The look and sign of warning which the Sub-Prior gave to Halbert
Glendinning as they parted, went to his heart; for although he had
profited much less than Edward by the good man's instructions, he had
a sincere reverence for his person; and even the short time he had for
deliberation tended to show him he was embarked in a perilous adventure.
The nature of the provocation which he had given to Sir Piercie Shafton
he could not even conjecture; but he saw that it was of a mortal
quality, and he was now to abide the consequences.
That he might not force these consequences forward by any premature
renewal of their quarrel, he resolved to walk apart for an hour, and
consider on what terms he was to meet this haughty foreigner. The time
seemed propitious for his doing so without having the appearance
of wilfully shunning the stranger, as all the members of the little
household were dispersing either to perform such tasks as had been
interrupted by the arrival of the dignitaries, or to put in order what
had been deranged by their visit.
Leaving the tower, therefore, and descending, unobserved as he thought,
the knoll on which it stood, Halbert gained the little piece of level
ground which extended betwixt the descent of the hill, and the first
sweep made by the brook after washing the foot of the eminence on which
the tower was situated, where a few straggling birch and oak-trees
served to secure him from observation. But scarcely had he reached the
spot, when he was surprised to feel a smart tap upon the shoulder, and,
turning around, he perceived he had been closely followed by Sir
Piercie Shafton. When, whether from our state of animal spirits, want
of confidence in the justice of our cause, or any other motive, our own
courage happens to be in a wavering condition, nothing tends so much
altogether to disconcert us, as a great appearance of promptitude on
the part of our antagonist. Halbert Glendinning, both morally and
constitutionally intrepid, was nevertheless somewhat troubled at seeing
the stranger, whose resentment he had provoked, appear at once before
him, and with an aspect which boded hostility. But though his heart
might beat somewhat thicker, he was too high-spirited to exhibit any
external signs of emotion.--“What is your pleasure, Sir Piercie?” he
said to the English knight, enduring without apparent discomposure all
the terrors which his antagonist had summoned into his aspect.
“What is my pleasure!” answered Sir Piercie; “a goodly question
after the part you have acted towards me!--Young man, I know not
what infatuation has led thee to place thyself in direct and insolent
opposition to one who is a guest of thy liege-lord the Abbot, and who,
even from the courtesy due to thy mother's roof, had a right to remain
there without meeting insult. Neither do I ask, or care, by what means
thou hast become possessed of the fatal secret by which thou hast dared
to offer me open shame. But I must now tell thee, that the possession of
it has cost thee thy life.”
“Not, I trust, if my hand and sword can defend it,” replied Halbert,
boldly.
“True,” said the Englishman, “I mean not to deprive thee of thy fair
chance of self-defence. I am only sorry to think, that, young and
country-bred as thou art, it can but little avail thee. But thou must be
well aware, that in this quarrel I shall use no terms of quarter.”
“Rely on it, proud man,” answered the youth, “that I shall ask none; and
although thou speakest as if I lay already at thy feet, trust me,
that as I am determined never to ask thy mercy, so I am not fearful of
needing it.”
“Thou wilt, then,” said the knight, “do nothing to avert the certain
fate which thou hast provoked with such wantonness?”
“And how were that to be purchased?” replied Halbert Glendinning, more
with the wish of obtaining some farther insight into the terms on which
he stood with this stranger, than to make him the submission which he
might require.
“Explain to me instantly,” said Sir Piercie, “without equivocation or
delay, by what means thou wert enabled to wound my honour so deeply--and
shouldst thou point out to me by so doing an enemy more worthy of my
resentment, I will permit thine own obscure insignificance to draw a
veil over thine insolence.”
“This is too high a flight,” said Glendinning, fiercely, “for thine own
presumption to soar without being checked. Thou hast come to my father's
house, as well as I can guess, a fugitive and an exile, and thy first
greeting to its inhabitants has been that of contempt and injury. By
what means I have been able to retort that contempt, let thine own
conscience tell thee. Enough for me that I stand on the privilege of
a free Scotchman, and will brook no insult unreturned, and no injury
unrequited.”
“It is well, then,” said Sir Piercie Shafton; “we will dispute this
matter to-morrow morning with our swords. Let the time be daybreak, and
do thou assign the place. We will go forth as if to strike a deer.”
“Content,” replied Halbert Glendinning: “I will guide thee to a
spot where an hundred men might fight and fall without any chance of
interruption.”
“It is well,” answered Sir Piercie Shafton. “Here then we part.--Many
will say, that in thus indulging the right of a gentleman to the son of
a clod-breaking peasant, I derogate from my sphere, even as the blessed
sun would derogate should he condescend to compare and match his golden
beams with the twinkle of a pale, blinking, expiring, gross-fed taper.
But no consideration of rank shall prevent my avenging the insult thou
hast offered me. We bear a smooth face, observe me, Sir Villagio, before
the worshipful inmates of yonder cabin, and to-morrow we try conclusions
with our swords.” So saying, he turned away towards the tower.
It may not be unworthy of notice, that in the last speech only, had Sir
Piercie used some of those flowers of rhetoric which characterized the
usual style of his conversation. Apparently, a sense of wounded honour,
and the deep desire of vindicating his injured feelings, had proved too
strong for the fantastic affectation of his acquired habits. Indeed,
such is usually the influence of energy of mind, when called forth and
exerted, that Sir Piercie Shafton had never appeared in the eyes of his
youthful antagonist half so much deserving of esteem and respect as
in this brief dialogue, by which they exchanged mutual defiance. As he
followed him slowly to the tower, he could not help thinking to himself,
that, had the English knight always displayed this superior tone of
bearing and feeling, he would not probably have felt so earnestly
disposed to take offence at his hand. Mortal offence, however, had been
exchanged, and the matter was to be put to mortal arbitrement.
The family met at the evening meal, when Sir Piercie Shafton extended
the benignity of his countenance and the graces of his conversation far
more generally over the party than he had hitherto condescended to do.
The greater part of his attention was, of course, still engrossed by
his divine inimitable Discretion, as he chose to term Mary Avenel; but,
nevertheless there were interjectional flourishes to the Maid of the
Mill, under the title of Comely Damsel, and to the Dame, under that of
Worthy Matron. Nay, lest he should fail to excite their admiration by
the graces of his rhetoric, he generously, and without solicitation,
added those of his voice; and after regretting bitterly the absence of
his viol-de-gamba, he regaled them with a song, “which,” said he, “the
inimitable Astrophel, whom mortals call Philip Sidney, composed in the
nonage of his muse, to show the world what they are to expect from
his riper years, and which will one day see the light in that
not-to-be-paralleled perfection of human wit, which he has addressed
to his sister, the matchless Parthenope, whom men call Countess of
Pembroke; a work,” he continued, “whereof his friendship hath permitted
me, though unworthy, to be an occasional partaker, and whereof I may
well say, that the deep afflictive tale which awakeneth our sorrows, is
so relieved with brilliant similitudes, dulcet descriptions, pleasant
poems, and engaging interludes, that they seem as the stars of the
firmament, beautifying the dusky robe of night. And though I wot well
how much the lovely and quaint language will suffer by my widowed voice,
widowed in that it is no longer matched by my beloved viol-de-gamba, I
will essay to give you a taste of the ravishing sweetness of the poesy
of the un-to-be-imitated Astrophel.”
So saying, he sung without mercy or remorse about five hundred verses,
of which the two first and the four last may suffice for a specimen--
“What tongue can her perfections tell,
On whose each part all pens may dwell.
Of whose high praise arid praiseful bliss,
Goodness the pen. Heaven paper is;
The ink immortal fame doth send,
As I began so I must end.”
As Sir Piercie Shafton always sung with his eyes half shut, it was not
until, agreeably to the promise of poetry, he had fairly made an end,
that looking round, he discovered that the greater part of his audience
had, in the meanwhile, yielded to the charms of repose. Mary Avenel,
indeed, from a natural sense of politeness, had contrived to keep awake
through all the perplexities of the divine Astrophel; but Mysie was
transported in dreams back to the dusty atmosphere of her father's mill.
Edward himself, who had given his attention for some time, had at length
fallen fast asleep; and the good dame's nose, could its tones have
been put in regulation, might have supplied the bass of the lamented
viol-de-gamba. Halbert, however, who had no temptation to give way
to the charms of slumber, remained awake with his eyes fixed on the
songster; not that he was better entertained with the words, or more
ravished with the execution, than the rest of the company, but rather
because he admired, or perhaps envied, the composure, which could thus
spend the evening in interminable madrigals, when the next morning was
to be devoted to deadly combat. Yet it struck his natural acuteness
of observation, that the eye of the gallant cavalier did now and
then, furtively as it were, seek a glance of his countenance, as if to
discover how he was taking the exhibition of his antagonist's composure
and serenity of mind.
He shall read nothing in my countenance, thought Halbert, proudly, that
can make him think my indifference less than his own.
And taking from the shelf a bag full of miscellaneous matters collected
for the purpose, he began with great industry to dress hooks, and had
finished half-a-dozen of flies (we are enabled, for the benefit of those
who admire the antiquities of the gentle art of angling, to state that
they were brown hackles) by the time that Sir Piercie had arrived at the
conclusion of his long-winded strophes of the divine Astrophel. So that
he also testified a magnanimous contempt of that which to-morrow should
bring forth.
As it now waxed late, the family of Glendearg separated for the evening;
Sir Piercie first saying to the dame, that “her son Albert--”
“Halbert,” said Elspeth, with emphasis, “Halbert, after his goodsire,
Halbert Brydone.”
“Well, then, I have prayed your son, Halbert, that we may strive
tomorrow, with the sun's earliness, to wake a stag from his lair, that I
may see whether he be as prompt at that sport as fame bespeaks him.”
“Alas! sir,” answered Dame Elspeth, “he is but too prompt, an you
talk of promptitude, at any thing that has steel at one end of it, and
mischief at the other. But he is at your honourable disposal, and I
trust you will teach him how obedience is due to our venerable father
and lord, the Abbot, and prevail with him to take the bow-bearer's place
in fee; for, as the two worthy monks said, it will be a great help to a
widow-woman.”
“Trust me, good dame,” replied Sir Piercie, “it is my purpose so to
indoctrinate him touching his conduct and bearing towards his betters,
that he shall not lightly depart from the reverence due to them.--We
meet, then, beneath the birch-trees in the plain,” he said, looking
to Halbert, “so soon as the eye of day hath opened its lids.”--Halbert
answered with a sign of acquiescence, and the knight proceeded, “And
now, having wished to my fairest Discretion those pleasant dreams which
wave their pinions around the couch of sleeping beauty, and to this
comely damsel the bounties of Morpheus, and to all others the common
good-night, I will crave you leave to depart to my place of rest, though
I may say with the poet,
'Ah rest!--no rest but change of place and posture:
Ah sleep!--no sleep but worn-out Nature's swooning;
Ah bed!--no bed but cushion fill'd with stones:
Rest, sleep, nor bed, await not on an exile.'”
With a delicate obeisance he left the room, evading Dame Glendinning,
who hastened to assure him he would find his accommodations for repose
much more agreeable than they had been the night before, there having
been store of warm coverlets, and a soft feather-bed, sent up from the
Abbey. But the good knight probably thought that the grace and effect
of his exit would be diminished, if he were recalled from his heroics to
discuss such sublunary and domestic topics, and therefore hastened away
without waiting to hear her out.
“A pleasant gentleman,” said Dame Glendinning; “but I will warrant
him an humorous [Footnote: _Humorous_--full of whims--thus Shakspeare,
“Humorous as winter.”--The vulgar word humorsome comes nearest to
the meaning.]--And sings a sweet song, though it is somewhat of the
longest.--Well, I make mine avow he is goodly company--I wonder when he
will go away.”
Having thus expressed her respect for her guest, not without intimation
that she was heartily tired of his company, the good dame gave the
signal for the family to disperse, and laid her injunctions on Halbert
to attend Sir Piercie Shafton at daybreak, as he required.
When stretched on his pallet by his brother's side, Halbert had no small
cause to envy the sound sleep which instantly settled on the eyes of
Edward, but refused him any share of its influence. He saw now too well
what the spirit had darkly indicated, that, in granting the boon which
he had asked so unadvisedly, she had contributed more to his harm than
his good. He was now sensible, too late, of the various dangers and
inconveniences with which his dearest friends were threatened, alike by
his discomfiture or his success in the approaching duel. If he fell, he
might say personally, “good-night all.” But it was not the less certain
that he should leave a dreadful legacy of distress and embarrassment
to his mother and family,--an anticipation which by no means tended to
render the front of death, in itself a grisly object, more agreeable to
his imagination. The vengeance of the Abbot, his conscience told him,
was sure to descend on his mother and brother, or could only be averted
by the generosity of the victor--And Mary Avenel--he should have shown
himself, if he succumbed in the present combat, as inefficient in
protecting her, as he had been unnecessarily active in bringing disaster
on her, and on the house in which she had been protected from infancy.
And to this view of the case were to be added all those imbittered and
anxious feelings with which the bravest men, even in a better or less
doubtful quarrel, regard the issue of a dubious conflict, the first time
when it has been their fate to engage in an affair of that nature.
But however disconsolate the prospect seemed in the event of his being
conquered, Halbert could expect from victory little more than the safety
of his own life, and the gratification of his wounded pride. To his
friends--to his mother and brother--especially to Mary Avenel--the
consequences of his triumph would be more certain destruction than the
contingency of his defeat and death. If the English knight survived, he
might in courtesy extend his protection to them; but if he fell, nothing
was likely to screen them from the vindictive measures which the Abbot
and convent would surely adopt against the violation of the peace of
the Halidome, and the slaughter of a protected guest by one of their
own vassals, within whose house they had lodged him for shelter. These
thoughts, in which neither view of the case augured aught short of ruin
to his family, and that ruin entirely brought on by his own rashness,
were thorns in Halbert Glendinning's pillow, and deprived his soul of
peace and his eyes of slumber.
There appeared no middle course, saving one which was marked by
degradation, and which, even if he stooped to it, was by no means free
of danger. He might indeed confess to the English knight the strange
circumstances which led to his presenting him with that token which the
White Lady (in her displeasure as it now seemed) had given him, that
he might offer it to Sir Piercie Shafton. But to this avowal his pride
could not stoop, and reason, who is wonderfully ready to be of counsel
with pride on such occasions, offered many arguments to show it would be
useless as well as mean so far to degrade himself. “If I tell a tale so
wonderful,” thought he, “shall I not either be stigmatized as a liar,
or punished as a wizard?--Were Sir Piercie Shafton generous, noble, and
benevolent, as the champions of whom we hear in romance, I might indeed
gain his ear, and, without demeaning myself, escape from the
situation in which I am placed. But as he is, or at least seems to be,
self-conceited, arrogant, vain, and presumptuous--I should but humble
myself in vain--and I will not humble myself!” he said, starting out
of bed, grasping his broadsword, and brandishing it in the light of
the moon, which streamed through the deep niche that served them as a
window; when, to his extreme surprise and terror, an airy form stood in
the moonlight, but intercepted not the reflection on the floor. Dimly as
it was expressed, the sound of the voice soon made him sensible he saw
the White Lady.
At no time had her presence seemed so terrific to him; for when he had
invoked her, it was with the expectation of the apparition, and the
determination to abide the issue. But now she had come uncalled, and her
presence impressed him with a sense of approaching misfortune, and with
the hideous apprehension that he had associated himself with a demon,
over whose motions he had no control, and of whose powers and quality he
had no certain knowledge. He remained, therefore, in mere terror, gazing
on the apparition, which chanted or recited in cadence the following
lines--
“He whose heart for vengeance sued,
Must not shrink from shedding blood
The knot that thou hast tied with word,
Thou must loose by edge of sword.”
“Avaunt thee, false Spirit!” said Halbert Glendinning; “I have bought
thy advice too dearly already--Begone in the name of God!”
The Spirit laughed; and the cold unnatural sound of her laughter had
something in it more fearful than the usually melancholy tones of her
voice. She then replied,--
“You have summon'd me once--you have summoned me twice,
And without e'er a summons I come to you thrice;
Unask'd for, unsued for, you came to my glen;
Unsued and unask'd I am with you again.”
Halbert Glendinning gave way for a moment to terror, and called on his
brother, “Edward! waken, waken, for Our Lady's sake!”
Edward awaked accordingly, and asked what he wanted.
“Look out,” said Halbert, “look up! seest thou no one in the room?”
“No, upon my good word,” said Edward, looking out.
“What! seest thou nothing in the moonshine upon the floor there?”
“No, nothing,” answered Edward, “save thyself resting on thy naked
sword. I tell thee, Halbert, thou shouldst trust more to thy spiritual
arms, and less to those of steel and iron. For this many a night hast
thou started and moaned, and cried out of fighting, and of spectres, and
of goblins--thy sleep hath not refreshed thee--thy waking hath been a
dream.--Credit me, dear Halbert, say the _Pater_ and _Credo_, resign
thyself to the protection of God, and thou wilt sleep sound and wake in
comfort.”
“It may be,” said Halbert slowly, and having his eye still bent on the
female form which to him seemed distinctly visible,--“it may be. But
tell me, dear Edward, seest thou no one on the chamber floor but me?”
“No one,” answered Edward, raising himself on his elbow; “dear brother,
lay aside thy weapon, say thy prayers, and lay thee down to rest.”
While he thus spoke, the Spirit smiled at Halbert as if in scorn; her
wan cheek faded in the wan moonlight even before the smile had passed
away, and Halbert himself no longer beheld the vision to which he had so
anxiously solicited his brother's attention. “May God preserve my wits!”
he said, as, laying aside his weapon, he again threw himself on his bed.
“Amen! my dearest brother,” answered Edward; “but we must not provoke
that Heaven in our wantonness which we invoke in our misery.--Be not
angry with me, my dear brother--I know not why you have totally of late
estranged yourself from me--It is true, I am neither so athletic in
body, nor so alert in courage, as you have been from your infancy; yet,
till lately, you have not absolutely cast off my society--Believe me, I
have wept in secret, though I forbore to intrude myself on your privacy.
The time has been--when you held me not so cheap; and--when, if I could
not follow the game so closely, or mark it so truly as you, I could
fill up our intervals of pastime with pleasant tales of the olden times,
which I had read or heard, and which excited even your attention as
we sate and ate our provision by some pleasant spring--but now I have,
though I know not why, lost thy regard and affection.--Nay, toss not
thy arms about thee thus wildly,” said the younger brother; “from thy
strange dreams, I fear some touch of fever hath affected thy blood--let
me draw closer around thee thy mantle.”
“Forbear,” said Halbert--“your care is needless--your complaints are
without reason--your fears on my account are in vain.”
“Nay, but hear me, brother,” said Edward. “Your speech in sleep, and now
even your waking dreams, are of beings which belong not to this world,
or to our race--Our good Father Eustace says, that howbeit we may not
do well to receive all idle tales of goblins and spectres, yet there is
warrant from holy Scripture to believe, that the fiends haunt waste and
solitary places; and that those who frequent such wildernesses alone,
are the prey, or the sport, of these wandering demons. And therefore,
I pray thee, brother, let me go with you when you go next up the glen,
where, as you well know, there be places of evil reputation--Thou
carest not for my escort; but, Halbert, such dangers are more safely
encountered by the wise in judgment, than by the bold in bosom; and
though I have small cause to boast of my own wisdom, yet I have that
which ariseth from the written knowledge of elder times.”
There was a moment during this discourse, when Halbert had well-nigh
come to the resolution of disburdening his own breast, by intrusting
Edward with all that weighed upon it. But when his brother reminded him
that this was the morning of a high holiday, and that, setting aside all
other business or pleasure, he ought to go to the Monastery and
shrive himself before Father Eustace, who would that day occupy the
confessional, pride stepped in and confirmed his wavering resolution.
“I will not avow,” he thought, “a tale so extraordinary, that I may be
considered as an impostor or something worse--I will not fly from this
Englishman, whose arm and sword may be no better than my own. My fathers
have faced his betters, were he as much distinguished in battle as he is
by his quaint discourse.”
Pride, which has been said to save man, and woman too, from falling,
has yet a stronger influence on the mind when it embraces the cause of
passion, and seldom fails to render it victorious over conscience and
reason. Halbert, once determined, though not to the better course, at
length slept soundly, and was only awakened by the dawn of day.
* * * * * *
Chapter the Twenty-First.
Indifferent, but indifferent--pshaw, he doth it not
Like one who is his craft's master--ne'er the less
I have seen a clown confer a bloody coxcomb
On one who was a master of defence.
OLD PLAY.
With the first gray peep of dawn, Halbert Glendinning arose and hastened
to dress himself, girded on his weapon, and took a cross-bow in his
hand, as if his usual sport had been his sole object. He groped his way
down the dark and winding staircase, and undid, with as little noise
as possible, the fastenings of the inner door, and of the exterior iron
grate. At length he stood free in the court-yard, and looking up to the
tower, saw a signal made with a handkerchief from the window. Nothing
doubting that it was his antagonist, he paused, expecting him. But it
was Mary Avenel, who glided like a spirit from under the low and rugged
portal.
Halbert was much surprised, and felt, he knew not why, like one caught
in the act of a meditated trespass. The presence of Mary Avenel had till
that moment never given him pain. She spoke, too, in a tone where sorrow
seemed to mingle with reproach, while she asked him with emphasis, “What
he was about to do?”
He showed his cross-bow, and was about to express the pretext he had
meditated, when Mary interrupted him.
“Not so, Halbert--that evasion were unworthy of one whose word has
hitherto been truth. You meditate not the destruction of the deer--your
hand and your heart are aimed at other game--you seek to do battle with
this stranger.”
“And wherefore should I quarrel with our guest?” answered Halbert,
blushing deeply.
“There are, indeed, many reasons why you should not,” replied
the maiden, “nor is there one of avail wherefore you should--yet
nevertheless, such a quarrel you are now searching after.”
“Why should you suppose so, Mary?” said Halbert, endeavouring to hide
his conscious purpose--“he is my mother's guest--he is protected by
the Abbot and the community, who are our masters--he is of high degree
also,--and wherefore should you think that I can, or dare, resent a
hasty word, which he has perchance thrown out against me more from the
wantonness of his wit, than the purpose of his heart?”
“Alas!” answered the maiden, “the very asking that question puts your
resolution beyond a doubt. Since your childhood you were ever daring,
seeking danger rather than avoiding it--delighting in whatever had the
air of adventure and of courage: and it is not from fear that you will
now blench from your purpose--Oh, let it then be from pity!--from pity,
Halbert, to your aged mother, whom your death or victory will alike
deprive of the comfort and stay of her age.”
“She has my brother Edward,” said Halbert, turning suddenly from her.
“She has indeed,” said Mary Avenel, “the calm, the noble-minded, the
considerate Edward, who has thy courage, Halbert, without thy fiery
rashness,--thy generous spirit, with more of reason to guide it. He
would not have heard his mother, would not have heard his adopted
sister, beseech him in vain not to ruin himself, and tear up their
future hopes of happiness and protection.”
Halbert's heart swelled as he replied to this reproach. “Well--what
avails it speaking?--you have him that is better than me--wiser,
more considerate--braver, for aught I know--you are provided with a
protector, and need care no more for me.”
Again he turned to depart, but Mary Avenel laid her hand on his arm so
gently that he scarce felt her hold, yet felt that it was impossible
for him to strike it off. There he stood, one foot advanced to leave the
court-yard, but so little determined on departure, that he resembled a
traveller arrested by the spell of a magician, and unable either to quit
the attitude of motion, or to proceed on his course.
Mary Avenel availed herself of his state of suspense. “Hear me,” she
said, “hear me, Halbert!--I am an orphan, and even Heaven hears the
orphan--I have been the companion of your infancy, and if _you_ will not
hear me for an instant, from whom may Mary Avenel claim so poor a boon?”
“I hear you,” said Halbert Glendinning, “but be brief, dear Mary--you
mistake the nature of my business--it is but a morning of summer sport
which we propose.”
“Say not thus,” said the maiden, interrupting him, “say not thus to
me--others thou mayst deceive, but me thou canst not--There has been
that in me from the earliest youth, which fraud flies from, and which
imposture cannot deceive. For what fate has given me such a power I know
not; but bred an ignorant maiden, in this sequestered valley, mine eyes
can too often see what man would most willingly hide--I can judge of the
dark purpose, though it is hid under the smiling brow, and a glance of
the eye says more to me than oaths and protestations do to others.”
“Then,” said Halbert, “if thou canst so read the human heart,--say,
dear Mary--what dost thou see in mine?--tell me that--say that what thou
seest--what thou readest in this bosom, does not offend thee--say but
_that_, and thou shalt be the guide of my actions, and mould me now and
henceforward to honour or to dishonour at thy own free will!”
Mary Avenel became first red, and then deadly pale, as Halbert
Glendinning spoke. But when, turning round at the close of his address,
he took her hand, she gently withdrew it, and replied, “I cannot read
the heart, Halbert, and I would not of my will know aught of yours, save
what beseems us both--I only can judge of signs, words, and actions of
little outward import, more truly than those around me, as my eyes, thou
knowest, have seen objects not presented to those of others.”
“Let them gaze then on one whom they shall never see more,” said
Halbert, once more turning from her, and rushing out of the court-yard
without again looking back.
Mary Avenel gave a faint scream, and clasped both her hands firmly on
her forehead and eyes. She had been a minute in this attitude, when
she was thus greeted by a voice from behind: “Generously done, my most
clement Discretion, to hide those brilliant eyes from the far inferior
beams which even now begin to gild the eastern horizon--Certes,
peril there were that Phoebus, outshone in splendour, might in very
shamefacedness turn back his ear, and rather leave the world in
darkness, than incur the disgrace of such an encounter--Credit me,
lovely Discretion--”
But as Sir Piercie Shafton (the reader will readily set down these
flowers of eloquence to the proper owner) attempted to take Mary
Avenel's hand, in order to proceed in his speech, she shook him abruptly
off, and regarding him with an eye which evinced terror and agitation,
rushed past him into the tower.
The knight stood looking after her with a countenance in which contempt
was strongly mingled with mortification. “By my knighthood!” he
ejaculated, “I have thrown away upon this rude rustic Phidel? a speech,
which the proudest beauty at the court of Felicia (so let me call the
Elysium from which I am banished!) might have termed the very matins of
Cupid. Hard and inexorable was the fate that sent thee thither, Piercie
Shafton, to waste thy wit upon country wenches, and thy valour upon
hob-nailed clowns! But that insult--that affront--had it been offered
to me by the lowest plebeian, he must have died for it by my hand, in
respect the enormity of the offence doth countervail the inequality of
him by whom it is given. I trust I shall find this clownish roisterer
not less willing to deal in blows than in taunts.”
While he held this conversation with himself, Sir Piercie Shafton was
hastening to the little tuft of birch-trees which had been assigned
as the place of meeting. He greeted his antagonist with a courtly
salutation, followed by this commentary: “I pray you to observe, that
I doff my hat to you, though so much my inferior in rank, without
derogation on my part, inasmuch as my having so far honoured you in
receiving and admitting your defiance, doth, in the judgment of the best
martialists, in some sort and for the time, raise you to a level with
me--an honour which you may and ought to account cheaply purchased, even
with the loss of your life, if such should chance to be the issue of
this duello.”
“For which condescension,” said Halbert, “I have to thank the token
which I presented to you.”
The knight changed colour, and grinded his teeth with rage--“Draw your
weapon!” said he to Glendinning.
“Not in this spot,” answered the youth; “we should be liable to
interruption--Follow me, and I will bring you to a place where we shall
encounter no such risk.”
He proceeded to walk up the glen, resolving that their place of combat
should be in the entrance of the Corri-nan-shian; both because the spot,
lying under the reputation of being haunted, was very little frequented,
and also because he regarded it as a place which to him might be termed
fated, and which he therefore resolved should witness his death
or victory. They walked up the glen for some time in silence, like
honourable enemies who did not wish to contend with words, and who had
nothing friendly to exchange with each other. Silence, however, was
always an irksome state with Sir Piercie and, moreover, his anger was
usually a hasty and short-lived passion. As, therefore, he went forth,
in his own idea, in all love and honour towards his antagonist, he saw
not any cause for submitting longer to the painful restraint of positive
silence. He began by complimenting Halbert on the alert activity with
which he surmounted the obstacles and impediments of the way.
“Trust me,” said he, “worthy rustic, we have not a lighter or a firmer
step in our courtlike revels, and if duly set forth by a silk hose, and
trained unto that stately exercise, your leg would make an indifferent
good show in a pavin or a galliard. And I doubt nothing,” he added,
“that you have availed yourself of some opportunity to improve yourself
in the art of fence, which is more akin than dancing to our present
purpose?”
“I know nothing more of fencing,” said Halbert, “than hath been taught
me by an old shepherd of ours, called Martin, and at whiles a lesson
from Christie of the Clinthill--for the rest, I must trust to good
sword, strong arm, and sound heart.”
“Marry and I am glad of it, young Audacity, (I will call you my
Audacity, and you will call me your Condescension, while we are on these
terms of unnatural equality,) I am glad of your ignorance with all my
heart. For we martialists proportion the punishments which we inflict
upon our opposites, to the length and hazard of the efforts wherewith
they oppose themselves to us. And I see not why you, being but a tyro,
may not be held sufficiently punished for your outrecuidance, and
orgillous presumption, by the loss of an ear, an eye, or even a finger,
accompanied by some flesh-wound of depth and severity, suited to your
error--whereas, had you been able to stand more effectually on
your defence, I see not how less than your life could have atoned
sufficiently for your presumption.”
“Now, by God and Our Lady,” said Halbert, unable any longer to restrain
himself, “thou art thyself over-presumptuous, who speakest thus daringly
of the issue of a combat which is not yet even begun--Are you a god,
that you already dispose of my life and limbs? or are you a judge in
the justice-air, telling at your ease and without risk, how the head and
quarters of a condemned criminal are to be disposed of?”
“Not so, O thou,--whom I have well permitted to call thyself my
Audacity. I, thy Condescension, am neither a god to judge the issue of
the combat before it is fought, nor a judge to dispose at my ease and
in safety of the limbs and head of a condemned criminal; but I am an
indifferent good master of fence, being the first pupil of the first
master of the first school of fence that our royal England affords, the
said master being no other than the truly noble, and all-unutterably
skilful Vincentio Saviola, from whom I learned the firm step, quick eye,
and nimble hand--of which qualities thou, O my most rustical Audacity,
art full like to reap the fruits so soon as we shall find a piece of
ground fitting for such experiments.”
They had now reached the gorge of the ravine, where Halbert had at
first intended to stop; but when he observed the narrowness of the level
ground, he began to consider that it was only by superior agility that
he could expect to make up his deficiency in the science, as it was
called, of defence. He found no spot which afforded sufficient room to
traverse for this purpose, until he gained the well-known fountain, by
whose margin, and in front of the huge rock from which it sprung, was
an amphitheatre of level turf, of small space indeed, compared with the
great height of the cliffs with which it was surrounded on every point
save that from which the rivulet issued forth, yet large enough for
their present purpose.
When they had reached this spot of ground, fitted well by its gloom
and sequestered situation to be a scene of mortal strife, both were
surprised to observe that a grave was dug close by the foot of the rock
with great neatness and regularity, the green turf being laid down
upon the one side, and the earth thrown out in a heap upon the other. A
mattock and shovel lay by the verge of the grave.
Sir Piercie Shafton bent his eye with unusual seriousness upon Halbert
Glendinning, as he asked him sternly, “Does this bode treason, young
man? And have you purpose to set upon me here as in an emboscata or
place of vantage?”
“Not on my part, by Heaven!” answered the youth: “I told no one of our
purpose, nor would I for the throne of Scotland take odds against a
single arm.”
“I believe thou wouldst not, mine Audacity,” said the knight,
resuming the affected manner which was become a second nature to him;
“nevertheless this fosse is curiously well shaped, and might be
the masterpiece of Nature's last bed-maker, I would say the
sexton--Wherefore, let us be thankful to chance or some unknown friend,
who hath thus provided for one of us the decencies of sepulture, and let
us proceed to determine which shall have the advantage of enjoying this
place of undisturbed slumber.”
So saying, he stripped off his doublet and cloak, which he folded
up with great care, and deposited upon a large stone, while Halbert
Glendinning, not without some emotion, followed his example. Their
vicinity to the favourite haunt of the White Lady led him to form
conjectures concerning the incident of the grave--“It must have been her
work!” he thought: “the Spirit foresaw and has provided for the fatal
event of the combat--I must return from this place a homicide, or I must
remain here for ever!”
The bridge seemed now broken down behind him, and the chance of coming
off honourably without killing or being killed, (the hope of which issue
has cheered the sinking heart of many a duellist,) seemed now altogether
to be removed. Yet the very desperation of his situation gave him, on
an instant's reflection, both firmness and courage, and presented to him
one sole alternative, conquest, namely, or death.
“As we are here,” said Sir Piercie Shafton, “unaccompanied by any
patrons or seconds, it were well you should pass your hands over my
sides, as I shall over yours; not that I suspect you to use any quaint
device of privy armour, but in order to comply with the ancient and
laudable custom practised on all such occasions.”
While complying with his antagonist's humour, Halbert Glendinning went
through this ceremony, Sir Piercie Shafton did not fail to solicit his
attention to the quality and fineness of his wrought and embroidered
shirt--“In this very shirt,” said he, “O mine Audacity!--I say in
this very garment, in which I am now to combat a Scottish rustic
like thyself, it was my envied lot to lead the winning party at that
wonderous match at ballon, made betwixt the divine Astrophel, (our
matchless Sidney,) and the right honourable my very good lord of Oxford.
All the beauties of Felicia (by which name I distinguish our beloved
England) stood in the gallery, waving their kerchiefs at each turn of
the game, and cheering the winners by their plaudits. After which noble
sport we were refreshed by a suitable banquet, whereat it pleased the
noble Urania (being the unmatched Countess of Pembroke) to accommodate
me with her fan for the cooling my somewhat too much inflamed visage, to
requite which courtesy, I said, casting my features into a smiling,
yet melancholy fashion, O divinest Urania! receive again that too fatal
gift, which not like the Zephyr cooleth, but like the hot breath of the
Sirocco, heateth yet more that which is already inflamed. Whereupon,
looking upon me somewhat scornfully, yet not so but what the experienced
courtier might perceive a certain cast of approbative affection----”
Here the knight was interrupted by Halbert, who had waited with
courteous patience for some little time, till he found, that far from
drawing to a close, Sir Piercie seemed rather inclined to wax prolix in
his reminiscences.
“Sir Knight,” said the youth, “if this matter be not very much to the
purpose, we will, if you object not, proceed to that which we have in
hand. You should have abidden in England had you desired to waste time
in words, for here we spend it in blows.”
“I crave your pardon, most rusticated Audacity,” answered Sir Piercie;
“truly I become oblivious of every thing beside, when the recollections
of the divine court of Felicia press upon my wakened memory, even as
a saint is dazzled when he bethinks him of the beatific vision. Ah,
felicitous Feliciana! delicate nurse of the fair, chosen abode of the
wise, the birth-place and cradle of nobility, the temple of courtesy,
the fane of sprightly chivalry--Ah, heavenly court, or rather courtly
heaven! cheered with dances, lulled asleep with harmony, wakened
with sprightly sports and tourneys, decored with silks and tissues,
glittering with diamonds and jewels, standing on end with double-piled
velvets, satins, and satinettas!”
“The token, Sir Knight, the token!” exclaimed Halbert Glendinning, who,
impatient of Sir Piercie's interminable oratory, reminded him of the
ground of their quarrel, as the best way to compel him to the purpose of
their meeting.
And he judged right; for Sir Piercie Shafton no sooner heard him speak,
than he exclaimed, “Thy death-hour has struck--betake thee to thy
sword--Via!”
Both swords were unsheathed, and the combatants commenced their
engagement. Halbert became immediately aware, that, as he had expected,
he was far inferior to his adversary in the use of his weapon. Sir
Piercie Shafton had taken no more than his own share of real merit, when
he termed himself an absolutely good fencer; and Glendinning soon found
that he should have great difficulty in escaping with life and honour
from such a master of the sword. The English knight was master of all
the mystery of the _stoccata, imbrocata, punto-reverso, incartata_, and
so forth, which the Italian masters of defence had lately introduced
into general practice. But Glendinning, on his part, was no novice in
the principles of the art, according to the old Scottish fashion, and
possessed the first of all qualities, a steady and collected mind. At
first, being desirous to try the skill, and become acquainted with the
play of his enemy, he stood on his defence, keeping his foot, hand, eye,
and body, in perfect unison, and holding his sword short, and with the
point towards his antagonist's face, so that Sir Piercie, in order
to assail him, was obliged to make actual passes, and could not avail
himself of his skill in making feints; while, on the other hand, Halbert
was prompt to parry these attacks, either by shifting his ground or with
the sword. The consequence was, that after two or three sharp attempts
on the part of Sir Piercie, which were evaded or disconcerted by the
address of his opponent, he began to assume the defensive in his turn,
fearful of giving some advantage by being repeatedly the assailant. But
Halbert was too cautious to press on a swordsman whose dexterity had
already more than once placed him within a hair's breadth of death,
which he had only escaped by uncommon watchfulness and agility.
When each had made a feint or two, there was a pause in the conflict,
both as if by one assent dropping their swords' point, and looking on
each other for a moment without speaking. At length Halbert Glendinning,
who felt perhaps more uneasy on account of his family than he had done
before he had displayed his own courage, and proved the strength of his
antagonist, could not help saying, “Is the subject of our quarrel, Sir
Knight, so mortal, that one of our two bodies must needs fill up that
grave? or may we with honour, having proved ourselves against each
other, sheathe our swords and depart friends?”
“Valiant and most rustical Audacity,” said the Southron knight, “to no
man on earth could you have put a question on the code of honour, who
was more capable of rendering you a reason. Let us pause for the space
of one venue, until I give you my opinion on this dependence, [Footnote:
_Dependence_--A phrase among the brethren of the sword for an existing
quarrel.] for certain it is, that brave men should not run upon their
fate like brute and furious wild beasts, but should slay each other
deliberately, decently, and with reason. Therefore, if we coolly examine
the state of our dependence, we may the better apprehend whether
the sisters three have doomed one of us to expiate the same with his
blood--Dost thou understand me?”
“I have heard Father Eustace,” said Halbert, after a moment's
recollection, “speak of the three furies, with their thread and their
shears.”
“Enough--enough,”--interrupted Sir Piercie Shafton, crimsoning with a
new fit of rage, “the thread of thy life is spun!”
And with these words he attacked with the utmost ferocity the Scottish
youth, who had but just time to throw himself into a posture of defence.
But the rash fury of the assailant, as frequently happens, disappointed
its own purpose; for, as he made a desperate thrust, Halbert Glendinning
avoided it, and ere the knight could recover his weapon, requited him
(to use his own language) with a resolute stoccata, which passed through
his body, and Sir Piercie Shafton fell to the ground.
* * * * *
Chapter the Twenty-Second.
Yes, life hath left him--every busy thought,
Each fiery passion, every strong affection,
All sense of outward ill and inward sorrow,
Are fled at once from the pale trunk before me;
And I have given that which spoke and moved,
Thought, acted, suffer'd as a living man,
To be a ghastly form of bloody clay,
Soon the foul food for reptiles.
OLD PLAY.
I believe few successful duellists (if the word successful can be
applied to a superiority so fatal) have beheld their dead antagonist
stretched on the earth at their feet, without wishing they could redeem
with their own blood that which it has been their fate to spill. Least
of all could such indifference be the lot of so young a man as Halbert
Glendinning, who, unused to the sight of human blood, was not only
struck with sorrow, but with terror, when he beheld Sir Piercie Shafton
lie stretched on the green-sward before him, vomiting gore as if
impelled by the strokes of a pump. He threw his bloody sword on the
ground, and hastened to kneel and support him, vainly striving, at the
same time, to stanch his wound, which seemed rather to bleed inwardly
than externally.
The unfortunate knight spoke at intervals, when the syncope would permit
him, and his words, so far as intelligible, partook of his affected and
conceited, yet not ungenerous character.
“Most rustical youth,” he said, “thy fortune hath prevailed over
knightly skill--and Audacity hath overcome Condescension, even as the
kite hath sometimes hawked at and struck down the falcon-gentle.--Fly
and save thyself!--Take my purse--it is in the nether pocket of my
carnation-coloured hose--and is worth a clown's acceptance. See that
my mails, with my vestments, be sent to the Monastery of Saint
Mary's”--(here his voice grew weak, and his mind and recollection
seemed to waver)--“I bestow the cut velvet jerkin, with close breeches
conforming--for--oh!--the good of my soul.”
“Be of good comfort, sir,” said Halbert, half distracted with his agony
of pity and remorse. “I trust you shall yet do well--Oh for a leech!”
“Were there twenty physicians, O most generous Audacity, and that were
a grave spectacle--I might not survive, my life is ebbing
fast.--Commend me to the rustical nymph whom I called my Discretion--O
Claridiana!--true empress of this bleeding heart--which now bleedeth in
sad earnest!--Place me on the ground at my length, most rustical victor,
born to quench the pride of the burning light of the most felicitous
court of Feliciana--O saints and angels---knights and ladies--masques
and theatres--quaint devices--chain-work and broidery--love, honour, and
beauty!----”
While muttering these last words, which slid from him, as it were
unawares, while doubtless he was calling to mind the glories of the
English court, the gallant Sir Piercie Shafton stretched out his
limbs--groaned deeply, shut his eyes, and became motionless.
The victor tore his hair for very sorrow, as he looked on the pale
countenance of his victim. Life, he thought, had not utterly fled, but
without better aid than his own, he saw not how it could be preserved.
“Why,” he exclaimed in vain penitence, “why did I provoke him to an
issue so fatal! Would to God I had submitted to the worst insult man
could receive from man, rather than be the bloody instrument of this
bloody deed--and doubly cursed be this evil-boding spot, which, haunted
as I knew it to be by a witch or a devil, I yet chose for the place of
combat! In any other place, save this, there had been help to be gotten
by speed of foot, or by uplifting of voice--but here there is no one to
be found by search, no one to hear my shouts, save the evil spirit who
has counselled this mischief. It is not her hour--I will essay the spell
howsoever; and if she can give me aid, she _shall_ do it, or know of
what a madman is capable even against those of another world!”
He spurned his bloody shoe from his foot, and repeated the spell with
which the reader is well acquainted; but there was neither voice,
apparition, nor signal of answer. The youth, in the impatience of his
despair, and with the rash hardihood which formed the basis of his
character, shouted aloud, “Witch--Sorceress--Fiend!--art thou deaf to
my cries of help, and so ready to appear and answer those of vengeance?
Arise and speak to me, or I will choke up thy fountain, tear down thy
hollybush, and leave thy haunt as waste and bare as thy fatal assistance
has made me waste of comfort and bare of counsel!”--This furious
and raving invocation was suddenly interrupted by a distant sound,
resembling a hollo, from the gorge of the ravine. “Now may Saint Mary
be praised,” said the youth, hastily fastening his sandal, “I hear
the voice of some living man, who may give me counsel and help in this
fearful extremity.”
Having donned his sandal, Halbert Glendinning, hallooing at intervals,
in answer to the sound which he had heard, ran with the speed of a
hunted buck down the rugged defile, as if paradise had been before him,
hell and all her furies behind, and his eternal happiness or misery had
depended upon the speed which he exerted. In a space incredibly short
for any one but a Scottish mountaineer having his nerves strung by the
deepest and most passionate interest, the youth reached the entrance
of the ravine, through which the rill that flows down Corri-nan-shian
discharges itself, and unites with the brook that waters the little
valley of Glendearg.
Here he paused, and looked around him upwards and downwards through the
glen, without perceiving a human form. His heart sank within him. But
the windings of the glen intercepted his prospect, and the person, whose
voice he had heard, might therefore, be at no great distance, though not
obvious to his sight. The branches of an oak-tree, which shot straight
out from the face of a tall cliff, proffered to his bold spirit,
steady head, and active limbs, the means of ascending it as a place of
out-look, although the enterprise was what most men would have shrunk
from. But by one bound from the earth, the active youth caught hold of
the lower branch, and swung himself up into the tree, and in a minute
more gained the top of the cliff, from which he could easily descry a
human figure descending the valley. It was not that of a shepherd, or
of a hunter, and scarcely any others used to traverse this deserted
solitude, especially coming from the north, since the reader may
remember that the brook took its rise from an extensive and dangerous
morass which lay in that direction.
But Halbert Glendinning did not pause to consider who the traveller
might be, or what might be the purpose of his journey. To know that he
saw a human being, and might receive, in the extremity of his distress,
the countenance and advice of a fellow-creature, was enough for him at
the moment. He threw himself from the pinnacle of the cliff once more
into the arms of the projecting oak-tree, whose boughs waved in middle
air, anchored by the roots in a huge rift or chasm of the rock. Catching
at the branch which was nearest to him, he dropped himself from that
height upon the ground; and such was the athletic springiness of his
youthful sinews, that he pitched there as lightly, and with as little
injury, as the falcon stooping from her wheel.
To resume his race at full speed up the glen, was the work of an
instant; and as he turned angle after angle of the indented banks of the
valley, without meeting that which he sought, he became half afraid that
the form which he had seen at such a distance had already melted into
thin air, and was either a deception of his own imagination, or of the
elementary spirits by which the valley was supposed to be haunted.
But to his inexpressible joy, as he turned round the base of a huge
and distinguished crag, he saw, straight before and very near to him,
a person, whose dress, as he viewed it hastily, resembled that of a
pilgrim.
He was a man of advanced life, and wearing a long beard, having on his
head a large slouched hat, without either band or brooch. His dress was
a tunic of black serge, which, like those commonly called hussar-cloaks,
had an upper part, which covered the arms and fell down on the lower;
a small scrip and bottle, which hung at his back, with a stout staff in
his hand, completed his equipage. His step was feeble, like that of one
exhausted by a toilsome journey.
“Save ye, good father!” said the youth. “God and Our Lady have sent you
to my assistance.”
“And in what, my son, can so frail a creature as I am, be of service to
you?” said the old man, not a little surprised at being thus accosted
by so handsome a youth, his features discomposed by anxiety, his face
flushed with exertion, his hands and much of his dress stained with
blood. “A man bleeds to death in the valley here, hard by. Come with
me--come with me! You are aged--you have experience--you have at least
your senses--and mine have well nigh left me.”
“A man--and bleeding to death--and here in this desolate spot!” said the
stranger.
“Stay not to question it, father,” said the youth, “but come instantly
to his rescue. Follow me,--follow me, without an instant's delay.”
“Nay, but, my son,” said the old man, “we do not lightly follow the
guides who present themselves thus suddenly in the bosom of a howling
wilderness. Ere I follow thee, thou must expound to me thy name, thy
purpose, and thy cause.”
“There is no time to expound any thing,” said Halbert; “I tell thee a
man's life is at stake, and thou must come to aid him, or I will carry
thee thither by force!”
“Nay, thou shalt not need,” said the traveller; “if it indeed be as thou
sayest, I will follow thee of free-will--the rather that I am not wholly
unskilled in leech-craft, and have in my scrip that which may do thy
friend a service--Yet walk more slowly, I pray thee, for I am already
well-nigh forespent with travel.”
With the indignant impatience of the fiery steed when compelled by
his rider to keep pace with some slow drudge upon the highway, Halbert
accompanied the wayfarer, burning with anxiety which he endeavoured to
subdue, that he might not alarm his companion, who was obviously afraid
to trust him. When they reached the place where they were to turn off
the wider glen into the Corri, the traveller made a doubtful pause, as
if unwilling to leave the broader path--“Young man,” he said, “if thou
meanest aught but good to these gray hairs, thou wilt gain little by thy
cruelty--I have no earthly treasure to tempt either robber or murderer.”
“And I,” said the youth, “am neither--and yet--God of Heaven!--I _may_
be a murderer, unless your aid comes in time to this wounded wretch!”
“Is it even so,” said the traveller; “and do human passions disturb the
breast of nature, even in her deepest solitude?--Yet why should I marvel
that where darkness abides the works of darkness should abound?--By its
fruits is the tree known--Lead on, unhappy youth--I follow thee!”
And with better will to the journey than he had evinced hitherto, the
stranger exerted himself to the uttermost, and seemed to forget his own
fatigue in his efforts to keep pace with his impatient guide.
What was the surprise of Halbert Glendinning, when, upon arriving at the
fatal spot, he saw no appearance of the body of Sir Piercie Shafton!
The traces of the fray were otherwise sufficiently visible. The knight's
cloak had indeed vanished as well as his body, but his doublet remained
where he had laid it down, and the turf on which he had been stretched
was stained with blood in many a dark crimson spot.
As he gazed round him in terror and astonishment, Halbert's eyes fell
upon the place of sepulture which had so lately appeared to gape for a
victim. It was no longer open, and it seemed that earth had received the
expected tenant; for the usual narrow hillock was piled over what had
lately been an open grave, and the green sod was adjusted over all with
the accuracy of an experienced sexton. Halbert stood aghast. The idea
rushed on his mind irresistibly, that the earth-heap before him enclosed
what had lately been a living, moving, and sentient fellow-creature,
whom, on little provocation, his fell act had reduced to a clod of the
valley, as senseless and as cold as the turf under which he rested. The
hand that scooped the grave had completed its word; and whose hand could
it be save that of the mysterious being of doubtful quality, whom his
rashness had invoked, and whom he had suffered to intermingle in his
destinies?
As he stood with clasped hands and uplifted eyes, bitterly ruing his
rashness, he was roused by the voice of the stranger, whose suspicions
of his guide had again been awakened by finding the scene so different
from what Halbert had led him to expect.--“Young man,” he said, “hast
thou baited thy tongue with falsehood to cut perhaps only a few days
from the life of one whom Nature will soon call home, without guilt on
thy part to hasten his journey?”
“By the blessed Heaven!--by our dear Lady!” ejaculated Halbert--
“Swear not at all!” said the stranger, interrupting him, “neither
by Heaven, for it is God's throne, nor by earth, for it is his
footstool--nor by the creatures whom he hath made, for they are but
earth and clay as we are. Let thy yea be yea, and thy nay, nay. Tell me
in a word, why and for what purpose thou hast feigned a tale, to lead a
bewildered traveller yet farther astray?”
“As I am a Christian man,” said Glendinning, “I left him here bleeding
to death--and now I nowhere spy him, and much I doubt that the tomb that
thou seest has closed on his mortal remains.”
“And who is he for whose fate thou art so anxious?” said the stranger;
“or how is it possible that this wounded man could have been either
removed from, or interred in, a place so solitary?”
“His name,” said Halbert, after a moment's pause, “is Piercie
Shafton--there, on that very spot I left him bleeding; and what power
has conveyed him hence, I know no more than thou dost.”
“Piercie Shafton?” said the stranger; “Sir Piercie Shafton of Wilverton,
a kinsman, as it is said, of the great Piercie of Northumberland? If
thou hast slain him, to return to the territories of the proud Abbot is
to give thy neck to the gallows. He is well known, that Piercie Shafton;
the meddling tool of wiser plotters--a harebrained trafficker in
treason--a champion of the Pope, employed as a forlorn hope by those
more politic heads, who have more will to work mischief, than valour to
encounter danger.--Come with me, youth, and save thyself from the evil
consequences of this deed--Guide me to the Castle of Avenel, and thy
reward shall be protection and safety.”
Again Halbert paused, and summoned his mind to a hasty council. The
vengeance with which the Abbot was likely to visit the slaughter of
Shafton, his friend, and in some measure his guest, was likely to
be severe; yet, in the various contingencies which he had considered
previous to their duel, he had unaccountably omitted to reflect what was
to be his line of conduct in case of Sir Piercie falling by his hand.
If he returned to Glendearg, he was sure to draw on his whole family,
including Mary Avenel, the resentment of the Abbot and community,
whereas it was possible that flight might make him be regarded as the
sole author of the deed, and might avert the indignation of the
monks from the rest of the inhabitants of his paternal tower. Halbert
recollected also the favour expressed for the household, and especially
for Edward, by the Sub-Prior; and he conceived that he could, by
communicating his own guilt to that worthy ecclesiastic, when at a
distance from Glendearg, secure his powerful interposition in favour
of his family. These thoughts rapidly passed through his mind, and he
determined on flight. The stranger's company and his promised protection
came in aid of that resolution; but he was unable to reconcile the
invitation which the old man gave him to accompany him for safety to the
Castle of Avenel, with the connexions of Julian, the present usurper of
that inheritance.