel's attendance, who instantly obeyed, not a little glad to escape

from the compliments and similes of this courtlike gallant. Nor was it

apparently less a relief on his part; for no sooner was she past

the threshold of the room, than he exchanged the look of formal and

elaborate politeness which had accompanied each word he had uttered

hitherto, for an expression of the utmost lassitude and ennui; and after

indulging in one or two portentous yawns, broke forth into a soliloquy.

“What the foul fiend sent this wench hither? As if it were not

sufficient plague to be harboured in a hovel that would hardly serve for

a dog's kennel in England, baited by a rude peasant-boy, and dependent

on the faith of a mercenary ruffian, but I cannot even have time to

muse over my own mishap, but must come aloft, frisk, fidget, and make

speeches, to please this pale hectic phantom, because she has gentle

blood in her veins? By mine honour, setting prejudice aside, the

mill-wench is the more attractive of the two--But patienza, Piercie

Shafton; thou must not lose thy well-earned claim to be accounted

a devout servant of the fair sex, a witty-brained, prompt, and

accomplished courtier. Rather thank heaven, Piercie Shafton, which hath

sent thee a subject, wherein, without derogating from thy rank, (since

the honours of the Avenel family are beyond dispute,) thou mayest find

a whetstone for thy witty compliments, a strop whereon to sharpen thine

acute engine, a butt whereat to shoot the arrows of thy gallantry. For

even as a Bilboa blade, the more it is rubbed, the brighter and the

sharper will it prove, so--But what need I waste my stock of similitudes

in holding converse with myself?--Yonder comes the monkish retinue, like

some half score of crows winging their way slowly up the valley--I hope,

a'gad, they have not forgotten my trunk-mails of apparel amid the ample

provision they have made for their own belly-timber--Mercy, a'gad, I

were finely helped up if the vesture has miscarried among the thievish

Borderers!”

Stung by this reflection, he ran hastily down stairs, and caused his

horse to be saddled, that he might, as soon as possible, ascertain this

important point, by meeting the Lord Abbot and his retinue as they came

up the glen. He had not ridden a mile before he met them advancing

with the slowness and decorum which became persons of their dignity and

profession. The knight failed not to greet the Lord Abbot with all

the formal compliments with which men of rank at that period exchanged

courtesies. He had the good fortune to find that his mails were numbered

among the train of baggage which attended upon the party; and, satisfied

in that particular, he turned his horse's head, and accompanied the

Abbot to the Tower of Glendearg.

Great, in the meanwhile, had been the turmoil of the good Dame Elspeth

and her coadjutors, to prepare for the fitting reception of the Father

Lord Abbot and his retinue. The monks had indeed taken care not to trust

too much to the state of her pantry; but she was not the less anxious

to make such additions as might enable her to claim the thanks of her

feudal lord and spiritual father. Meeting Halbert, as, with his blood on

fire, he returned from his altercation with her guest, she commanded him

instantly to go forth to the hill, and not to return without venison;

reminding him that he was apt enough to go thither for his own pleasure,

and must now do so for the credit of the house.

The Miller, who was now hastening his journey homewards, promised to

send up some salmon by his own servant. Dame Elspeth, who by this time

thought she had guests enough, had begun to repent of her invitation

to poor Mysie, and was just considering by what means, short of giving

offence, she could send off the Maid of the Mill behind her father, and

adjourn all her own aerial architecture till some future opportunity,

when this unexpected generosity on the part of the sire rendered

any present attempt to return his daughter on his hands too highly

ungracious to be farther thought on. So the Miller departed alone on his

homeward journey.

Dame Elspeth's sense of hospitality proved in this instance its own

reward; for Mysie had dwelt too near the Convent to be altogether

ignorant of the noble art of cookery, which her father patronized to the

extent of consuming on festival days such dainties as his daughter could

prepare in emulation of the luxuries of the Abbot's kitchen. Laying

aside, therefore, her holiday kirtle, and adopting a dress more suitable

to the occasion, the good-humored maiden bared her snowy arms above the

elbows; and, as Elspeth acknowledged, in the language of the time and

country, took “entire and aefauld part with her” in the labours of the

day; showing unparalleled talent, and indefatigable industry, in

the preparation of _mortreux_, _blanc-manger_, and heaven knows what

delicacies besides, which Dame Glendinning, unassisted by her skill,

dared not even have dreamt of presenting. Leaving this able substitute

in the kitchen, and regretting that Mary Avenel was so brought up, that

she could intrust nothing to her care, unless it might be seeing the

great chamber strewed with rushes, and ornamented with such flowers and

branches as the season afforded, Dame Elspeth hastily donned her best

attire, and with a beating heart presented herself at the door of her

little tower, to make her obeisance to the Lord Abbot as he crossed

her humble threshold. Edward stood by his mother, and felt the same

palpitation, which his philosophy was at a loss to account for. He was

yet to learn how long it is ere our reason is enabled to triumph over

the force of external circumstances, and how much our feelings are

affected by novelty, and blunted by use and habit.

On the present occasion, he witnessed with wonder and awe the approach

of some half-score of riders, sober men upon sober palfreys, muffled in

their long black garments, and only relieved by their white scapularies,

showing more like a funeral procession than aught else, and not

quickening their pace beyond that which permitted easy conversation and

easy digestion. The sobriety of the scene was indeed somewhat enlivened

by the presence of Sir Piercie Shafton, who, to show that his skill

in the manege was not inferior to his other accomplishments, kept

alternately pressing and checking his gay courser, forcing him to

piaffe, to caracole, to passage, and to do all the other feats of the

school, to the great annoyance of the Lord Abbot, the wonted sobriety

of whose palfrey became at length discomposed by the vivacity of its

companion, while the dignitary kept crying out in bodily alarm, “I do

pray you--Sir Knight--good now, Sir Piercie--Be quiet, Benedict, there

is a good steed--soh, poor fellow” and uttering all the other precatory

and soothing exclamations by which a timid horseman usually bespeaks the

favour of a frisky companion, or of his own unquiet nag, and concluding

the bead-roll with a sincere _Deo gratias_ so soon as he alighted in the

court-yard of the Tower of Glendearg.

The inhabitants unanimously knelt down to kiss the hand of the Lord

Abbot, a ceremony which even the monks were often condemned to. Good

Abbot Boniface was too much fluttered by the incidents of the latter

part of his journey, to go through this ceremony with much solemnity,

or indeed with much patience. He kept wiping his brow with a snow-white

handkerchief with one hand, while another was abandoned to the homage of

his vassals; and then signing the cross with his outstretched arm,

and exclaiming, “Bless ye--bless ye, my children” he hastened into the

house, and murmured not a little at the darkness and steepness of the

rugged winding stair, whereby he at length scaled the spence destined

for his entertainment, and, overcome with fatigue, threw himself, I do

not say into an easy chair, but into the easiest the apartment afforded.

Chapter the Sixteenth.

A courtier extraordinary, who by diet

Of meats and drinks, his temperate exercise,

Choice music, frequent bath, his horary shifts

Of shirts and waistcoats, means to immortalize

Mortality itself, and makes the essence

Of his whole happiness the trim of court.

MAGNETIC LADY.

When the Lord Abbot had suddenly and superciliously vanished from

the eyes of his expectant vassals, the Sub-Prior made amends for the

negligence of his principal, by the kind and affectionate greeting

which he gave to all the members of the family, but especially to Dame

Elspeth, her foster-daughter, and her son Edward. “Where,” he even

condescended to inquire, “is that naughty Nimrod, Halbert?--He hath

not yet, I trust, turned, like his great prototype, his hunting-spear

against man!”

“O no, an it please your reverence,” said Dame Glendinning, “Halbert

is up at the glen to get some venison, or surely he would not have been

absent when such a day of honour dawned upon me and mine.”

“Oh, to get savoury meat, such as our soul loveth,” muttered the

Sub-Prior; “it has been at times an acceptable gift.--I bid you good

morrow, my good dame, as I must attend upon his lordship the Father

Abbot.”

“And O, reverend sir,” said the good widow, detaining him, “if it might

be your pleasure to take part with us if there is any thing wrong; and

if there is any thing wanted, to say that it is just coming, or to make

some excuses your learning best knows how. Every bit of vassail and

silver work have we been spoiled of since Pinkie Cleuch, when I lost

poor Simon Glendinning, that was the warst of a'.”

“Never mind--never fear,” said the Sub-Prior, gently extricating his

garment from the anxious grasp of Dame Elspeth, “the Refectioner has

with him the Abbot's plate and drinking cups; and I pray you to believe

that whatever is short in your entertainment will be deemed amply made

up in your good-will.”

So saying, he escaped from her and went into the spence, where such

preparations as haste permitted were making for the noon collation of

the Abbot and the English knight. Here he found the Lord Abbot, for whom

a cushion, composed of all the plaids in the house, had been unable to

render Simon's huge elbow-chair a soft or comfortable place of rest.

“Benedicite!” said Abbot Boniface, “now marry fie upon these hard

benches with all my heart--they are as uneasy as the _scabella_ of our

novices. Saint Jude be with us, Sir Knight, how have you contrived to

pass over the night in this dungeon? An your bed was no softer than your

seat, you might as well have slept on the stone couch of Saint Pacomius.

After trotting a full ten miles, a man needs a softer seat than has

fallen to my hard lot.”

With sympathizing faces, the Sacristan and the Refectioner ran to raise

the Lord Abbot, and to adjust his seat to his mind, which was at length

accomplished in some sort, although he continued alternately to bewail

his fatigue, and to exult in the conscious sense of having discharged

an arduous duty. “You errant cavaliers,” said he, addressing the knight,

“may now perceive that others have their travail and their toils to

undergo as well as your honoured faculty. And this I will say for myself

and the soldiers of Saint Mary, among whom I may be termed captain,

that it is not our wont to flinch from the heat of the service, or to

withdraw from the good fight. No, by Saint Mary!--no sooner did I

learn that you were here, and dared not for certain reasons come to the

Monastery, where, with as good will, and with more convenience, we might

have given you a better reception, than, striking the table with

my hammer, I called a brother--Timothy, said I, let them saddle

Benedict--let them saddle my black palfrey, and bid the Sub-Prior and

some half-score of attendants be in readiness tomorrow after matins--we

would ride to Glendearg.--Brother Timothy stared, thinking, I imagine,

that his ears had scarce done him justice--but I repeated my commands,

and said, Let the Kitchener and Refectioner go before to aid the poor

vassals to whom the place belongs in making a suitable collation. So

that you will consider, good Sir Piercie, our mutual in commodities, and

forgive whatever you may find amiss.”

“By my faith,” said Sir Piercie Shafton, “there is nothing to

forgive--If you spiritual warriors have to submit to the grievous

incommodities which your lordship narrates, it would ill become me,

a sinful and secular man, to complain of a bed as hard as a board, of

broth which relished as if made of burnt wool, of flesh, which, in

its sable and singed shape, seemed to put me on a level with Richard

Coeur-de-Lion,--when he ate up the head of a Moor carbonadoed, and of

other viands savouring rather of the rusticity of this northern region.”

“By the good Saints, sir,” said the Abbot, somewhat touched in point of

his character for hospitality, of which he was in truth a most faithful

and zealous professor, “it grieves me to the heart that you have found

our vassals no better provided for your reception--Yet I crave leave

to observe, that if Sir Piercie Shafton's affairs had permitted him to

honour with his company our poor house of Saint Mary's, he might have

had less to complain of in respect of easements.”

“To give your lordship the reasons,” said Sir Piercie Shafton, “why I

could not at this present time approach your dwelling, or avail myself

of its well-known and undoubted hospitality, craves either some delay,

or,” looking around him, “a limited audience.”

The Lord Abbot immediately issued his mandate to the Refectioner: “Hie

thee to the kitchen, Brother Hilarius, and there make inquiry of our

brother the Kitchener, within what time he opines that our collation may

be prepared, since sin and sorrow it were, considering the hardships of

this noble and gallant knight, no whit mentioning or--weighing those we

ourselves have endured, if we were now either to advance or retard the

hour of refection beyond the time when the viands are fit to be set

before us.”

Brother Hilarius parted with an eager alertness to execute the will of

his Superior, and returned with the assurance, that punctually at one

afternoon would the collation be ready.

“Before that time,” said the accurate Refectioner, “the wafers, flamms,

and pastry-meat, will scarce have had the just degree of fire which

learned pottingers prescribe as fittest for the body; and if it should

be past one o'clock, were it but ten minutes, our brother the Kitchener

opines, that the haunch of venison would suffer in spite of the skill of

the little turn-broche whom he has recommended to your holiness by his

praises.”

“How!” said the Abbot, “a haunch of venison!--from whence comes that

dainty? I remember not thou didst intimate its presence in thy hamper of

vivers.”

“So please your holiness and lordship,” said the Refectioner, “he is a

son of the woman of the house who has shot it and sent it in--killed

but now; yet, as the animal heat hath not left the body, the Kitchener

undertakes it shall eat as tender as a young chicken--and this youth

hath a special gift in shooting deer, and never misses the heart or the

brain; so that the blood is not driven through the flesh, as happens

too often with us. It is a hart of grease--your holiness has seldom seen

such a haunch.”

“Silence, Brother Hilarius,” said the Abbot, wiping his mouth; “it is

not beseeming our order to talk of food so earnestly, especially as we

must oft have our animal powers exhausted by fasting, and be accessible

(as being ever mere mortals) to those signs of longing” (he again

wiped his mouth) “which arise on the mention of victuals to an hungry

man.--Minute down, however, the name of that youth--it is fitting merit

should be rewarded, and he shall hereafter be a _frater ad succurrendum_

in the kitchen and buttery.”

“Alas! reverend Father and my good lord,” replied the Refectioner,

“I did inquire after the youth, and I learn he is one who prefers the

casque to the cowl, and the sword of the flesh to the weapons of the

spirit.”

“And if it be so,” said the Abbot, “see that thou retain him as

a deputy-keeper and man-at-arms, and not as a lay brother of the

Monastery--for old Tallboy, our forester, waxes dim-eyed, and hath twice

spoiled a noble buck, by hitting him unwarily on the haunch. Ah! 'tis a

foul fault, the abusing by evil-killing, evil-dressing, evil-appetite,

or otherwise, the good creatures indulged to us for our use. Wherefore,

secure us the service of this youth, Brother Hilarius, in the way that

may best suit him.--And now, Sir Piercie Shafton, since the fates have

assigned us a space of well-nigh an hour, ere we dare hope to enjoy

more than the vapour or savour of our repast, may I pray you, of your

courtesy, to tell me the cause of this visit; and, above all, to inform

us, why you will not approach our more pleasant and better furnished

_hospitium_?”

“Reverend Father, and my very good lord,” said Sir Piercie Shafton,

“it is well known to your wisdom, that there are stone walls which have

ears, and that secrecy is to be looked to in matters which concern

a man's head.” The Abbot signed to his attendants, excepting the

Sub-Prior, to leave the room, and then said, “Your valour, Sir Piercie,

may freely unburden yourself before our faithful friend and counsellor

Father Eustace, the benefits of whose advice we may too soon lose,

inasmuch as his merits will speedily recommend him to an higher station,

in which we trust he may find the blessing of a friend and adviser as

valuable as himself, since I may say of him, as our claustral rhyme

goeth,[Footnote: The rest of this doggerel rhyme may be found in

Fosbrooke's Learned work on British Monachism.]

'Dixit Abbas ad Prioris,

Tu es homo boni moris,

Quia semper sanioris

Mihi das concilia.'

Indeed,” he added, “the office of Sub-Prior is altogether beneath our

dear brother; nor can we elevate him unto that of Prior, which, for

certain reasons, is at present kept vacant amongst us. Howbeit, Father

Eustace is fully possessed of my confidence, and worthy of yours, and

well may it be said of him, _Intravit in secretis nostris_.”

Sir Piercie Shafton bowed to the reverend brethren, and, heaving a sigh,

as if he would burst his steel cuirass, he thus commenced his speech:--

“Certes, reverend sirs, I may well heave such a suspiration, who have,

as it were, exchanged heaven for purgatory, leaving the lightsome sphere

of the royal court of England for a remote nook in this inaccessible

desert--quitting the tilt-yard, where I was ever ready among my compeers

to splinter a lance, either for the love of honour, or for the honour

of love, in order to couch my knightly spear against base and pilfering

besognios and marauders--exchanging the lighted halls, wherein I used

nimbly to pace the swift coranto, or to move with a loftier grace in the

stately galliard, for this rugged and decayed dungeon of rusty-coloured

stone--quitting the gay theatre, for the solitary chimney-nook of a

Scottish dog-house--bartering the sounds of the soul-ravishing lute, and

the love-awaking viol-de-gamba, for the discordant squeak of a northern

bagpipe--above all, exchanging the smiles of those beauties, who form

a gay galaxy around the throne of England, for the cold courtesy of an

untaught damsel, and the bewildered stare of a miller's maiden. More

might I say of the exchange of the conversation of gallant knights and

gay courtiers of mine own order and capacity, whose conceits are bright

and vivid as the lightning, for that of monks and churchmen--but it were

discourteous to urge that topic.”

The Abbot listened to this list of complaints with great round eyes,

which evinced no exact intelligence of the orator's meaning; and

when the knight paused to take breath, he looked with a doubtful and

inquiring eye at the Sub-Prior, not well knowing in what tone he should

reply to an exordium so extraordinary. The Sub-Prior accordingly stepped

in to the relief of his principal.

“We deeply sympathize with you, Sir Knight, in the several

mortifications and hardships to which fate has subjected you,

particularly in that which has thrown you into the society of those,

who, as they were conscious they deserved not such an honour, so neither

did they at all desire it. But all this goes little way to expound the

cause of this train of disasters, or, in plainer words, the reason which

has compelled you into a situation having so few charms for you.”

“Gentle and reverend sir,” replied the knight, “forgive an unhappy

person, who, in giving a history of his miseries, dilateth upon them

extremely, even as he who, having fallen from a precipice, looketh

upward to measure the height from which he hath been precipitated.”

“Yea, but,” said Father Eustace, “methinks it were wiser in him to tell

those who come to lift him up, which of his bones have been broken.”

“You, reverend sir,” said the knight, “have, in the encounter of our

wits, made a fair attaint; whereas I may be in some sort said to have

broken my staff across. [Footnote: _Attaint_ was a term of tilting

used to express the champion's having _attained_ his mark, or, in other

words, struck his lance straight and fair against the helmet or breast

of his adversary. Whereas to break the lance across, intimated a total

failure in directing the point of the weapon on the object of his aim.]

Pardon me, grave sir, that I speak in the language of the tilt-yard,

which is doubtless strange to your reverend years.--Ah! brave resort

of the noble, the fair and the gay!--Ah! throne of love, and citadel

of honour!--Ah! celestial beauties, by whose bright eyes it is graced!

Never more shall Piercie Shafton advance, as the centre of your radiant

glances, couch his lance, and spur his horse at the sound of the

spirit-stirring trumpets, nobly called the voice of war--never more

shall he baffle his adversary's encounter boldly, break his spear

dexterously, and ambling around the lovely circle, receive the rewards

with which beauty honours chivalry!”

Here he paused, wrung his hands, looked upwards, and seemed lost in

contemplation of his own fallen fortunes.

“Mad, very mad,” whispered the Abbot to the Sub-Prior; “I would we were

fairly rid of him; for, of a truth, I expect he will proceed from raving

to mischief--Were it not better to call up the rest of the brethren?”

But the Sub-Prior knew better than his Superior how to distinguish the

jargon of affectation from the ravings of insanity, and although the

extremity of the knight's passion seemed altogether fantastic, yet

he was not ignorant to what extravagancies the fashion of the day can

conduct its votaries.

Allowing, therefore, two minutes' space to permit the knight's

enthusiastic feelings to exhaust themselves, he again gravely reminded

him that the Lord Abbot had taken a journey, unwonted to his age and

habits, solely to learn in what he could serve Sir Piercie Shafton--that

it was altogether impossible he could do so without his receiving

distinct information of the situation in which he had now sought refuge

in Scotland.--“The day wore on,” he observed, looking at the window;

“and if the Abbot should be obliged to return to the Monastery without

obtaining the necessary intelligence, the regret might be mutual, but

the inconvenience was like to be all on Sir Piercie's own side.”

The hint was not thrown away.

“O, goddess of courtesy!” said the knight, “can I so far have forgotten

thy behests as to make this good prelate's ease and time a sacrifice to

my vain complaints! Know, then, most worthy, and not less worshipful,

that I, your poor visitor and guest, am by birth nearly bound to the

Piercie of Northumberland, whose fame is so widely blown through all

parts of the world where English worth hath been known. Now, this

present Earl of Northumberland, of whom I propose to give you the brief

history----”

“It is altogether unnecessary,” said the Abbot; “we know him to be a

good and true nobleman, and a sworn upholder of our Catholic faith,

in the spite of the heretical woman who now sits upon the throne of

England. And it is specially as his kinsman, and as knowing that ye

partake with him in such devout and faithful belief and adherence to our

holy Mother Church, that we say to you, Sir Piercie Shafton, that ye be

heartily welcome to us, and that, and we wist how, we would labour to do

you good service in your extremity.”

“For such kind offer I rest your most humble debtor,” said Sir Piercie,

“nor need I at this moment say more than that my Right Honourable Cousin

of Northumberland, having devised with me and some others, the choice

and picked spirits of the age, how and by what means the worship of God,

according to the Catholic Church, might be again introduced into this

distracted kingdom of England, (even as one deviseth, by the assistance

of his friend, to catch and bridle a runaway steed,) it pleased him so

deeply to intrust me in those communications, that my personal safety

becomes, as it were, entwined or complicated therewith. Natheless, as

we have had sudden reason to believe, this Princess Elizabeth, who

maintaineth around her a sort of counsellors skilful in tracking

whatever schemes may be pursued for bringing her title into challenge,

or for erecting again the discipline of the Catholic Church, has

obtained certain knowledge of the trains which we had laid before we

could give fire unto them. Wherefore, my Right Honourable Cousin of

Northumberland, thinking it best belike that one man should take

both blame and shame for the whole, did lay the burden of all this

trafficking upon my back; which load I am the rather content to bear,

in that he hath always shown himself my kind and honourable kinsman,

as well as that my estate, I wot not how, hath of late been somewhat

insufficient to maintain the expense of those braveries, wherewith it

is incumbent on us, who are chosen and selected spirits, to distinguish

ourselves from the vulgar.”

“So that possibly,” said the Sub-Prior, “your private affairs rendered a

foreign journey less incommodious to you than it might have been to the

noble earl, your right worthy cousin?”

“You are right, reverend sir,” answered the courtier; “_rem acu_--you

have touched the point with a needle--My cost and expenses had been

indeed somewhat lavish at the late triumphs and tourneys, and the

flat-capp'd citizens had shown themselves unwilling to furnish my pocket

for new gallantries for the honour of the nation, as well as for mine

own peculiar glory--and, to speak truth, it was in some part the hope

of seeing these matters amended that led me to desire a new world in

England.”

“So that the miscarriage of your public enterprise, with the derangement

of your own private affairs,” said the Sub-Prior, “have induced you to

seek Scotland as a place of refuge?”

“_Rem acu_, once again,” said Sir Piercie; “and not without good cause,

since my neck, if I remained, might have been brought within the

circumstances of a halter--and so speedy was my journey northward, that

I had but time to exchange my peach-coloured doublet of Genoa velvet,

thickly laid over with goldsmith's work, for this cuirass, which was

made by Bonamico of Milan, and travelled northward with all speed,

judging that I might do well to visit my Right Honourable Cousin of

Northumberland, at one of his numerous castles. But as I posted towards

Alnwick, even with the speed of a star, which, darting from its native

sphere, shoots wildly downwards, I was met at Northallerton by one Henry

Vaughan, a servant of my right honourable kinsman, who showed me, that

as then I might not with safety come to his presence, seeing that, in

obedience to orders from his court, he was obliged to issue out letters

for my incarceration.”

“This,” said the Abbot, “seems but hard measure on the part of your

honourable kinsman.”

“It might be so judged, my lord,” replied Sir Piercie; “nevertheless, I

will stand to the death for the honour of my Right Honourable Cousin of

Northumberland. Also, Henry Vaughan gave me, from my said cousin, a

good horse, and a purse of gold, with two Border-prickers, as they are

called, for my guides, who conducted me, by such roads and by-paths as

have never been seen since the days of Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristrem,

into this kingdom of Scotland, and to the house of a certain baron, or

one who holds the style of such, called Julian Avenel, with whom I found

such reception as the place and party could afford.”

“And that,” said the Abbot, “must have been right wretched; for to

judge from the appetite which Julian showeth when abroad, he hath not, I

judge, over-abundant provision at home.”

“You are right, sir--your reverence is in the right,” continued Sir

Piercie; “we had but lenten fare, and, what was worse, a score to

clear at the departure; for though this Julian Avenel called us to

no reckoning, yet he did so extravagantly admire the fashion of my

poniard--the _poignet_ being of silver exquisitely hatched, and indeed

the weapon being altogether a piece of exceeding rare device and

beauty--that in faith I could not for very shame's sake but pray his

acceptance of it; words which he gave me not the trouble of repeating

twice, before he had stuck it into his greasy buff-belt, where,

credit me, reverend sir, it showed more like a butcher's knife than a

gentleman's dagger.”

“So goodly a gift might at least have purchased you a few days'

hospitality,” said Father Eustace.

“Reverend sir,” said Sir Piercie, “had I abidden with him, I should have

been complimented out of every remnant of my wardrobe--actually flayed,

by the hospitable gods I swear it! Sir, he secured my spare doublet, and

had a pluck at my galligaskins--I was enforced to beat a retreat before

I was altogether unrigged. That Border knave, his serving man, had

a pluck at me too, and usurped a scarlet cassock and steel cuirass

belonging to the page of my body, whom I was fain to leave behind me. In

good time I received a letter from my Right Honourable Cousin, showing

me that he had written to you in my behalf, and sent to your charge two

mails filled with wearing apparel--namely, my rich crimson silk doublet,

slashed out and lined with cloth of gold, which I wore at the last

revels, with baldric and trimmings to correspond--also two pair

black silk slops, with hanging garters of carnation silk--also the

flesh-coloured silken doublet, with the trimmings of fur, in which I

danced the salvage man at the Gray's-Inn mummery--also----”

“Sir Knight,” said the Sub-Prior, “I pray you to spare the farther

inventory of your wardrobe. The monks of Saint Mary's are no

free-booting barons, and whatever part of your vestments arrived at

our house, have been this day faithfully brought hither, with the mails

which contained them. I may presume from what has been said, as we have

indeed been, given to understand by the Earl of Northumberland, that

your desire is to remain for the present as unknown and as unnoticed, as

may be consistent with your high worth and distinction?”

“Alas, reverend father!” replied the courtier, “a blade when it is in

the scabbard cannot give lustre, a diamond when it is in the casket

cannot give light, and worth, when it is compelled by circumstances to

obscure itself, cannot draw observation--my retreat can only attract

the admiration of those few to whom circumstances permit its displaying

itself.”

“I conceive now, my venerable father and lord,” said the Sub-Prior,

“that your wisdom will assign such a course of conduct to this noble

knight, as may be alike consistent with his safety, and with the weal of

the community. For you wot well, that perilous strides have been made

in these audacious days, to the destruction of all ecclesiastical

foundations, and that our holy community has been repeatedly menaced.

Hitherto they have found no flaw in our raiment; but a party, friendly

as well to the Queen of England, as to the heretical doctrines of

the schismatical church, or even to worse and wilder forms of heresy,

prevails now at the court of our sovereign, who dare not yield to her

suffering clergy the protection she would gladly extend to them.”

“My lord, and reverend sir,” said the knight, “I will gladly relieve

you of my presence, while ye canvass this matter at your freedom; and

to speak truly, I am desirous to see in what case the chamberlain of my

noble kinsman hath found my wardrobe, and how he hath packed the same,

and whether it has suffered from the journey--there are four suits of

as pure and elegant device as ever the fancy of a fair lady doated upon,

every one having a treble, and appropriate change of ribbons, trimmings,

and fringes, which, in case of need, may as it were renew each of

them, and multiply the four into twelve.--There is also my sad-coloured

riding-suit, and three cut-work shirts with falling bands--I pray you,

pardon me--I must needs see how matters stand with them without farther

dallying.”

Thus speaking, he left the room; and the Sub-Prior, looking after him

significantly, added, “Where the treasure is will the heart be also.”

“Saint Mary preserve our wits!” said the Abbot, stunned with the

knight's abundance of words; “were man's brains ever so stuffed with

silk and broadcloth, cut-work, and I wot not what besides! And

what could move the Earl of Northumberland to assume for his bosom

counsellor, in matters of death and danger, such a feather-brained

coxcomb as this?”

“Had he been other than what he is, venerable father,” said the

Sub-Prior, “he had been less fitted for the part of scape-goat, to

which his Right Honourable Cousin had probably destined him from the

commencement, in case of their plot failing. I know something of this

Piercie Shafton. The legitimacy of his mother's descent from the Piercie

family, the point on which he is most jealous, hath been called in

question. If hairbrained courage, and an outrageous spirit of gallantry,

can make good his pretensions to the high lineage he claims, these

qualities have never been denied him. For the rest, he is one of the

ruffling gallants of the time, like Howland Yorke, Stukely,

[Footnote: “Yorke,” says Camden, “was a Londoner, a man of loose and

dissolute behaviour, and desperately audacious--famous in his time

amongst the common bullies and swaggerers, as being the first that, to

the great admiration of many at his boldness, brought into England the

bold and dangerous way of fencing with the rapier in duelling. Whereas,

till that time, the English used to fight with long swords and bucklers,

striking with the edge, and thought it no part of man either to push or

strike beneath the girdle.

Having a command in the Low Countries, Yorke revolted to the Spaniards,

and died miserably, poisoned, as was supposed, by his new allies. Three

years afterwards, his bones were dug up and gibbeted by the command of

the States of Holland.

Thomas Stukely, another distinguished gallant of the time, was bred a

merchant, being the son of a rich clothier in the west. He wedded the

daughter and heiress of a wealthy alderman of London, named Curtis,

after whose death he squandered the riches he thus acquired in all

manner of extravagance. His wife, whose fortune supplied his waste,

represented to him that he ought to make more of her. Stukely replied,

“I will make as much of thee, believe me, as it is possible for any to

do;” and he kept his word in one sense, having stripped her even of her

wearing apparel, before he finally ran away from her.

Having fled to Italy, he contrived to impose upon the Pope, with a

plan of invading Ireland, for which he levied soldiers, and made some

preparations, but ended by engaging himself and his troops in the

service of King Sebastian of Portugal. He sailed with that prince on his

fatal voyage to Barbary, and fell with him at the battle of Alcazar.

Stukely, as one of the first gallants of the time, has had the honour

to be chronicled in song, in Evans' Old Ballads, vol. iii, edition 1810.

His fate is also introduced in a tragedy, by George Peel, as has been

supposed, called the Battle of Alcazar, from which play Dryden is

alleged to have taken the idea of Don Sebastian; if so, it is surprising

he omitted a character so congenial to King Charles the Second's time as

the witty, brave, and profligate Thomas Stukely.]

and others, who wear out their fortunes, and endanger their lives,

in idle braveries, in order that they may be esteemed the only choice

gallants of the time; and afterwards endeavour to repair their estate,

by engaging in the desperate plots and conspiracies which wiser

heads have devised. To use one of his own conceited similitudes, such

courageous fools resemble hawks, which the wiser conspirator keeps

hooded and blinded on his wrist until the quarry is on the wing, and who

are then flown at them.”

“Saint Mary,” said the Abbot, “he were an evil guest to introduce into

our quiet household. Our young monks make bustle enough, and more than

is beseeming God's servants, about their outward attire already--this

knight were enough to turn their brains, from the _Vestiarius_ down to

the very scullion boy.”

“A worse evil might follow,” said the Sub-Prior: “in these bad days, the

patrimony of the church is bought and sold, forfeited and distrained,

as if it were the unhallowed soil appertaining to a secular baron. Think

what penalty awaits us, were we convicted of harbouring a rebel to her

whom they call the Queen of England! There would neither be wanting

Scottish parasites to beg the lands of the foundation, nor an army from

England to burn and harry the Halidome. The men of Scotland were once

Scotsmen, firm and united in the love of their country, and throwing

every other consideration aside when the frontier was menaced--now

they are--what shall I call them--the one part French, the other

part English, considering their dear native country merely as a

prize-fighting stage, upon which foreigners are welcome to decide their

quarrels.”

“Benedictine!” replied the Abbot, “they are indeed slippery and evil

times.”

“And therefore,” said Father Eustace, “we must walk warily--we must not,

for example, bring this man--this Sir Piercie Shafton, to our house of

Saint Mary's.”

“But how then shall we dispose of him?” replied the Abbot; “bethink thee

that he is a sufferer for holy Church's sake--that his patron, the Earl

of Northumberland, hath been our friend, and that, lying so near us, he

may work us weal or wo according as we deal with his kinsman.”

“And, accordingly,” said the Sub-Prior, “for these reasons, as well as

for discharge of the great duty of Christian charity, I would protect

and relieve this man. Let him not go back to Julian Avenel--that

unconscientious baron would not stick to plunder the exiled

stranger--Let him remain here--the spot is secluded, and if the

accommodation be beneath his quality, discovery will become the less

likely. We will make such means for his convenience as we can devise.”

“Will he be persuaded, thinkest thou?” said the Abbot; “I will leave my

own travelling bed for his repose, and send up a suitable easy-chair.”

“With such easements,” said the Sub-Prior, “he must not complain; and

then, if threatened by any sudden danger, he can soon come down to

the sanctuary, where we will harbour him in secret until means can be

devised of dismissing him in safety.”

“Were we not better,” said the Abbot, “send him on to the court, and get

rid of him at once?”

“Ay, but at the expense of our friends--this butterfly may fold his

wings, and lie under cover in the cold air of Glendearg; but were he

at Holyrood, he would, did his life depend on it, expand his spangled

drapery in the eyes of the queen and court--Rather than fail of

distinction, he would sue for love to our gracious sovereign--the eyes

of all men would be upon him in the course of three short days, and

the international peace of the two ends of the island endangered for a

creature, who, like a silly moth, cannot abstain from fluttering round a

light.”

“Thou hast prevailed with me, Father Eustace,” said the Abbot, “and it

will go hard but I improve on thy plan--I will send up in secret, not

only household stuff, but wine and wassell-bread. There is a young

swankie here who shoots venison well. I will give him directions to see

that the knight lacks none.”

“Whatever accommodation he can have, which infers not a risk of

discovery,” said the Sub-Prior, “it is our duty to afford him.”

“Nay,” said the Abbot, “we will do more, and will instantly despatch a

servant express to the keeper of our revestiary to send us such things

as he may want, even this night. See it done, good father.”

“I will,” answered Father Eustace; “but I hear the gull clamorous for

some one to truss his points.[Footnote: The points were the strings of

cord or ribbon, (so called, because _pointed_ with metal like the laces

of women's stays,) which attached the doublet to the hose. They were

very numerous, and required assistance to tie them properly, which was

called _trussing_.] He will be fortunate if he lights on any one here

who can do him the office of groom of the chamber.”

“I would he would appear,” said the Abbot, “for here comes the

Refectioner with the collation--By my faith, the ride hath given me a

sharp appetite!”

* * * * *

Chapter the Seventeenth.

I'll seek for other aid--Spirits, they say,

Flit round invisible, as thick as motes

Dance in the sunbeam. If that spell

Or necromancer's sigil can compel them,

They shall hold council with me.

JAMES DUFF.

The reader's attention must be recalled to Halbert Glendinning, who had

left the Tower of Glendearg immediately after his quarrel with its new

guest, Sir Piercie Shafton. As he walked with a rapid pace up the glen,

Old Martin followed him, beseeching him to be less hasty.

“Halbert,” said the old man, “you will never live to have white hair, if

you take fire thus at every spark of provocation.”

“And why should I wish it, old man,” said Halbert, “if I am to be the

butt that every fool may aim a shaft of scorn against?--What avails it,

old man, that you yourself move, sleep, and wake, eat thy niggard meal,

and repose on thy hard pallet?--Why art thou so well pleased that the

morning should call thee up to daily toil, and the evening again lay

thee down a wearied-out wretch? Were it not better sleep and wake no

more, than to undergo this dull exchange of labour for insensibility and

of insensibility for labour?”

“God help me,” answered Martin, “there may be truth in what thou

sayest--but walk slower, for my old limbs cannot keep pace with your

young legs--walk slower, and I will tell you why age, though unlovely,

is yet endurable.”

“Speak on then,” said Halbert, slackening his pace, “but remember we

must seek venison to refresh the fatigues of these holy men, who will

this morning have achieved a journey of ten miles; and if we reach not

the Brocksburn head we are scarce like to see an antler.”

“Then know, my good Halbert,” said Martin, “whom I love as my own son,

that I am satisfied to live till death calls me, because my Maker wills

it. Ay, and although I spend what men call a hard life, pinched with

cold in winter, and burnt with heat in summer, though I feed hard and

sleep hard, and am held mean and despised, yet I bethink me, that were I

of no use on the face of this fair creation, God would withdraw me from

it.”

“Thou poor old man,” said Halbert, “and can such a vain conceit as this

of thy fancied use, reconcile thee to a world where thou playest so poor

a part?”

“My part was nearly as poor,” said Martin, “my person nearly as much

despised, the day that I saved my mistress and her child from perishing

in the wilderness.”

“Right, Martin,” answered Halbert; “there, indeed, thou didst what might

be a sufficient apology for a whole life of insignificance.”

“And do you account it for nothing, Halbert, that I should have

the power of giving you a lesson of patience, and submission to the

destinies of Providence? Methinks there is use for the grey hairs on

the old scalp, were it but to instruct the green head by precept and by

example.”

Halbert held down his face, and remained silent for a minute or two, and

then resumed his discourse: “Martin, seest thou aught changed in me of

late?”

“Surely,” said Martin. “I have always known you hasty, wild, and

inconsiderate, rude, and prompt to speak at the volley and without

reflection; but now, methinks, your bearing, without losing its natural

fire, has something in it of force and dignity which it had not before.

It seems as if you had fallen asleep a carle, and awakened a gentleman.”

“Thou canst judge, then, of noble bearing?” said Halbert.

“Surely,” answered Martin, “in some sort I can; for I have travelled

through court, and camp, and city, with my master, Walter Avenel,

although he could do nothing for me in the long run, but give me room

for two score of sheep on the hill--and surely even now, while I speak

with you, I feel sensible that my language is more refined than it is my

wont to use, and that--though I know not the reason--the rude northern

dialect, so familiar to my tongue, has given place to a more town-bred

speech.”

“And this change in thyself and me, thou canst by no means account for?”

said young Glendinning.

“Change!” replied Martin, “by our Lady it is not so much a change which

I feel, as a recalling and renewing sentiments and expressions which I

had some thirty years since, ere Tibb and I set up our humble household.

It is singular, that your society should have this sort of influence

over me, Halbert, and that I should never have experienced it ere now.”

“Thinkest thou,” said Halbert, “thou seest in me aught that can raise

me from this base, low, despised state, into one where I may rank with

those proud men, who now despise my clownish poverty?”

Martin paused an instant, and then answered, “Doubtless you may,

Halbert; as broken a ship has come to land. Heard ye never of Hughie

Dun, who left this Halidome some thirty-five years gone by? A deliverly

fellow was Hughie--could read and write like a priest, and could wield

brand and buckler with the best of the riders. I mind him--the like of

him was never seen in the Halidome of Saint Mary's, and so was seen of

the preferment that God sent him.”

“And what was that?” said Halbert, his eyes sparkling with eagerness.

“Nothing less,” answered Martin, “than body-servant to the Archbishop of

Saint Andrews!”

Halbert's countenance fell.--“A servant--and to a priest? Was this all

that knowledge and activity could raise him to?”

Martin, in his turn, looked with wistful surprise in the face of his

young friend. “And to what could fortune lead him farther?” answered

he. “The son of a kirk-feuar is not the stuff that lords and knights

are made of. Courage and school craft cannot change churl's blood into

gentle blood, I trow. I have heard, forby, that Hughie Dun left a good

five hundred punds of Scots money to his only daughter, and that she

married the Bailie of Pittenweem.”

At this moment, and while Halbert was embarrassed with devising a

suitable answer, a deer bounded across their path. In an instant the

crossbow was at the youth's shoulder, the bolt whistled, and the deer,

after giving one bound upright, dropt dead on the green sward.

“There lies the venison our dame wanted,” said Martin; “who would

have thought of an out-lying stag being so low down the glen at this

season?--And it is a hart of grease too, in full season, and three

inches of fat on the brisket. Now this is all your luck, Halbert, that

follows you, go where you like. Were you to put in for it, I would

warrant you were made one of the Abbot's yeoman-prickers, and ride about

in a purple doublet as bold as the best.”

“Tush, man,” answered Halbert, “I will serve the Queen or no one. Take

thou care to have down the venison to the Tower, since they expect it. I

will on to the moss. I have two or three bird-bolts at my girdle, and it

may be I shall find wild-fowl.”

He hastened his pace, and was soon out of sight. Martin paused for a

moment, and looked after him. “There goes the making of a right gallant

stripling, an ambition have not the spoiling of him--Serve the Queen!

said he. By my faith, and she hath worse servants, from all that I e'er

heard of him. And wherefore should he not keep a high head? They that

ettle to the top of the ladder will at least get up some rounds. They

that mint [Footnote: _Mint_--aim at.] at a gown of gold, will always get

a sleeve of it. But come, sir, (addressing the stag,) you shall go to

Glendearg on my two legs somewhat more slowly than you were frisking it

even now on your own four nimble shanks. Nay, by my faith, if you be so

heavy, I will content me with the best of you, and that's the haunch and

the nombles, and e'en heave up the rest on the old oak-tree yonder, and

come back for it with one of the yauds.” [Footnote: _Yauds_--horses;

more particularly horses of labour.]

While Martin returned to Glendearg with the venison, Halbert prosecuted

his walk, breathing more easily since he was free of his companion. “The

domestic of a proud and lazy priest--body-squire to the Archbishop of

Saint Andrews,” he repeated to himself; “and this, with the privilege of

allying his blood with the Bailie of Pittenween, is thought a preferment

worth a brave man's struggling for;--nay more, a preferment which, if

allowed, should crown the hopes, past, present, and to come, of the

son of a Kirk-vassal! By Heaven, but that I find in me a reluctance to

practise their acts of nocturnal rapine, I would rather take the jack

and lance, and join with the Border-riders.--Something I will do. Here,

degraded and dishonoured, I will not live the scorn of each whiffling

stranger from the South, because, forsooth, he wears tinkling spurs on a

tawney boot. This thing--this phantom, be it what it will, I will see

it once more. Since I spoke with her, and touched her hand, thoughts

and feelings have dawned on me, of which my former life had not even

dreamed; but shall I, who feel my father's glen too narrow for my

expanding spirit, brook to be bearded in it by this vain gewgaw of a

courtier, and in the sight too of Mary Avenel? I will not stoop to it,

by Heaven!”

As he spoke thus, he arrived in the sequestered glen of Corri-nan-shian,

as it verged upon the hour of noon. A few moments he remained looking

upon the fountain, and doubting in his own mind with what countenance

the White Lady might receive him. She had not indeed expressly

forbidden his again evoking her; but yet there was something like such

a prohibition implied in the farewell, which recommended him to wait for

another guide.

Halbert Glendinning did not long, however, allow himself to pause.

Hardihood was the natural characteristic of his mind; and under the

expansion and modification which his feelings had lately undergone, it

had been augmented rather than diminished. He drew his sword, undid the

buskin from his foot, bowed three times with deliberation towards the

fountain, and as often towards the tree, and repeated the same rhyme as

formerly,--

“Thrice to the holy brake--

Thrice to the well:--

I bid thee awake,

White Maid of Avenel!

Noon gleams on the lake--

Noon glows on the fell--

Wake thee, O wake,

White Maid of Avenel!”

His eye was on the holly bush as he spoke the last line; and it was not

without an involuntary shuddering that he saw the air betwixt his eye

and that object become more dim, and condense, as it were, into

the faint appearance of a form, through which, however, so thin and

transparent was the first appearance of the phantom, he could discern

the outline of the bush, as through a veil of fine crape. But,

gradually, it darkened into a more substantial appearance, and the White

Lady stood before him with displeasure on her brow. She spoke, and her

speech was still song, or rather measured chant; but, as if now more

familiar, it flowed occasionally in modulated blank-verse, and at other

times in the lyrical measure which she had used at their former meeting.

“This is the day when the fairy kind

Sits weeping alone for their hopeless lot,

And the wood-maiden sighs to the sighing wind,

And the mer-maiden weeps in her crystal grot:

For this is the day that a deed was wrought,

In which we have neither part nor share.

For the children of clay was salvation bought,

But not for the forms of sea or air!

And ever the mortal is most forlorn.

Who meeteth our race on the Friday morn.”

“Spirit,” said Halbert Glendinning, boldly, “it is bootless to threaten.

one who holds his life at no rate. Thine anger can but slay; nor do I

think thy power extendeth, or thy will stretcheth, so far. The terrors

which your race produce upon others, are vain against me. My heart is

hardened against fear, as by a sense of despair. If I am, as thy words

infer, of a race more peculiarly the care of Heaven than thine, it is

mine to call, it must be thine to answer. I am the nobler being.”

As he spoke, the figure looked upon him with a fierce and ireful

countenance, which, without losing the similitude of that which it

usually exhibited, had a wilder and more exaggerated cast of features.

The eyes seemed to contract and become more fiery, and slight

convulsions passed over the face, as if it was about to be transformed

into something hideous. The whole appearance resembled those faces which

the imagination summons up when it is disturbed by laudanum, but which

do not remain under the visionary's command, and, beautiful in their

first appearance, become wild and grotesque ere we can arrest them.

But when Halbert had concluded his bold speech, the White Lady stood

before him with the same pale, fixed, and melancholy aspect, which she

usually bore. He had expected the agitation which she exhibited would

conclude in some frightful metamorphosis. Folding her arms on her bosom,

the phantom replied,--

“Daring youth! for thee it is well,

Here calling me in haunted dell,

That thy heart has not quail'd,

Nor thy courage fail'd,

And that thou couldst brook

The angry look

Of Her of Avenel.

Did one limb shiver,

Or an eyelid quiver,

Thou wert lost for ever.

Though I am form'd from the ether blue,

And my blood is of the unfallen dew.

And thou art framed of mud and dust,

'Tis thine to speak, reply I must.”

“I demand of thee, then,” said the youth, “by what charm it is that I

am thus altered in mind and in wishes--that I think no longer of deer

or dog, of bow or bolt--that my soul spurns the bounds of this obscure

glen--that my blood boils at an insult from one by whose stirrup I

would some days since have run for a whole summer's morn, contented and

honoured by the notice of a single word? Why do I now seek to mate

me with princes, and knights, and nobles?--Am I the same, who but

yesterday, as it were, slumbered in contented obscurity, but who am

to-day awakened to glory and ambition?--Speak--tell me, if thou canst,

the meaning of this change?--Am I spell-bound?--or have I till now been

under the influence of a spell, that I feel as another being, yet

am conscious of remaining the same? Speak and tell me, is it to thy

influence that the change is owing?”